Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You're doing it again."

Lena's perfectly manicured eyebrow ticks skyward as she smirks over her lunch menu. If Sam didn't know her so well -- the real Lena, the version without the boardroom mask and the clenched jaw, but the one with the easy, teasing smile and the twinkle in her eye-- she would be intimidated. But she knows Lena's just toying with her. Her chin juts forward as she angles it just-so, a subtle nudge to Sam's unconscious habit. 

Sam's thumb stops, caught red-handed -- or red thumbed, she supposes -- where it's been circling her left ring finger absently for the past several minutes. It's a nervous tic, one she doesn't even realize she's doing most of the time, but whenever she's distracted, or trying to concentrate, or in this case, in the process of selecting a perfectly acceptable lunch time wine, her thumb traces along the path of the phantom red string around her finger. It's weirdly comforting in the way Sam can almost feel it, like the ghost of an engagement ring that should be settled in place. Except as soon as she glances down, her finger is bare and missing something significant, her thumb endlessly searching.

"I'm not doing anything," Sam says, finally putting her hands down on the table as if in evidence. Your honor, I present exhibit A. "Stop staring and help me pick out a wine."

Lena remains unconvinced, clicking her tongue and staring at her just a second too long before her gaze drops. "This one," she says instead, temporarily abandoning the subject as she points to the menu. "Red blend. Light. You'll like it."

Sam appreciates the fact that Lena gives her a small pass, almost as much as she appreciates her wine taste. The waiter comes and they place their orders -- Sam only making one backhanded comment about Lena's kale salad -- and then there's nothing to distract from the one thing Sam really, really doesn't want to get into.

The red string of fate is a tale as old as time, and it isn't that Sam doesn't believe in it. She absolutely, wholeheartedly does. In fact, she probably believes in it more than a well-adjusted adult should. There's something pure and childlike about the magic contained in the string, and it's something she holds close to her chest. She loves the fact that somewhere out there is a person tailor-made for her, who will fill in all her gaps and corners, completing her fully. It's wild to think that at exactly the right moment, someone is going to walk into her life, look her in the eye, and say a name that will feel like coming home. She's read the stories, she knows how it goes. And she'd be lying if she said she hasn't imagined every detail about her soulmate, or spent hours picturing how it's going to happen when it does: what she'll be wearing, what her soulmate will be wearing, their first words to each other. Hopefully they'll be at a park (' lovely day, isn't it?') , or caught in the rain (Sam prepared with an umbrella and a friendly smile) , or maybe they'll be seated next to each other on a transcontinental flight with hours to get to know each other ('come here often?') . She's got at least 50 more scenarios like these all mapped out in her mind that would be incredible, and the same amount of flirtatiously charming opening lines for every occasion. 

So yeah, it's safe to say she believes in it.

But she isn't desperate. She knows the rules. Her life is a certain way right now, because it has to be, and it's incredible to think that there's someone out there who might change the entire trajectory by simply appearing in front of her. But as much as she longs for it, as much as she wishes she wasn't alone -- she's also patient. It will happen when it's meant to happen and not a moment too soon. Fortunately, in the meantime, her life is good. Great, even. She's got a fantastic job, an amazing best friend who is also her boss (which could be a nightmare, but instead, is a blessing, and Lena gives her a pretty sick paycheck on top of it), and the best kid on the planet. She's happy most days and not incomplete by any stretch of the imagination.

She's just... aware, is all. So if she unconsciously traces the string around her left ring finger and thinks about what color eyes her soulmate has, well, that's her own business. She doesn't want to jinx it by talking about it.

"Aren't you even a little curious?" Lena tries, and Sam rolls her eyes.

"I mean, of course I am, but it'll happen when it's supposed to happen. You can't rush fate." Sam takes a long sip of water, searching fruitlessly for their wine. It's only been about five seconds since the waiter left, but she tries anyway. She turns her attention back to the table. "You know, ever since you found your soulmate, you've become insufferable."

Lena grins, glancing down at her own finger. It's a curious thing, not being able to see other people's strings. Sam isn't sure if it's better or worse that way, but she doesn't plan to mess with the universe or whatever by asking dumb questions. It's the way it works, and she easily accepts it.

Lena gets that dreamy, faraway look in her eyes that she always gets when she thinks about Kara, and she sighs. "I just want everyone to feel it," she says softly, and Sam might not know what "it" is yet, but she feels the gravity of Lena's emotion. She loves that Lena has her person now, because out of everyone, she deserves it the most. "I never thought it would be possible for me."

"Of course it's possible for you, you giant nerd. I always told you it would happen."

"I just really want it for you, too," she says earnestly. "I don't mean to pry."

"You're not prying," Sam argues, but Lena tilts her head with a knowing smile. "Okay, yeah, you're definitely prying. But I know it's going to happen, okay? You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine, I promise."

"And you will tell me as soon as it does?"

"Of course I will, you'll be the second to know."

Lena's eyebrows furrow in confusion and Sam chuckles. "Well the first to know will be whoever she is, obviously."

"Obviously," Lena replies, her smile returning. 

There was a time when Sam was sure there had to be a mistake in the universe. The fact that her string didn't tether to Lena's seemed like some kind of colossal miscalculation. They are rather perfect on paper: Sam's even-keeled where Lena is more volatile, more financially savvy where Lena has unrivaled engineering genius and the penchant for skipping over tedious things like expense reports. They balance each other in just about every category, and Lena is the only person in the galaxy that Sam completely trusts with her daughter. But, fate, as it turns out, had other plans, and once Sam met Kara, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that things were exactly the way they needed to be.

So her feelings are strictly platonic for Lena now, but sometimes she can't help but wonder if there might be something wrong with her for her soulmate's arrival to take this long.

The wine finally comes, a blessing, and Lena lets the soulmate conversation go, another blessing. As they settle in, she leans forward with a more neutral expression. Her serious and very inscrutable Boss Face. Sam tries to mirror it.

"So the gala," Lena says, swirling the wine in her glass. "I think we're almost all wrapped up with preparations, right?"

Sam nods. "Donors have all sent their RSVPs, the auction is finalized, and the gift bags are incredible, if I do say so myself." The only real fun part about putting the annual L-Corp gala together is seeing how many expensive designer items she can wrangle into swag bags. She can't afford half of the things they give away, but if there's an extra bag at the end of the night, well then, call it a job perk. "Caterers are on lock. And yes--" she continues, as Lena is about to interrupt, "--they have those potstickers that Kara likes. I ordered double the amount as last year. Her appetite really is incredible."

Lena beams. "Then that only leaves the guest list."

"All squared away," Sam says. She picks up her phone to show the list, but as she does, an e-mail comes to her attention. Frowning, she turns it to Lena. "What's this?"

"That," Lena says, wincing slightly, "is why we're having lunch". She fills Sam's already full glass with more wine. Smart, Sam thinks. Also, troubling. "I had to invite her."

"You 'had' to invite Andrea Rojas to your charity gala?" Sam uses her fingers as mock quotations as she stares at Lena. She's a little dumbfounded by this admission. Considering Lena owns a good part of the free world, she doesn't "have" to do anything. 

"I did. She's an old friend, and after the CatCo sale, she brings a ton of clout. I need the coverage from them, and the stakeholders from Obsidian certainly won't hurt. If I leave her out, it will be more drama than it's worth." Lena's voice is painfully calm and even, the one she uses when she's smoothing over a deal. Sam knows she's right, but she still scowls into her drink. "It's one night. You can play nice for one night."

"Why? You know she won't."

Sam sits back in her chair with a huff. She's pouting, and she's about five seconds from a full on meltdown, exactly like her daughter, with arms crossed and jaw clenched and eyes on the verge of a roll, but she keeps it professional. Lena studies her like she's a ticking bomb about to explode, but Sam simply squares her shoulders and tries to pretend everything is fine.

It is not, however, fine. 

Sam can get along with most people. She's charming and well-versed in enough topics to make conversation flow easily, and she knows her way around all the important places: a liquor cabinet, a cigar store and a golf course. She's done enough schmoozing in the finance and technology world for all of those skills to be put to good use ten times over. Rubbing elbows with some of the world's worst people is what she does, often, and she's pretty fucking good at it, thank you very much. But Andrea Rojas is different . She's what Sam imagines you'd get if you combined Miranda Priestly with Lena's mother, Lillian, and none of that is meant in a flattering way. She's petty, and arrogant, and downright mean , and Sam has no idea what Lena saw in her in the first place. She also can't fathom how they managed to date for so long. But as Lena puts it, they were young and impressionable and far from home, and Andrea is not what she seems. Sam doesn't know about all that, but she knows she can't stand the thought of having to share space with her. Even if, as Lena says, it's only for a night.

"You literally haven't even met her yet," Lena reminds her, and Sam snorts. She doesn't care if it's undignified.

