In truth, Andy fucking hated working at the diner. The money wasn’t great, his coworkers were fucking annoying, and he hated getting through the dinner rush. But his annoying PO wanted him doing something more “legit” than working at the club, and he enjoyed cooking, so he reluctantly handed in the application. The last few months had been fairly predictable, with most of the other kitchen staff and waitresses/waiters opting steer clear of him. He couldn’t necessarily blame them -- It’s not like he was making himself particularly approachable, nor did he have any intention to do so. At least, that had been the case until a certain blonde entered his field of vision. His crush on Rowan was embarrassing, something he kept to himself -- It felt like he was fifteen again, sucked in because of what? Her flashing him a smile and saying a few words to him? Seriously? The last time he’d been in a relationship or even went out with someone had been years ago -- And he’d rather forget anything that had to do with his ex, Bethany. He wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of hooking up after a few drinks with Rowan, but Andy had a feeling he’d find a way to fuck that up. Instead, he ignores his own feelings, opting to put his focus in making greasy burgers and fries, rather than the way his heart skipped a beat each time she came back to the kitchen with a new order. 

Once the dinner rush is over and he can finally breathe instead of barking kitchen orders, Andy sneaks out for a much needed smoke break. It was a nasty habit -- He could smoke a pack a day if it weren’t for his own better judgment. Instead, he sticks to his nightly ritual of two for his break, waiting until the dishwasher and his hostess girlfriend came back in so that he’d be left with peace and quiet. Letting the door slam behind him, Andy moves across the pavement and to the pitiful looking picnic table management left them for ‘the opportunity to get fresh air comfortably’. Wood creaks as he sits on top of the table, balancing his half empty pack of cigarettes on his knee as places one between his teeth. The first inhale he takes as it lights calms him significantly, washing away the frustrations from earlier in his shift. The sound of the backdoor can be heard slamming as he rolls his shoulders, just for them to tense up again. “Jeff, if you start bitchin’ at me about peeling potatoes again I’ll fuckin’ break your kn -- Oh.” 

He stops dead in his tracks, having expected the annoying prep cook, only to find Rowan in his place. There’s a half moment where he pauses, immediately regretting the outburst. Instead of a proper apology, Andy takes another drag of his cigarette to calm his once again frazzled nerves. Her presence was something he quietly welcomed -- Mostly shown by not immediately telling her to fuck off and find a different spot for a break --  but she made him nervous enough that he couldn’t come up with anything to say. At least the cigarette helped, buying him enough time to string together something coherent to say. “You wanna smoke?” Is the best he can come up with, holding up his pack of Marlboro’s. Thankfully the nightfall covers the heat climbing up his cheeks. 

WHERE & WHEN the safe house, after reina & rowan break the avengers out of prison

He remembers her. 

Or well, he thinks he might. It’s never really clear anymore, leaving him stuck in a far more confusing position than he ever anticipated being in. Andy’s never really sure what’s real or a dream or something Hydra brainwashed him into believing. Two years out, and he’s got a few things back (The other Avengers and the exhibit at the Smithsonian had been a decent help) -- Where he’s from, how he ‘died’, his family and his childhood, his fucking name. Nothing touches on the blonde woman that arrives with Reina, nothing explains the concerning way his heart starts thumping in his chest at the sight of her. At first, he’s half convinced he’s been poisoned or is having a heart attack. There’s nothing else after that, just a feeling. He watches her when she -- Rowan, Reina says, her sister (Since when does she have a sister?) -- isn’t looking while they take the jet to the safe house, Caine filling him on what he’s missed. There’s enough going on that no one else catches on -- Though he has a feeling Rowan probably knows. It’s like he’s underwater, reaching out for the surface but he can’t quite get to it -- She’s there, but just out of reach. It’s enough to make his chest tighten, catching himself keeping an eye on her the whole way to the safe house. Andy’s not sure if he’s trying to read her, or trying to make sure she’s okay -- Maybe it’s a mix of the two, maybe it’s neither. He hates that he can’t figure out much more than a feeling. 