"In person, no, but I've had the pleasure of her company over the phone and let me tell you, that attitude--" Sam covers her mouth like she's going to be sick. "I still have heartburn."

"She's-- colorful."

"She's awful ," Sam says. "She almost made me cry!" Lena's eyes widen at that, and Sam remembers to keep her composure. "I mean, you know, she would have, if I were sensitive."

"You are sensitive."

"It was like, a sniffle," Sam says, backtracking. But Lena is already frowning, suddenly concerned, her eyes darting sideways like she's about to compose a very sharply worded e-mail. "I'm fine."

The truth is, she's not fine. She still remembers the cutting way Andrea interrupted her presentation, the one she didn't even want to make in the first place. It was a favor to Lena before the CatCo deal went through, where Sam came in as the liaison for some of the logistics before Andrea would take over. Instead of being grateful for the intel, Andrea told her (on the line with both boards of directors) to 'please, Ms. Arias, tell someone who cares' and then proceeded to steamroll her for the duration of the conference call.

"She doesn't mean it. And, for what it’s worth, I'm sorry on her behalf." Lena holds up her hand and stops a very well-timed, well-planned tirade. Sam bites her lip instead. "I'm also sorry for all the times I've spent cursing her name, or talking badly about her. She's my oldest friend, and we have a very complicated relationship history. I don't mean to muddy the waters. You know I can be..."

"--Dramatic."

"I can embellish," Lena offers, glaring. "But don't let my experience sway you. She's not all bad, I promise. Especially outside of work. She's just very guarded and she's been through a lot. I will, however, have a word with her on toning it down."

Guarded is one way to put it, a huge bitch is another. Sam will never understand why Lena refuses to call a spade a spade, why she spends hours trying to defend this woman, but it's useless to try to understand. Complicated relationship histories are not something Sam wants to get mixed up in. And now, with Lena asking Andrea to tone down the attitude, Sam is sure it will only make things more awkward. So that's something fun to look forward to. She doesn't trust Andrea's reaction to that sort of meddling and she makes a mental note to ask HR about L-Corp's life insurance policy. She plasters on a fake smile as she nods along with Lena's rambling.

"--and anyway, she's all bark and no bite. I know she might hurt feelings, but that's as far as it will go."

"Lena, I don't care what you say. Anyone that hot with that much money is absolutely trouble," Sam says without thinking. She quickly realizes who she's talking to and mumbles, "No offense."

"Uh, some offense taken, but okay," Lena grins. "So you think she's hot, hm?"

"Her face is plastered all over downtown, and I have eyes," Sam says, a weird rage swirling in her gut. It's an unfortunate and objective fact that Andrea Rojas is attractive. She's got glacier-blue eyes, and lips so full and soft-looking that they make memory foam pillows seem like concrete. "But she's not my type. She's way too high maintenance."

This is also a fact. Both things can be true, Sam discovers. A woman can be ten kinds of sexy and ten kinds of wrong for you, and it's all very annoying . Lena nods knowingly, as if Sam has spoken this last bit out loud.

"I get it. And listen, you don't even have to spend time with her at the gala, I promise. Just fill in for me while I'm dealing with the stakeholders. Shake her hand, find her table and move along. I'm not asking you to date her."

Sam almost spits out her wine. "Yeah, you don't pay me enough to date her," she manages to say, clearing her throat. Lena raises her eyebrows like she isn't convinced and Sam wants to smack her. 

"Maybe you're due for a raise."

"Not funny. You're paying for lunch too, by the way."

"Fair enough."

It's a few days later when Lena finally gets Andrea on the phone to discuss logistics for the gala. She's trying to do her a courtesy, but true to form, Andrea makes her work for it.

"--and you'll meet Sam, my CFO," Lena finishes quickly. They're nearing the end of their conversation and she hasn't exactly broached the Sam subject yet. Secretly, she's been dreading it. Mostly for selfish reasons -- things with Andrea are finally semi-stable, and bringing Sam into it is sure to rock the boat. It's a whole stupidly precarious situation, one she doesn't even entirely understand. Sure, Andrea can be abrasive , even on the best of days, but Lena knows there's something else going on. Andrea gets particularly thorny where it involves Sam. It's probably some weird jealousy thing, she guesses. It's not as if Andrea has explained everything to her. They haven't spent hours gossiping about feelings while braiding each other's hair and watching MTV, so Lena has only gleaned so much about the situation from random context clues. Namely, Sam's face every time Andrea is so much as mentioned, or Andrea's sarcastic comments whenever Sam comes up. 

So now Lena finds herself in the enviable position of refereeing between her best friend and her ex-girlfriend, and it's all very professional and not a migraine waiting to happen at all . She really doesn't want to have to slap Andrea's hand for her aggressive style, but she will if she has to.

She owes Sam that much. 

"Another promotion," Andrea clicks her tongue. "Your charity knows no bounds."

"Andy!"

"What?"

"She's overqualified for the job actually," Lena tells her, which is a fact. Sam is brilliant and the furthest thing from a charity case, even if she happens to be Lena's friend. "I'm lucky to have her."

"You were always soft for a friend in need."

Andrea's pen taps idly against her desk, a nervous habit that comes out whenever she's feeling particularly defensive. She watches the way the red string on her finger moves rapidly in tandem with her movements and she wonders briefly if her soulmate knows she's stressed. She pauses, trying to focus. Something about Sam Arias seems to just light her up inside, and not in a good way. She knows Lena can tell, but she doesn't feel like explaining. It's not even worth her breath. She simply doesn't like the other woman, and doesn't want to have to pretend to be nice to her for an evening. Or ever. 

The fact that Sam has everything Andrea wants, and doesn't seem to realize how lucky she is, is only a small piece of what bothers her. The rest she could probably write a thesis on. But again, not worth her time.

"You need to be civil to her," Lena says, her tone turning serious. It's the voice she uses when she thinks she's being bossy. Andrea almost laughs. It's like they're playing dress up. Lena may be a CEO now, but Andrea knows what she looks like as a 16 year old after her first big party, wasted on too much peach schnapps and jungle juice, so she doesn't really feel the need to take orders from her.

"I will be a perfect angel, but she's just...irritating. Like, come on, Lena. No one is that happy all the time, right?"

Lena's mind shifts to Kara, and her many nuances and layers, and how despite everything she's been through, she still chooses to project optimism. Sam is very much the same. She hasn't been dealt the easiest hand, and she still finds ways to stay gentle and untarnished. 

"She's not."

"So she's a fraud."

"You're impossible. Just be nice, alright? You don't have to be soulmates. You don't even have to be friends. But you won't make a scene at this event, are we clear?"

"Soulmates, as IF," Andrea practically spits. The idea is so repulsive she can feel it lingering on her tongue like something rotten. "Ugh, don't even say that, Lena."

There's a pause before both of them start laughing. It's so ridiculous that neither can even contain it. 

"Imagine! Oh God, what a cosmic joke," Andrea says between gasps of laughter.

Lena's laugh quiets to a chuckle as she agrees. "I don't even know why I said that, but you're right, what a disaster that would be."

"A disaster is an understatement."

"See? This party is already easier than you thought."

Andrea looks at her hand again and tilts her head, thinking about what she would do if she found out her soulmate was someone she absolutely hated. Would she pretend it never happened? Could she pretend it never happened?

But that's not how these things work. A soulmate is someone sacred. They're someone permanent and valuable and hers . It's not something she'll readily admit out loud, but the prospect of having someone out there made for her is addicting . It's the only thing she clings to when everything feels overwhelming and impossible. She thinks about it quite often, actually, but if anyone asks, she'll deny it. She doesn't need the world knowing she spends her nights sipping wine and wondering who the universe has created to keep up with her. She doesn't need the world knowing she hopes her soulmate has deep, chestnut eyes she can get lost in, and an easy smile that will feel like home.

(And on nights when she's feeling particularly awful, she doesn't need the world to know she wonders if she even has one, or if her string simply dangles, empty on the other side. It's a vulnerability she wishes didn't exist, but it's there inside of her, deep and dark and infinite, cascading endlessly, like the red string itself. Everyone who has to deal with her at the office might think she's made of stone, but when the sun goes down and there's no one by her side, she catches herself thinking maybe this space inside her will never be filled and it scares her more than anything. But no one needs to know any of this.)

"Thank you for making the time to come to this thing, it really means a lot," Lena says on the line, and Andrea remembers she's still very much in the middle of a conversation. Lena is patient and walking on eggshells to keep their relationship on solid ground, but Andrea is just happy to be included.

"I wouldn't miss it," she replies, and for once, she's being honest. "I know I haven't been there in the past, but I'm glad I can help now."

"Me too."

"Lena--" Andrea falters. She glances at her hand once more, studying the way it shines, bright and everlasting. "We may not have the string, but you're still one of the most important people in my life," she says. "For what it's worth."