The safe house is something Reina set up with a ‘friend’. He’s not sure where they are, but he thinks it may be somewhere in Irish countryside, based on the landscape. Andy doesn’t ask many questions, just goes to clean himself up -- They’d made it out without major injury, and he’ll be healed in a day or so, but he wants to assess the damage himself. Plus, it’s a reason to get away from Reina and Caine and Rowan. The latter, of course, somehow ends up in the room with him once he’s changed out of stupid blue outfit they wore on the raft, and into something less itchy. He doesn’t say anything at first, his eyes never leaving hers as he goes still, trying to assess the situation. A minor paranoia settles in, one he’s sure he’ll never be rid of -- But it’s interrupted by the desire to move closer to her, pull her in. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he speaks after they share a moment of silence. “I can leave if you want the room to yourself.” His tone is level, solid in comparison to how he’s feeling. 

when + where saint album release party + july 5th, 2020

Playing for a crowd while entirely sober was equally terrifying as it was exciting -- The adrenaline rush was different now, one that a line of coke couldn’t bring him. It was replaced by pride, the feeling of having accomplished something, of bearing his soul in an entirely different way.  Part of him thought he’d never be in this position again, another told him that he’d be boo’d off stage if he tried. It’s exhilarating, despite the fear that had come before -- And once he’s half way through Sweet Creature, he spots her. Blonde hair, just as beautiful as ever. She’s sitting at the bar, that shithead boyfriend of hers surely ordering them drinks. Tyler? Tyson. The name alone makes him grimace, the sight of him with his arm wrapped around her making his stomach churn -- Even if he has no right to be jealous. She’s got an expression on her face that he’s seen a thousand times before -- Anger mixed with sadness, he thinks. It’s strange to think that the last time he saw her was while he was in a hospital bed six months before. He wonders if he’s been on his mind just as often as she’s on his. There’s a part of him that wants to stop playing, to run off stage and pull her close -- Even though Andy knows damn well he’d be met with a palm to the cheek. There’s no question that he’d deserve it, too. Rowan Fisher is someone he and his therapist have gone in circles about, someone he knows he’s hurt in ways he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to make up for. 

There’s no question that he loves her, that he always will -- Saint is practically an homage to his love for her, and his own demons. Andy’s sure she’ll never feel the same, though. At least he got it all out in the open, rather than hiding in hotel rooms and leaving before the sun rises. He can barely catch his breath once he walks off stage, the adrenaline still rushing, cheeks flushed. There’s a flurry of people who congratulate him -- Chris, his manager, first. His Ma is right beside him, a proud look at her features, before she pulls him in for a hug. There’s an exec from the label after, a couple of people who feel more like strangers than friends -- And then, after it all, her. He hadn’t seen her get up, hadn’t seen her get past the security guard. (Andy’s sure she just had to give him an autograph and he’d cave) It’s a welcomed surprise, though he’s not naive enough to believe that she’s not going to have a monologue prepared. Especially not after that performance, all of the songs he wrote about her. She wouldn’t be Rowan if she didn’t have something to say. It’s one of the things he’s always loved about her, something he once ran from because of his own demons. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he greets, guitar strapped to his back still. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead, clearly still out of breath from the show he’d just put on. This wasn’t nearly as tiring when I was high, the thought passes by, a twinge in his stomach coming with it. “It’s --” He pauses, not really sure what he’s supposed to say in this situation. The last time Rowan saw him, he was at rock bottom -- And now? He’s someone new, someone sober. “I’m glad you came.” Andy settles with the lamest of greetings, a phrase you give when you’re making small talk and want someone to feel important. Only this time -- It’s the truth. Even if no one else had showed, if he saw her among the crowd, it’ll all be worth it. The words come out awkwardly, much to his dismay -- Like he’s a sheepish teenage boy, one who’s never spoken to a girl before. A hand rubs at the back of his neck, eyes glancing to the people around them, a wave of paranoia finding him for a moment before he returns to her. “It’s good to see you.” Another truth, something he can’t seem to hold back from her now, even in small doses. 

He felt like he had been sleepwalking all day. It was routine, each year since he was 20 years old: The Reaping, the train ride, the tribute parade. It's easy to stay busy during all of it -- But this year, rather than simply shuffle about and keep himself busy, all he can focus on his sister. It had been simpler, two years ago, knowing she was safe in District Two. Now she sat beside him, among the rest of the Victors. Even so, they've barely had a moment to speak to one another -- His attention has remained on her the entire day, silently wish he could read her mind. He remembered his first games -- There was an excitement that washed over him, given that Nico was his tribute and he had Thea by his side. But in the moments he'd found himself alone, no longer putting on a show, there was an ache in his chest that threatened to swallow him whole. He knew Shay was surely feeling the same sense of dread, haunted by thoughts of Ezra and the arena. He knows he is.

Only every time he tried to get to her, he'd end up shuffled away for some bullshit task. Unsurprisingly, it's not until they're all shuffled back to the training center apartments that's finally, finally able to get to her -- No longer having to watch his sister from afar, hoping she's not on the verge of losing her shit. Or worse, fully lost herself to grief like Thea has. Owen's almost afraid of the answer as he knocks quietly on her bedroom door, not bothering to wait for her to answer before sticking his head in. "Shay?" He calls out, brow arched as adds: "You uh -- decent?" Owen asks, attempting to diffuse his own anxieties.