Lena inhales sharply. This is what's so hard to put into words about Andrea. She'll hit you between the eyes with sass, and just as quickly, touch your heart the way no one else can. It's an exercise in balance, but Lena has plenty of practice taking it in stride.

"You're getting soft on me," she teases and Andrea chuckles, almost in relief. Lena wants to say more, but keeping it light is the only way Andrea will stay. If Lena leans into it too much, she'll shut down for good. "I'll see you on Saturday."

"See you Saturday."

Sam smooths the lines of her black suit jacket as she stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The hotel they've chosen for the fundraiser is one of those where the bathroom is so intense, it's got a full lounge area and more make up and hair products than a high-end salon. The couch itself takes up more square footage than Sam's entire house, probably, and there's an actual attendant handing out breath mints as guests depart. She should be used to all this, but some displays of wealth will never cease to amaze her. Sam would be perfectly comfortable sleeping in a room like this, so she can only imagine what the actual suites must look like. Do they have champagne coming out of the tap? She wouldn't put it past Lena.

With a final check, and a tug on her tie, she nods to herself. She can do this. And, if she's being honest, she looks stellar. She's glad she took the time to get the suit tailored, because it fits like a glove. And she knows Andrea will notice. Which is not something she really wants , per se, but someone that judgemental needs to know Sam Arias isn't an easy target. She's not going to be pushed around so easily this time. 

It might be one night, but she's not going to let Andrea Rojas ruin it.

She finds Lena by the entrance to the ballroom, whispering quickly into the ear of a wide-eyed, nervous assistant. Her hair is pulled back loosely, clipped in an elegant style that is quintessential Lena. Her shoulders immediately relax when she spots Sam.

"There you are!" she says, dismissing the poor employee she was rambling a million instructions at, only half of which were clear enough to follow. "Is everything okay?"

"All good," Sam says. She almost means it. She glances nervously over Lena's shoulder. Not for anyone in particular. Just...looking. "Ready to get this show on the road." 

"Great. I'm off to go--" Lena gestures vaguely. Her eyes flutter and Sam knows her brain is working 100 miles an hour. But just as quickly, she turns to Sam and takes her hands in her own. "I know I owe you for tonight. I promise, whatever you want, it's yours."

"Careful, because I will take you up on that." Lena rolls her eyes and then gives her a final, questioning glance. Sam grins before she lets their hands drop. "I'm fine , go, go! I'll catch up with you later."

Lena nods and hurries away to dazzle the masses. Sam is grateful that she doesn't have that pressure on her shoulders tonight. She really only has one thing to worry about, and as soon as that's done, she's in the clear. She may even get to enjoy herself, imagine that. She no sooner flags down a waitress and grabs a flute of champagne before the door opens and everything comes to a screeching halt.

Andrea Rojas steps into the ballroom like she owns the place, her lips angled up into her trademark smirk and everything in Sam's core ignites . She can't even explain her body's absurd reaction, but she's filled with a strange kind of boiling anger that she doesn't know what to do with. She works the muscles of her jaw before taking another long sip of her drink. 

She watches as Andrea Rojas saunters , slowly and deliberately, casting a shadow over the space like a biblical plague. She has no business looking like that : smug, expensive, her hair shiny and perfect, and her dress-- her dress . What the fuck? Sam squints, trying to take it all in, but all she gets is that the dress is above her pay grade and leaves nothing to the imagination. It's a deep red number with a plunging V-line that showcases the elegant sharpness of Andrea's collarbones. She steps forward, and the long slit Sam didn't realize was there reveals the well-toned muscles of her left leg.

Christ.

Sam turns her back, suddenly aware that her heart is pounding out of her chest. Mostly from nerves, because she knows she has to deal with the actual devil in red, but also from...some overwhelming attraction that makes her want to die. She inhales sharply and swears under her breath to get a grip. Her palms are uncharacteristically clammy, which is a fucking travesty, and she wipes them slowly on her pants. She knew Andrea was hot, but in person it's otherworldly, and Sam is tragically, wholly, unprepared. She wants to find Lena and point it out, because hey, quick question, why didn't you tell me Andrea really looked like this? But it's all for naught. This is happening, whether Sam likes it or not. When she finally composes herself, she notices Andrea slowly making her way over.

"Sam Arias," Andrea says as she approaches, her accent lingering on the 'r' a little too long. Her voice is different in person, too. Softer and more melodic, and downright pleasant. It makes Sam's knees buckle. "I thought that was you."

"Andrea Rojas," Sam says, her own voice annoyingly tentative. She clears her throat and extends her hand.

And that's when it happens. 

The fucking red string, bold and bright and practically screaming, forgotten temporarily until this second, is suddenly dangling loosely between them. Sam's right hand drops mid-introduction, as her left hand seems to drift up of its own accord. Andrea silently mimics the movement, her own left hand drawing closer and closer until their fingers are practically touching. As their hands come together, Sam watches the way her string's counterpart mirrors her movements, a small 'U' completing the short journey from her ring finger to Andrea's. 

"It's...you?" Sam questions, staring again in disbelief at their hands which are hovering only a centimeter apart, fingertips shaking. She's so shocked by this turn of events she can't even process what's happening, all her carefully crafted opening lines immediately vanishing without a trace. But there's a current passing between them that maybe she's making up, or maybe is actually there, because  -- holy shit, my string's other half is right in front of me and I'm totally blowing it.

Startled, she looks up and meets Andrea's gaze. Her eyes are steel and ice, her entire body frigid as she tilts her head in curious contention. She stares at Sam like she's done something particularly offensive, and with a sharp scoff she drops her hand and deadpans, "Oh fuck no."

Several people in their vicinity turn toward them, with questioning glances as they sip their drinks. Andrea's little outburst is enough for Sam to gather her wits and realize she needs to get them away from prying eyes immediately. She pulls Andrea after her and she must still be rattled, because for once, she doesn't argue. 

Sam leads them away from the ballroom and around the corner into the mostly empty hallway.

"How dare--" Andrea starts, biting her tongue as a group of people appear out of nowhere and walk past them. Sam waves at them sheepishly before angling herself so she's practically shielding Andrea from onlookers. To anyone else, it would seem she's leaning against the wall by herself. Instead, her hand brackets against the wall next to Andrea's face as she hovers over her.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Andrea finally erupts, her voice loud and booming. It's so abrupt that Sam almost falls on her face before she can steady herself. 

Sam's left hand returns to its stable position, flat against the wall, a few inches from Andrea's annoyingly gorgeous face. Her fingers flex involuntarily, as if she's going to do something stupid, like caress her cheek just to feel the inviting softness of her skin. And then there's the string, mocking her, happily glowing around her finger, leading to Andrea's clenched fist. 

A perfect fucking match. 

"This isn't really a picnic for me either," Sam hisses, her stomach sour. She can't believe that this is happening, but what's worse, she can't believe how angry Andrea is about it. She's the one who should be pissed off, not Andrea. She's been nothing but cordial in their interactions. Overly so. And even if she bitched and moaned to Lena, that's just between them. She hasn't made Andrea cry . 

But here's Andrea, with the fucking audacity to be livid. Sam lets Andrea's gaze rake over her, a sharp, jagged thing with razor edges, her expression pulling down into a dangerous scowl.

"The universe sure has a sense of humor," Andrea finally says, but her voice is heavier than before. Sam rolls her eyes.

"More than I can say for you."

"We are not telling anyone about this."

"Oh, that much we agree on," Sam immediately fires back. "I am NOT about to scream this from the rooftops."

Andrea crosses her arms, her eyebrow jutting skyward. Sam wonders briefly if she learned that from Lena. "No one would believe you anyway."

She points between them, as if to indicate the difference in their appearance, their status, and how ridiculous it would be to see them together. Sam seethes. The only thought she keeps coming back to: the absolute fucking audacity --

"You're really a peach, did you know that?"

Andrea sneers at that, and watches the way Sam's throat bobbles as she swallows. She's a fucking evergreen tree of a human being, with branches for limbs and the lanky sway of a summer breeze. Andrea doesn't think she's ever hated anyone more, until she inhales and smells the alluring fragrance of Tom Ford black orchid. Sam pulls her hand back and straightens, adjusting the obnoxious silver timepiece on her wrist and Andrea realizes she's wearing a James Bond suit that should not rev her engine.

If she could rip the night apart with her bare hands, she absolutely fucking would. This entire situation is garbage.

"Listen, I mean, it doesn't have to be romantic, right?" Sam is saying now, the hint of a smile behind her eyes. How she could even spin this in a positive direction is beyond Andrea, but then again, she's apparently Ms. Sunshine. "Soulmates are not inherently romantic. They're meaningful, significant. You're going to have some sort of great impact on my life. Maybe you already have. Maybe we're done."

Andrea pauses, considering. She didn't expect a well thought out point, and it catches her off guard. After a beat, she nods. "Well it's good to know you have some semblance of a brain."