While Cyrus doesn't care for most Victors -- He's become fond of District 11, namely Clementine. (Foster was too grumpy for his taste, always giving the side eye whenever Cyrus and Clementine made a comment about the President or the Games.) Maybe it's proximity, maybe it's the fact that they share the same vocal hatred for the Capitol. Given that they're always stationed next to one another, Clementine has become a friend since her win fifteen years ago. There seems to be a certain understanding between them, a connection that comes from being unlikely Victors from overlooked Districts. Attempting to make trumpet noises, Cyrus cups his mouth and puts on his best version of a Cesar-Flickerman-Announcer voice. "Ladies and gentleman, it's the One Leg Wonder from District 11!" He laughs at his own words, though Clementine may not find it as entertaining. "And the crowd goes wild!" He continues, followed by whisper-screams of a crowd, with plenty of 'oh my god''s and 'I can't believe it's added in the mix.

His greeting is the only thing that pulls any attention towards them -- Most prep teams and Escorts were busy fawning over Career districts and their tributes. "Happy Hunger Games, Thorne." He continues, his words dripping in sarcasm. "How's my favorite gimp holdin' up?" It's not the most kosher greeting, but he says it in the hopes of pissing her off. "Your tributes look fuckin' stupid, just like mine."

Being the Capitol felt like walking through a graveyard. The Games had held a certain horror to him, but it had been made into something far, far worse after being forced to mentor his own son just to watch him die in the arena. It's tainted everything further, leaving a new layer of fucked-up in it's wake. He's always hated the Capitol, hate the Games -- None of that is new. But being here after the loss he and Clementine are still reeling from, a wound everyone in this godforsaken place loves to reopen just so they can feel like they're being sympathetic? It's filled him with a new sense of a rage, one he hasn't felt since he was inside of the arena fighting for his life.

It's a relief, once they can get back to their apartment. Weight lifts off his shoulders with each passing floor on the elevator, though it's replaced by melancholy the second he walks in. No matter the mix of emotions he keeps choking on, now that they're no longer in front of an audience, he doesn't have to bite his tongue. “Are you out of your fucking mind, Clementine?" Foster wastes no time in questioning the woman in front of him, the second the door shuts behind him. She'll know exactly what he's referencing -- The loud commentary Clem had been making from the moment they stepped foot in the Capitol. Without Alba and their prep team, or the tributes in the same room, he felt as if he could let out the breath he was holding. This was between him and Clementine, no one else. He hates how often they fight now, how quickly things always seem to come back to this. The Rebellion.

Clem's vocalness about her hate for the Capitol has never been something Foster understood. He agreed with her, but didn't see the point in shouting it from the rooftops. Rebellion was a hopeful idea, one he liked in theory, but the last time Victors attempted something like it, it blew up in their faces. Both literally, and figuratively. The Capitol had already taken so much from them, he didn't want to lose anything else. Because the last thing he has is standing in front of him, practically drawing a target on her back every chance she gets. "Do you want to get yourself killed?" He questions her, unable to stop the emotion in his voice at the word. It comes with something unspoken: Haven't we suffered enough? "I’m starting to think you do.” 

when + where andy’s home, late september 2020

Andy’s spent the last three days agonizing over this dinner. He’d blurted out that he wanted to cook for her during a conversation about food they loved as kids, and it seemed to snow ball from there -- Now he was going to cook her home made Jambalaya, using the same recipe his Ma did when he was a kid. Since his father’s death, he’d been able to reconnect with Rhea, which had lead to her teaching him a few cooking tricks, along with her passing along a few of her favorite recipes. Andy had always been pretty good in the kitchen -- The cooks at the old diner he worked at with Sid would teach him a few tricks, and Chris was the type who preferred a home cooked meal to greasy take out. Now that he was sober and no longer spent his time wasted and wandering through his days, Andy had invested far more time into the Food Network than he realized, often spending his time trying to recreate different dishes from different shows. It had become cathartic for him, and now that he and Rowan were figuring things out -- Cooking for her was something was something that turned him into a mixture of nerves and excitement. 