Sam's nose crinkles, and it shouldn't be endearing, but that's just Andrea's luck. "Thanks, I think."

"I need a fucking drink."

"Maybe it's work related," Sam continues to ponder, her eyes lighting up. They're chestnut brown and endless, and Andrea wonders why the universe hates her. "Maybe you're going to sell me shares in your company. Oh! Better yet," Sam grins, "Maybe you'll sell me all of it."

"Not a chance in hell, Arias, and if you keep talking--"

"There you two are!"

They jump apart so abruptly that Sam imagines they look like actual cartoon characters, but if Lena notices, she doesn't say anything. She simply walks over to them in a hurry, eyeing them with faint curiosity. "What are you doing over here?"

Sam finds herself unable to speak, her mouth hanging open like a guppy as she glances from Lena to Andrea and back. Andrea stares at her, and then, exasperated, rolls her eyes and turns to Lena.

"Ms. Arias was showing me to the bar, but apparently, she wanted to take the scenic route."

Lena glances in Sam's direction with a tender apologetic look and Sam lowers her gaze angrily to the ground. She doesn't want Lena's pity, particularly when she doesn't even know the half of it. She studies her reflection in the stunningly waxed wood.

"Why don't I take over from here?" Lena suggests lightly. She reaches for Andrea's arm and loops hers through it. "The guy from Lord Tech is here, and I think you'll want to speak with him."

"Great," Andrea says, placing her hand over Lena's forearm with particular emphasis. The red string on her finger shimmers brightly, only visible to Sam's passing glance. "Ms. Arias."

Sam swallows. Fucking hell. "Ms. Rojas," she says with a wave that causes the string to shimmer between them. She hopes it’s condescending. Andrea's mouth turns down into a brief scowl before she turns her attention to Lena. Sam watches the way Andrea literally sashays away, laughing audibly at something Lena is saying, like this hasn't been the worst fucking moment of her life.

They turn the corner and Sam's legs finally give out, folding like an accordion as she slides down the wall to the ground. She hugs her knees to her chest and tries to breathe. 

How could the universe betray her this dramatically? The one thing she's been waiting for, yearning for, has finally been handed to her and it turns out to be a grenade-- with Andrea Rojas releasing the safety. All Sam can do is hold the bomb in her hand and watch the seconds tick away.

Across the ballroom, after making agonizing small talk with the schmuck from Lord Tech, Andrea flags down a waiter and demands a heavy pour of Glenlivet. The liquor burns down her throat and turns her insides to ash, exactly like Sam Arias has done to everything she's ever hoped for. She swallows with a grimace and promises to get black-out drunk, enough to forget the shining red string permanently attached to the impossible woman in the hallway.

Sam lasts 3 weeks, 2 days and about 3 1/2 hours before she finally caves and reaches out to Andrea. To be fair, it's half about work, and half to spare her sanity, and not because of anything personal. That's a very important distinction. Although, if anyone knew what she'd been dealing with for the past 3 weeks, she'd like to think they'd be impressed by her restraint and her ability to remain calm and focused at work while her entire life has gone up in flames.

She still can't believe Andrea Rojas is her soulmate. She hasn't been able to say the words out loud, but just thinking it is enough to get her blood boiling. The initial shock has (almost) worn off, which is progress, but it's been replaced by the impossibly suffocating shadow of grief. It rests heavily on her shoulders, a shroud of mourning she's forced to wear in private, ugly and loaded and unfair. It's strange, to feel such a profound loss, for something that was never fully hers. But there's no way Andrea will ever come around to look at her in a way that matters . So she's lamenting the soulmate she always wanted and never got to have, knowing instead she will always be a thorn in Andrea's side and her soulmate will always be... unattainable.

She flexes her fingers, and watches the string, the very one that is anchored to Andrea's own. It shouldn't be possible to be attached to someone and feel that they're out of reach, and yet. 

And yet.

Sam reaches for her phone and does what she's been doing every night for the past few weeks. She pulls up Andrea's number, types a message, and erases it. Then she takes a sip of wine, types again, and erases. Lather, rinse, repeat. But tonight, she feels a little daring. Tonight, she has a legitimate question, a legitimate reason to make contact. So she clenches her jaw, types a reasonable question, and waits. 

Sam: will you be at the women in tech conference next week?

Sam: its sam btw

The typing bubble starts, then stops, then resumes. The little hesitation is like a glimpse into her humanity, and Sam almost smiles. 

Andrea: Obsidian is the sponsor.

Sam: soooo is that a yes?

Andrea: I'm not sure why you're asking.

Sam: forget it

Sam: you haven't told anyone about...us, right?

Andrea: I'm going to pretend I didn't read that.

Sam groans. So far, this is going about as well as she should have expected. She doesn't know why Andrea has to be so... stiff, but it's probably to make a very complicated point. They certainly aren't friends, so it's not like she's going to start replying to random text messages in emojis and gifs. Sam's phone vibrates again.

Andrea: Have you?

Sam: of course not

The typing bubble appears briefly before disappearing for good. Sam throws her phone across the couch and goes to refill her wine. 

Andrea's fingers clench around her phone, switching over to another app and ignoring the rest of this brutal text message conversation. She knew Sam would break first, but she didn't know how she'd feel -- so positively explosive -- when she did. She casually strokes the screen, pretending she couldn't care less, slowly scrolling down Instagram and barely seeing anything in front of her. She has half a mind to get the cursed application shut down, or at least suspended, for all the time it's causing her to waste. She's developed a new habit and has become a permanent resident on Sam Arias' personal feed, which she keeps public for some annoying reason. There are so many pictures, and Andrea is about several years deep in history, studying the golden streaks in Sam's hair and committing to memory the way the sunlight casts shadows at just the right angle to bring out her immaculate cheek bones. She swallows heavily as she stares at outlines of sculpted muscles from workout sessions, the bright white of Sam's hundred watt smile at the beach...

There are at least a million things she wants to say to one Ms. Sam Arias. Half the time, she composes deadly insults and witty barbs as she's falling asleep, losing the edge once she wakes up in the morning and deleting the unsent messages from her phone. Thank God for composure. The one lesson she managed to hold on to from her father as she was getting a handle on the family business: never send an emotional e-mail . She has a lot of faults, but keeping her emotions in a lockbox is not one of them. But Lord, if this situation isn't trying her. At her most smug, she wants to tell Sam that they will never happen, that she should be so lucky, that when it comes to the laws of fate, Andrea Rojas does not believe in playing by the rules.

But at her lowest, her weakest, sometimes she will turn over on her side in the middle of the night and reach for her phone, the temptation to ask ' What are we going to do?' almost too great for her to resist. She never hits send, but she can't help but wonder what the answer is.

She flips back to her texts and types curtly, calmly:

Andrea: I get to Vancouver on Thursday afternoon.

She doesn't know why she sends it, but in her defense, they're going to be forced to spend time together next weekend anyway, so she might as well get ahead of it as best as she can. There will be no repeats of the L-Corp fundraising gala, no more fucking surprises . 

Sam: we can get a drink if you want

Something about the lightness of it, the innocent sincerity, makes Andrea pause. She actually wants to laugh. The idea of them sharing secrets over drinks, the red string dangling between them like a welcome guest, as if it's all charming and normal is comical . There's no scenario where this will end well. Sam Arias is going to ruin her life, and Andrea doesn't know why she finds the idea hysterical but she does.

The message stays unanswered as the rest of the week flies by. It isn't until Andrea is boarding a flight on Thursday morning that she realizes she has no idea what this weekend will bring.

Sam glances at her phone, frowning, pretending to check her e-mail but really just trying to look like she's wrapped up in something important as she walks into the lounge. The people in charge of the convention are putting on a welcome cocktail hour, and while she isn't particularly in the mood to mingle, she's starving, and isn't typically one to pass up free booze. As she gets her drink and an hors d'oeuvre she can't quite identify -- is that crab? -- she notices Andrea sitting at a table by herself. 

Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, the scar Sam has wondered about on several occasions slightly visible between her eyes as she types rapidly into her phone. She's in a simple black dress, sleeveless, the neckline plunging dangerously low, which seems to be somewhat of a trademark. Sam wonders if she does it on purpose, knowing the power it wields. 

It's a bad idea. It's a stupid idea. There couldn't be a worse idea in the history of ideas and yet--

"Hey Andrea," Sam says softly as she approaches. "Can I sit?"

Andrea's nostrils flare as she scrutinizes her. She cocks her head.

"Why?"

"Well, we should probably get to know each other a little bit, don't you think?"

The words escape her mouth before she even knows what's happening and Andrea's eyes widen, startled. She recovers swiftly, which Sam finds almost impressive. Suddenly unfazed, Andrea glances up at her with blade-like intensity.