They’d been back together for a while now, though they were taking it slow -- The way they should have before, if their lives weren’t made up of recording studios, contracts, and shooing away the paparazzi. He hadn’t done much dating in his lifetime, really. Thinking back on it, he can count on his hand the times he’d actually dated a girl before getting into a relationship. It was mostly casually hook ups and late night texts, then Bethany and every sour note she hit -- Then Rowan, who began with a written contract and was spent with years of him getting in his own way. It’s exciting, the rush of something new yet familiar, relearning one another in such a different way -- They kept things under wraps, the only person outside of him and Rowan that knew about their relationship was his therapist, who had signed enough NDAs that their secret was safe. With the secrecy of their relationship, they were odd free to do what they wanted -- There was no watchful eye of agents and managers, no paparazzi to navigate or pressure to be on the cover of some tabloid or dodge a headline entirely. All that was left was Andy and Rowan, and a fresh start he never thought he’d get. 

Andy had gone over the plan for the evening several times, even talked it through with said therapist as well. It was far too easy to get lost in his own thoughts, drown in doubts and second guesses -- His relationship with Rowan had never been better, but it was still something that felt new and fragile, and history shows he hadn’t been the most gentle. This was his second act, the chance to finally be with the person he loves and do things right -- Rather than fuck it up at every turn, like he’d done before. Even if it feels like a simple thing -- Dinner at his place, maybe a movie after or the two just spending the evening talking (the latter was something he found he loved more than anything, getting the chance to hear every and any thought or opinion that came to Rowan’s mind), and hopefully, it would end in her staying the night. It wasn’t some ploy to get her to sleep with him, but a show of how serious he was about them -- Andy had cleared a draw in his dresser, gotten her her own toothbrush (yellow, of course), picked up the body was he knew she liked. He wanted her to feel at home, to know that she had a space with him here, that he is all in. He loves her and wants her to be imbedded in every piece of his life.

The night had gone smoothly enough, the two spending their time laughing and eating, his nerves forgotten momentarily as they settled back into the new routine they began not too long ago. She helped him cook and he told her about how his Ma would make Jambalaya for Sunday dinner, they laughed and joked and talked until their plates were clean and it became obvious that they were looking for reasons to linger. They hadn’t spoken much about staying at one another’s places, other than casual comments in passing -- He didn’t want to pressure her into anything, to take their relationship at a pace she wanted. Andy was more than happy to take his time, for them to really find their footing in it all before taking more steps. It’s when it becomes obvious that they have to say something when they’ve cleaned up dinner and devoured the cake he’d gotten for dessert -- When they’ve retreated to his couch together, chatting away until they can’t fight yawning between sentences anymore. The idea of keeping this going, of pillow talk while curled up together in his bed is something that has chest tightening. It’s a night and day difference from who he used to be -- When they’d meet up in hotels and he’d end up leaving in the middle of night, too afraid of his own feelings to let himself stay. Now, all he wanted to do was wake up next to Rowan each morning, with her mussed hair and small snores filling the room -- It’s enough that he finds himself blurting out the words in the middle of her telling him some story from her last tour. “Stay the night.” The words come out as his hand is pushing a piece of hair out of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. Three words, however, pull him back to reality, nerves returning like punch to the chest. “If you want to -- It’s -- I don’t mind if you don’t, I just -- If you want to, I’d.. really like it.” He stumbles over his words, hating himself for potentially ruining a perfectly good moment. 

Rowan doesn’t acknowledge when he tells her she doesn’t have to apologize. She knows that she doesn’t -- her thoughts and feelings are justified after years of the games they’ve played with each other, but she still can’t help but feel bad that she’d chosen tonight of all nights to bring it all to the surface. It’s supposed to be a celebration for him and she hadn’t gone there with plans of starting something -- though she can’t deny a selfish, vindictive part of her had brought Tyson for no reason other than to try and prove she had moved on -- but it had all been so overwhelming she hadn’t been able to stop herself. The surprise in Andy’s voice has her stopping in her tracks, brows furrowing at his question. You love me? Her head tilts with confusion because she has no idea how he couldn’t have known. It only occurs to her then that she’s never actually told him before. “I -- Yeah. Of course I do. I thought you knew.” It had seemed so obvious to her all of those years, why else would she have kept coming back time after time? Why else would she have tried so hard? When Andy tells her he loves her too she doesn’t quite know how to react to it. She feels like she’s spent so many years wanting to hear him say these things to her, and now that he finally is… she can’t help but be on guard about it all. So she simply nods, her lips pursing together momentarily. “I thought you hated me.” The admission comes out quieter than she would like it to, having envisioned this conversation as something far more volatile in her head a million times but they seem to have moved past that phase and into something softer, something more vulnerable. “That was the only way I could make any of the last few years make sense. That I was just… Convenient.” Her stomach twists uncomfortably as she speaks, knowing that it may not be what Andy wants to hear but it’s what she needs to say.

--