"We're tethered together for eternity, so if it's all the same to you, there's going to be plenty of time for getting-to-know-you's," she says, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers in Sam's direction. The string cheerfully waves back. "I'd like to enjoy what little freedom I have left."

"Fine," Sam says. She's already turning on her heel, anxious to put as much distance as possible between them. "Enjoy your night."

Andrea watches Sam's cheeks flush crimson as she turns away, walking easily and confidently over to someone Andrea doesn't recognize. She smiles and greets the stranger with radiant warmth, and a red hot flame of anger starts to burn in Andrea's chest. She isn't jealous , but it feels strangely similar. Sam rakes her un-manicured fingers through her wavy hair as she talks, gesturing her arms with graceful movements that pull the fabric of her shirt tightly across her back, enough to show the elegant, toned lines of her scapula. Andrea hates that she can't ignore it, can't look away. Sam is just so loud -- not with her words, but with everything else, and Andrea is ready to explode.

When she's sufficiently tortured and her drink is empty, Andrea walks over to where Sam is checking her phone. She gruffly hands her a drink.

"Don't read too much into it."

Sam's eyebrows raise in surprise, but she takes the drink with a cautious smile. It's a refill of the gin she was already drinking, which means Andrea noticed. Her stomach inexplicably flutters.

"Wasn't gonna."

Andrea tilts her head in the direction of her table, a silent question, and Sam knows better than to dilly-dally. She follows Andrea's lead.

They sit in tense, heavy silence for a few minutes, each one sipping their drink and avoiding eye contact. Sam notices the way Andrea taps her foot rapidly, like she's nervous, and for some reason, it brings her a sense of calm. She's got Andrea Rojas feeling uncomfortable, and that's probably to her advantage.

"Ask me something," Sam suggests, placing her glass down on the leather coaster in front of her. 

"Why? I already know everything I need to know about you," comes Andrea's haughty reply. Sam doesn't know what to make of that, but before she can answer, Andrea sighs audibly.

"You've worked at some sort of job since you were 14, you went to a state school, you have a degree in something finance related, you probably already paid off your student loans because you're a rule follower, you live in the suburbs and you drive an SUV," Andrea recites, like she's reading off an itemized list. "Am I warm?"

"That's oddly specific."

"You can't cook without specific instructions and you have terrible taste in music."

"I think that depends on who you ask--"

"That wasn't a question."

"Well this is fun," Sam says, leaning back in her chair. Her face feels like it's on fire, and it isn't because she's embarrassed, but fuck . Is she that easy to read? Is she that... Boring? Is that all there is to her -- a few facts about her past and some less-than-desirable traits? She doesn't know how Andrea knows all those details -- the bad taste in music notwithstanding -- but she's a little too nervous to ask. 

Andrea ignores her as she swirls her glass, clinking the ice loudly. She's searching the lounge, head on a swivel, and Sam is sure if she finds someone less painful to talk to, she'll excuse herself faster than Sam can exhale.

"I have a daughter," Sam blurts. "Did you have that on your spreadsheet?"

She can tell Andrea wasn't expecting that, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Sam wonders if she's trying to figure out if she's lying. 

"Surprising," Andrea replies. 

"Yep," Sam says, her lips popping with emphasis. Andrea holds her gaze steady for a few beats before looking away. Sam watches her chew idly on the inside of her cheek. Another nervous habit. She looks back, her eyes calculating.

"So you're married?" 

Sam barks out a laugh at that. "Far from it. Not in the picture. Never really was. Teenage mistake."

Andrea purses her lips and doesn't say anything, but Sam can tell it's got her thinking. She takes a long sip of her drink and smooths the napkin in front of her.

"My turn," Sam announces, and Andrea's head jerks up. There's another tense silence between them as Sam gathers her thoughts.

She has a few options. She could be funny, and say something that is sure to get an eye roll and a sly twist of those (annoyingly delicious) lips. She could read Andrea all the way to the library and start a very interesting and very exhausting argument. She could go for the jugular and, ideally, get her to leave in a huff (desirable). She could make her feel really bad about herself and (probably) make her cry. Or, she could be honest.

With a deep breath she clasps her hands in front of her and lays them on the table.

"You hate the person you pretend to be."

Andrea's eyes snap up violently. The muscles in her jaw flutter as she clenches, silently gaping and (hopefully, probably) simmering with anger. Sam leans back, satisfied.

Honesty for the fucking win.

But as usual, with Andrea Rojas, it's not that easy. She can rebound like a fucking rubber band, and Sam should have known she'd snap with a vengeance. 

"So are you going to fuck me or what?"

Sam almost spits out her drink. 

"I--"

"That's what this is all about, right?" Andrea holds up her hand, the red string glowing like the "open" sign for a motel around her finger. Vacant ! it seems to scream in blinding neon. "It's sort of inevitable."

"I think we have a say in all that," Sam sputters, still processing how they even got to this point. Obviously the thought had occurred to her, briefly, but only in passing--

"I'm telling you I've had enough of this charade," Andrea gestures over Sam. "The small talk is boring, and it's not going to tell me what I don't already know. Sleeping together, however, will at least provide insight . So I'm ready to get out of here if you are."

Sam swallows heavily, her tongue suddenly entirely too big for her mouth. Her body feels like it's been doused in gasoline and Andrea's lit the match. The butterflies rage in her stomach as her knees quiver. She tries to fight against it, but she remains wholly betrayed by her body's response, that fickle bitch.

"Lead the way," she manages to say as she struggles to stand.

Andrea's room is on the top floor of the hotel, because of course it is, and it's a gorgeous suite with what looks like two master bedrooms and a huge, clawfoot tub positioned off to the corner with a dazzling view of the Vancouver skyline. Sam isn't sure what the purpose of all this is, beyond a way to flaunt her wealth, but she doesn't ask any questions.

The doors shuts behind her and she hears rustling. She turns and Andrea is staring at her with a dangerous expression.

"I have rules--" she starts, as she steps forward, a confident stride that Sam wants to get in the way of.

Instead, Sam holds up her hand. "Yeah, that's not how this is going to go."

Andrea seems momentarily stunned, but she smiles, amused. "Oh, the rule follower..."

"Can't break them if they don't exist," Sam interrupts. At this point, she's completely over it. She's had it with Andrea's bossy attitude, her insufferable rudeness, the way she thinks she can control everything. And now that they're here, at Andrea's adamant insistence, it's all too fucking much. She knows she needs to stand up on her own two legs and push back. Otherwise, Andrea will break her. "I've about had it with you talking over me and treating me like I'm someone you can command. In case you haven't noticed, we're equals." She holds up her hand, the string as evidence. "If we're doing this, we're doing it my way."

It's powerful and downright sexy, the way Sam crosses her arms, the muscles in her forearms flexing slightly as she stares at Andrea like she's trying to brand her. Andrea squares her shoulders and tries to ignore the stubborn fluttery feeling in her stomach. She didn't peg Sam as the 'take charge' type, but now that she's brought it out of her, well. She'll have to congratulate herself on that development later.

"Here are a few things about me you probably didn't know," Sam says as she unbuttons her shirt. She leaves it on, fully open, her abs flexing as she works on her pants next. The lump in Andrea's throat swells as she stays rooted to the spot. "I like to be on top, I'm great with my tongue, my stamina is world class. And..." She lowers the zipper of her pants, and Andrea can see the outline of her tasteful black underwear. Sam takes a step forward and leans in close, her fingers ghosting along Andrea's shoulder. Andrea's skin prickles with surprise desire as Sam's teeth chart a dangerous trail around Andrea's ear. Her breath is hot against her skin as she whispers, "I leave marks."

It sends a shock of electricity down her spine as Andrea releases a shuddering, whimpering breath.

Sam pulls back just enough, the fingers of her left hand deftly stroking along Andrea's jaw. The red string blazes against her skin.

 "Do you want it or not?"

The thing about having sex with Sam Arias is it fucking ruins everything . Andrea knew she was playing with fire the moment she dared her to make a move, but when the script was unceremoniously flipped, and Sam turned out to be that : a fucking take-charge, powerful and somehow endlessly graceful specimen of a woman, everything changed. Her lips are intoxicating, her body is an institution that should receive grant money, and her tongue-- Andrea almost sees stars as she thinks about all the ways Sam used it to work her into oblivion.

Even for all her sarcasm and posturing, Andrea didn't expect to receive this much intel from their late night dalliance. She just really, really wanted Sam to stop talking before they got into the therapy portion of the evening. She's not about to go blabbing about feelings, and Sam was already circling the drain and trying to pull any emotion Andrea would give her. Enough of that , thank you very much. It just turns out that her "research" has provided a disastrous conclusion, one that she should have seen coming. Who knew that having sex with your soulmate is earth-shattering and incredible? The red string on her finger shimmers.

"Shut UP," she groans, glaring at it. 

She brings her fingers to her throat, feeling the ghost of Sam's strong hand pushing against it, the way her fingers flexed as Andrea moaned obscenities into her waiting mouth. The sheets still smell like a musty combination of sweat, her own shampoo and a cologne she's starting to recognize, and it absolutely breaks her. 

None of this is going to be easily forgotten. And, worse, she's already aching to have it again.

She really thought Sam was bluffing, that she was puffing out her chest and putting on a show, same as her, but when everything she claimed about her prowess in bed turned out to be devastatingly true, all Andrea can text is:

Andrea: Your cologne is too strong.

The response doesn't come right away, and Andrea is almost concerned. The power in their dynamic is starting to shift and she's not sure how to get it back. Maybe Sam is trying to figure out what to say, trying to detangle her own feelings about the situation. Maybe she's feeling as enlightened as Andrea.

But an hour later, her phone vibrates, with a simple, equally as sarcastic reply.

Sam: your lipstick stained my shirt

Andrea snorts. So much for pining.

Andrea: This won’t, under any circumstance, happen again. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, it never did.

Sam: duly noted

Sam taps on her steering wheel as she drives down the main road, heading into downtown National City. She doesn't care what Andrea says, Aly & AJ fucking slaps, and they're a semi-relevant duo that even Ruby approves of, so she's got that going for her. It's rare her music taste even gets close to her daughter's -- a venn diagram that only has a sliver of overlap -- but she's trying. She bets Andrea has just as many guilty pleasures. She probably listens to Amber or Haddaway while she's pretending to work out, or maybe she's a secret Swiftie and knows all of Taylor's discography by heart. The red string on her finger shimmers with each tap of her fingers and her heart plummets.

Whatever. 

She doesn't know why she's even thinking about Andrea right now, but the infuriating woman has a sneaky way of invading Sam's thoughts, even when it's not relevant. As she turns onto Laurel, an Obsidian billboard with Andrea's smirking face blocks the sunlight. Okay, Universe, I get it. We're tethered, thanks. Sam slows down, studying the image, getting lost in a weird, grudging reverie about the way Andrea's lips feel when they're pressed against her mouth. She unconsciously licks her own lips, thinking about how Andrea's kisses are soft, but have a surprising intensity -- not angry or combative, but passionate, almost warm. Truth be told, Sam hasn't been able to stop thinking about Andrea's lips, or the way she pulled Sam's hips closer, holding on to her for dear life as she almost smiled against her teeth. 

She exhales loudly, turning up the AC. She doesn't need that right now. 

As if by magic, or some wicked sorcery, she notices a car pulled over up ahead with lights flashing and a very severely gashed tire. The owner is standing on the sidewalk, exasperated, yelling into a cell phone with their hand resting on top of their head. 

Sam pulls over behind it, only recognizing the Maserati logo as she's getting out. It's a gorgeous vehicle -- black on black, with a partial matte finish and shiny black down the middle. Sam whistles under her breath. She starts to call out to the owner, stopping dead in her tracks when she recognizes the curl of those unmistakable lips.

"Oh this is just great," Andrea starts, dropping her arms to her sides, slapping her thighs. "This must be--

"Fate," Sam finishes. She surveys the car, noticing the wrecked tire on the front passenger side.

"Are you always this hokey?" 

Sam nods, kneeling to inspect the tire further. "You have no idea." Then, because apparently her mind to mouth connection is severed she blurts, "Funny, but this isn't how I pictured running into you again."

Andrea scoffs, crossing her arms as she grills her from her perch on the sidewalk. "Funny, I didn't picture it at all." A bold-faced lie. Andrea lowers her sunglasses back over her eyes so Sam can't read her expression while she pretends to search her phone for an important number.

Truth be told, she's thought a lot about running into Sam again-- how it would happen, where, what she would say -- but of course, nothing prepares her for this . Sam, casual and snarky, in jeans that make her legs look longer than ever, showing up at exactly the right moment and playing the fucking hero. It makes Andrea want to scream. 

There's also a part of her that wants to give up the charade, to show Sam all her cards. She doesn't want to keep pushing her away, but what else can she do? They can't possibly expect things to work between them, no matter what the fucking red string says. It's a cruel thing, fate. Andrea is starting to think she doesn't much care for it at all. 

A lug nut clangs to the pavement and rolls next to Andrea's shoe, followed quickly by Sam's voice, "Do you have a spare?"

Andrea goes to argue, but her useless assistant hasn't even given her an ETA for a tow. She knows there's some sort of hidden compartment in the trunk for what she can only assume is a replacement tire, but she's not going to pretend she knows what the fuck to do with it. The car is expensive and sexy and can hit 60 in less than 4 seconds, and that's all the information she needed before making the impulse buy. The owner's manual is somewhere in the glove compartment, still wrapped in plastic.

Sam points to the trunk. "Can you open this?"

Andrea sighs, and then wordlessly taps the key. Sam opens the trunk and after a few moments of shuffling, produces a tire. Without a word, she goes back to crouching on the ground, her fingers working furiously to detach some very important looking pieces of metal.

Andrea watches her work, not at all distracted by the way her muscles flex, the string around her finger taunting her like this is all happening exactly as planned.

"I bet you did this on purpose," Andrea mutters, staring down at the scene like she's some sort of monarch. She doesn't feel particularly royal, although having a sexy samaritan come fix her sports car is rather convenient...

Stop. Focus. This is Sam she's thinking about.

And maybe that's precisely the problem.  

Sam shields her eyes from the sun and looks up at her, a smirk plastered on her face that Andrea can tell means she's enjoying this. 

"You give me too much credit," she says, her smile widening. "My sole mission in life is not to ruin yours."

"Isn't it?" Andrea holds up her hand. What do you call this, then?

"Ah, my mistake. I forgot about the soul mission," Sam says, shaking her head. Andrea almost doesn't catch the play on words until Sam winks, and then she wants to launch them both into traffic. Sam pushes herself to standing, the wrench still in her hands. She gestures wildly towards the street. "You're right. I created this pot hole specifically so you'd run into it." She positions her hands around her mouth like a megaphone and starts yelling at pedestrians, "WATCH OUT, THERE IS A POTHOLE HERE THAT WILL RUIN YOUR LIFE, BUT IT’S ONLY MEANT FOR ONE PERSON! EVERYONE MOVE AROUND! THIS IS FOR ANDREA ROJAS ONLY!"

Andrea grabs her by the arm, mortified. "That's enough! What's wrong with you?!"

"We should put up a cross to memorialize all the time you've lost," Sam says, seriously. She's frowning now as she crosses herself. "Here lies Andrea Rojas' productivity. Taken too soon. RIP."

"Are you finished?"

"I'm just getting started, baby," Sam replies, chuckling. She taps Andrea on the arm before returning to the ground to finish changing the tire.

Andrea huffs, hating the way the term of endearment has her sizzling. Baby . Fuck off.

"That oughta do it," Sam says, rubbing her hands on her jeans. There's a small bit of grease that leaves a mark. "There's an exotic sports car spot up the street--"

"I've got my mechanic, thank you," Andrea says, not willing to take anymore of Sam's good-natured advice. She watches the way Sam gently places the tire back in the trunk, as if it's no effort at all. She closes it gently and turns to Andrea.

"All set, then."

Andrea pauses. It goes against everything in her being , but she's rattled by the fact that people like Sam Arias simply exist in the world: people who show up without being asked and help a person in trouble without so much as demanding anything in return. It's...unnerving.

 "I suppose I owe you a thank you, even though you've cost me more time. I'm going to have to call my assistant to cancel the tow truck."

It's not entirely accurate, but it's all Andrea can manage if she doesn't want to have a meltdown in the middle of this intersection.

"No, please, don't mention it, I wouldn't want you to get a nosebleed." Sam backs up from the car, gesturing. "Your chariot awaits."

Andrea fishes in her purse for her keys and gets in the car quickly, slamming the door a little loudly for Sam's taste. Sam watches her start the car and then hesitate. After a second, the window rolls down. 

"Regal Beagle," she says.

"Is that a nursery rhyme?"

"It's a bar up ahead. Follow me."

Sam kicks at the ground. 

"You're buying?" she finally asks -- the final blow she knows Andrea will hate . 

Andrea purses her lips, miffed, and nods once.

Once again it's a horrible, no good, very bad idea.

Sam agrees.

She should have driven away without another word. She should have started the car and peeled off the curb and raced for the highway. But no, that would be too easy, and Andrea never takes the easy way. No, instead, she did this . Her stupid conscience or her stupid guilt or her stupid heart , one of those things decided it wouldn't kill her to spend the afternoon getting to know Sam better. So now she's on the way to a bar she sometimes goes to when she's trying to hide from the world, letting Sam of all people get a little peek into her private life. And for what? Curiosity? Unfinished business? 

The night they spent together was nothing short of electric , but it can't happen again. Yet here's Andrea, letting her guard down enough to chance getting more invested than she has any business being.

She swears the string tightens slightly around her finger as she pulls into the parking lot.

Sam follows as Andrea pulls up to a perfectly normal looking bar with a sign that sports a funny picture of a beagle wearing a crown. She can't believe someone like Andrea Rojas would even know such a place exists. It seems...charming. Common. 

To sum it up: They are definitely not in Andrea Rojas territory.

"This?" Sam asks, pointing at the sign as they walk up to the door. "This is where you want to go?"

"It's not caviar and champagne but I think that's part of the charm, wouldn't you say?" 

"Yes but--" Sam gestures at her. "You?"

"I'm not going to melt if I step inside a dive bar, would you relax ?" Andrea's wry smile is something Sam is learning to read, and her stomach flips. "God, and they say I'm uptight."

Sam holds up her hands in surrender, suddenly very intrigued to see how this is going to play out. She can't imagine Andrea Rojas, with her Valentino bag and Maserati, pulling up to a bar and ordering a craft beer and a burger, but stranger things have happened. Or at least, allegedly. But this still might be the strangest. There's also the matter of Andrea's outfit: she's wearing black jeans that look painted on, a leather jacket that Sam thinks is absolutely criminal and aviators that sit on top of her head, pulling her hair back behind her ears. She's never seen Andrea dressed in anything but boardroom couture, but this jump to casual is so aggressive that Sam thinks she might get whiplash.

The restaurant is cheerful, with high top tables and high stools and a beer list written out in colorful chalk-like marker on a huge wall behind the bar. The options seem limitless, and Sam is already impressed, before Andrea nudges her.

"Are you an IPA or a cider girl?"

"Blondes mostly," Sam says. She nudges her back. "Or brunettes."

Andrea's expression is quizzical before she smirks. "Your humor is astounding." Before Sam can retort, Andrea orders an aptly named "Pranqster" for Sam, and a Hazy for herself. They find a table and get settled. The bartender follows them with their drinks and Andrea asks for a menu.

"I don't think they have anything here but bar food," Sam tries. It's a warning, mostly, but Andrea is a smart woman. She should be able to deduce this on her own. Instead, Andrea simply arches an eyebrow and turns the menu over. 

"Loaded nachos? Or wings?" She asks, and Sam huffs a soft laugh.

"You're kidding."

Andrea slowly shakes her head, the barest hints of a teasing smile on her lips.

"Nachos, simply because I don't believe you'll eat them."

"You're on," Andrea says. Flagging down a server, she puts in the order with a triumphant smile in Sam's direction. 

Sam takes a slow sip of her beer and tries to figure out how the fuck this happened. One minute, she's driving down the road, trying to forget Andrea Rojas even existed, and now she's here , at a bar that for all intents and purposes she could see herself frequenting, sharing appetizers with the very bane of her existence. How did her life get to be so unexpected?

"You're overthinking this," Andrea accuses, as if she can read Sam's thoughts. She can't, right? That's not part of this soulmate thing? Sam shifts in her chair slightly. Blink once if you can hear me. Andrea seems unbothered, staring straight ahead with a smug smile. She takes a sip of her drink, and Sam watches the faint line of moisture over her upper lip, which should not make her entire body ignite. "You helped me out of a situation and I'm simply saying thank you."

"No, I know," Sam says, shaking her head. "It's just...surprising. You're surprising."

Andrea purses her lips, but doesn't comment. 

"I thought you had somewhere to be? This isn't fucking up your plans?" Something has softened between them and Sam feels like she can tease her again. "The way you were carrying on back there..."

Andrea scoffs. "How did I know you'd actually make yourself useful?" She waves her off. "And no, it's fine. What's the point of running several companies if you can't make your own schedule?"

"Can't argue with that."

"And what about you? Shouldn't you be with your daughter or something?" Andrea asks with faint distaste, her nose wrinkling slightly like she can't even fathom having to be in charge of another human being. It shouldn't be funny, but Sam almost laughs anyway.

"She's at a soccer camp for the weekend," Sam says. Andrea's eyes widen. "She's 12."

"I don't know why I expected her to be younger," Andrea says. "Soccer?" Sam nods. "You're not so bad at parenting after all."

"I'm glad I have your approval."

The nachos arrive along with a stack of napkins and Andrea's eyes light up. They're a towering monstrosity of three cheeses, pulled pork, beans, and scallions, and Sam watches Andrea navigate it like a seasoned professional. She pulls one of the heavier loaded chips and takes a large bite, her eyes shining as she smiles.

Sam's not sure what she expected, but Andrea being able to eat nachos and be a pleasant bar companion was not on her Bingo card. She doesn't curl her lip in disgust or daintily wipe off half the toppings, and she doesn't care that it's sloppy and hard to eat. She pauses, her head tilted as she looks at Sam.

"These are amazing, aren't you going to try?"

There are several things Sam won't say no to: a hot woman (check), a good beer (check) and greasy bar food (check). She appreciates the simple things, and is shocked to learn that Andrea might also share the same sentiment. As she chews and tries to remain somewhat respectable (the nachos are fucking delicious), she can't help but wonder if this is a glimpse into the real Andrea -- the one Lena has been trying to explain, the one she adamantly defends, even if it doesn't make sense. 

The Jekyll and Hyde routine is strange and stressful, but Sam understands being guarded. So if Andrea's personality actually aligns with only one of the versions (preferably the Jekyll in front of Sam right now), then perhaps there's a future here after all. 

"Oh my God, they have board games," Sam says, eyeing the shelf over Andrea's shoulder. 

Andrea turns and follows her gaze. "Pick one."

"Wait, really?"

"Go for it." 

Sam scurries off with the enthusiasm of an actual 12 year old, which is not surprising, and Andrea sits back and waits. It's weird, being here with Sam, and not feeling like she wants to claw her eyes out. Mostly, it's weird how she doesn't want to check her phone or find ten thousand excuses to be somewhere else. There's no one around to impress, there's no business that's going to go up in flames if she simply allows herself a break. And there's something else, too--

Sam returns holding up Connect 4 with a cheesy smile and there it is again. A tug, subtle but firm, and Andrea feels something shift in her chest. She smiles in agreement and Sam sets to work getting the game ready.

Andrea wonders how long it's been since she's felt this way-- like herself. Like she can lay down her armor and enjoy a drink and try to remember what it means to be happy. She tries so hard to keep it together that she's starting to forget who she is. But then there's Sam, sitting across from her with a calm, gentle smile and the red string around her finger, looking at her like she might be worth the time, and Andrea feels something melt around her heart.

She isn't going to say anything to ruin the moment, and she certainly isn't going to try to analyze her feelings right now. It's something sacred that she's going to keep for later, when things have to go back to normal and Sam realizes Andrea herself isn't worth getting involved with.

"I haven't played this in ages," Andrea says, rolling the black game piece between her thumb and forefinger as she tries to figure out some semblance of a strategy. 

"You have your work cut out for you then, I'm semi-professional," Sam teases, her tongue pushing against her teeth in a smile that shouldn't make Andrea's thighs quake, but of course, her life is a tragedy.

"You spend half your time with a 12 year old, so I'd imagine that's true," Andrea fires back. It earns a hearty chuckle from Sam, her head shaking as if to say ‘ you're too much’ . But it's playful. Soft. Andrea swallows heavily.

Sam takes the first three games, but Andrea finally rallies to win the next one. They're both too competitive to give up, starting with best of 3, then moving to best of 5, then simply continuing without the pretense. Andrea's sides hurt from trying to control her laughter, and her cheeks hurt from smiling, and Sam looks at her like she actually wants to be there--

Andrea moves her hand as she drops her piece down the board and the string flashes. She pulls back with the startling realization that maybe their connection is not all bad.

"Doth mine eyes deceive me or are you two playing nice?"

A familiar throaty voice calls out behind them, and for a moment, they both freeze, busted. Andrea's eyes widen like a deer in the headlights, and Sam's heart pounds like they've been caught doing something they shouldn't. 

But that's ridiculous. They're allowed to be in a bar together, having a drink--

Lena walks up to the table with Kara in tow, glancing between them with a look of utter disbelief. "I thought I saw your car," she says to Andrea, and then she looks at Sam. "But this is certainly a surprise."

"It's a funny story, actually," Sam tries, suddenly scrambling for an explanation. 

"Would we call it funny?" Andrea eyes her.

"Well, it was unfortunate, for Andrea, because, well, you know, flat tires--"

"But then it was fine, because Sam showed up--"

"And now here we are," Sam finishes lamely.

Kara stares at them with a beaming smile, fully accepting their non-explanation but Lena's eyes move slowly between them, uncomprehending and overly suspicious.

"Well sit down!" Sam says, making room. It'd be awkward if she didn't invite them to stay, like Lena and Kara are intruding on some sort of date. Which it's absolutely, completely, not. Right? She's not on a date with Andrea Rojas, of all people. She scoots her stool over and watches as Andrea slowly does the same. 

"We don't want to intrude--" Lena tries, hesitating. Kara is already sitting.

"No it's fine," Sam assures them. "Right Andrea?"

"Yep," Andrea says, and Sam isn't sure, but she sounds almost disappointed. 

Menus are passed around, Connect 4 is put away (Sam the overall winner, 8 games to 3, but she'll brag about it later) and drinks are procured. Lena orders a salad while Kara gets wings.

"I see your food sensibilities haven't changed," Lena says, nodding to the now sad-looking, mostly stale nachos drooping in front of them.

"I see yours haven't either," Andrea fires back, eyebrow razor sharp and pointed.

"Oh so Andrea and junk food, this is a known fact -- not a one time thing?" Sam finds herself asking, and it's not like she cares but-- maybe she does. A little. 

"Andrea eats like a frat boy on spring break," Lena comments. "Always has. It's something you both have in common."

Something about a perceived connection between them sparks warmth within Sam's chest. She glances shyly in Andrea's direction, noticing the pretty way her cheeks are dusted pink. Andrea's lips twitch into a half smile, and Sam wants to memorize it. 

"Oh, shoot," Kara says suddenly. She's looking at her phone with a frown. "Alex and Kelly can't make it."

Lena explains that they were supposed to meet for trivia, which is apparently a thing they do once a month. 

"Wait! Would you guys want to play?" Kara perks up, and it's so endearing, Sam already knows she can't say no.

"Oh, I don't think Sam and Andrea want to--" Lena tries, but Sam interjects.

"I can," she says, glancing at Andrea. "I've got the time."

"Me too," Andrea replies, and Sam swears the world must be ending because who is this agreeable person sitting across from her right now? Andrea eyes her. "What?"

Sam realizes she's staring, and immediately tries to cover. "I just didn't take you for a trivia person."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Andrea says, shrugging. "But consider this your first lesson: I'm incredible at trivia."

"We had to instill a Jeopardy ban in college," Lena says as she jabs at her salad. With a particularly large beet skewered on the end, she points at Andrea, the purple juice dripping like blood. "She gets violent."

Andrea chuckles good-naturedly, but then the competitive steel in her eyes sets in, and Sam thinks perhaps Lena isn't lying. 

Fortunately trivia manages to run smoothly, with only minimal threats and a few scowls instead of a full on bar fight. But the fact that Andrea is competitive and scrappy and has a mouth that will get her in trouble is something Sam finds more attractive than she should, so that's inconvenient. Something to lament over later, for sure.

They come up with a team name -- Ex-tra Help -- which Lena did not find nearly as amusing as Andrea did, but she finally went along with it since they were running out of time to choose. The questions are more cheesy than Sam expects, and she's able to contribute significantly due to her endless knowledge of Harry Potter ( Emma Watson, Hufflepuff, and Doby the house elf, all answers, respectively ) and romantic comedies (her favorite, You've Got Mail ).

Andrea is surprisingly (shockingly?) well-versed in sports and video games ( Diego Maradona, World Cup 98 which was apparently held in France, and Halo, all answers that helped push their team to the top ). 

There's a picture taken when they win, Sam's arm around Andrea's shoulder, their cheeks flushed from too much beer, and wide honest smiles on their faces. Kara is ecstatic, and announces to the group that maybe Alex and Kelly will be replaced going forward. 

"That almost didn't suck," Andrea says later, turning to Sam as they stop in front of their cars. Lena and Kara have already departed, leaving just the two of them to awkwardly figure out a good-bye. Sam fully plans on texting some very pointed words to Lena on that subject later.

"I'll have to get that printed on an ornament," Sam teases. "Or maybe you can have mine say Connect 4 Champion 2021."

"We'll see about that, we never officially called it."

"Sure, name the time and place, I'm always happy to beat you again," Sam says, and Andrea rolls her eyes.

"In your dreams."

"See you there, baby."

Andrea pauses, her mouth slightly open as she shakes her head. "You really are the strangest woman I've ever met."

Andrea's version of a compliment floats pleasantly between them, and Sam allows it to drift down to her toes.

"Well if we're assigning superlatives, you're absolutely the meanest. You can sign my yearbook next time."

Andrea hesitates before shaking her head. "You're impossible." She turns toward her car, before pulling back. "Oh, I almost forgot--" 

She rummages in her purse and then reaches out, slipping Sam a hundred dollar bill. Their hands touch briefly, and Sam feels a jolt. "For your dry cleaning."

It hits her in the chest like a freight train as Andrea grins, a sinful, daring smile that means she knows exactly what she's doing. Sam can't believe she's breaking her own rules, acknowledging what happened between them at the conference. Then she laughs, a gorgeous, saccharine sound. "Good night Sam."

"Night," Sam manages. With herculean effort, she composes herself enough to joke, "Drive carefully, would ya? I hear the potholes around this town are brutal." 

Andrea will blame Sam's annoying jokes and her nonchalant instagram posts for why she texts her a few nights later, a question needling at the back of her mind.

Andrea: What did you mean by "next time"?

Sam: huh?

Andrea almost doesn't respond, incensed by the way Sam plays dumb. It's completely unappealing, absolutely, positively infuriating--

Andrea: You seemed to imply that we'd be hanging out again. That there'd be a next time.

Sam: are you always this suspicious

Andrea: ...Answer the question Sam

Sam: i meant that despite my better judgement, i had fun with you... so next time you want to crush a tower of nachos, you know where to find me

Andrea: We're not friends

Sam: not yet but i'm open to negotiation

The Luthor Children's hospital is within walking distance of the office, which Sam appreciates on her super busy days. She's been volunteering there for years, spending time with the kids and trying to make sure they have something to look forward to when their stay seems endless. The doctors and nurses at the women's and infants pavilion were incredible, and somehow got her through the hardest experience of her life. After Ruby was born, and Sam was nothing more than a scared kid herself, she promised she would give back in any way she could. Then once she met Lena and realized how much of a passion project the children's hospital was for her, she was always happy to put in some extra hours.

Her usual volunteer shift is on Thursday morning, but due to end of quarter deadlines and a very crabby investor requiring her full attention, she's heading to the hospital on a Friday afternoon before Ruby gets out of school.

The volunteer coordinator, Pam, is a tired-looking woman who means well, but is spread too thin and seems to always be there whenever Sam is, which means she probably never leaves. She's not rude, per se, but Sam isn't going to sit around and try to make small talk with her. They've known each other for years, but Sam couldn't tell you anything about her, other than she's going a little gray and she has a particular affinity for peppermint.

"Samantha, hi," Pam says distractedly, shuffling papers on her desk. "Arts & crafts today, okay? We have supplies in the closet."

"Great," Sam replies. She knows better than to ask for further direction. She'll figure it out. Being a mom is mostly improvising anyway, so this is pretty much in line with her skill set. 

As she's walking through the children's wing, she swears she hears a familiar voice, pretty and light, coming from one of the common areas. She pauses, listening as the voice changes, something deep and throaty and a little gruff, which is met with several appreciative giggles. The voice changes again into a higher-pitched squeak, and Sam doesn't realize she's smiling until she's right outside the room. 

There is no amount of warning that could have prepared her for what she sees: Andrea Rojas, ice-queen extraordinaire, tucked into a too-small chair, reading a book to a group of wide-eyed children. She turns the book to face the room, slowly moving it so the kids can see the pictures. Currently, it seems they're at the part of the story where a tiny bear is speaking with what looks like a bright, intense looking eagle. Andrea smiles, before turning it back to herself and flipping the page. She continues to read, emphasizing at just the right points, and Sam notices the way every child is absolutely enthralled . 

Andrea looks different, too. Unimposing and comfortable, like she does this every day and isn't in charge of two multi-billion dollar businesses. She's wearing cozy jeans and a black sweatshirt, her hair falling in loose waves to her shoulders. She's wearing less makeup than usual, her face fresh and light. She licks her lips between pages, and it makes everything in Sam absolutely crackle. Andrea is just so pretty that Sam can't seem to take her eyes off her. She places her hand on the door frame, the string pulsing brighter than ever, which seems to mirror the beat of her heart. She doesn't realize her mouth is hanging open until her jaw starts to ache. 

Andrea continues reading, the low, grumbly voice of the bear making another appearance and Sam's heart flutters as the kids laugh and laugh. She shifts slightly, and it must be enough to cause a distraction, because Andrea's eyes snap up and land directly on her. She stumbles slightly, her eyes widening in a threatening 'what the fuck are you doing here? ' look, before she returns her attention back to the room.

Sam quickly turns away like she's been scalded, immediately reaching for her phone.

Sam: since when does andrea volunteer at the hospital?

More voices. More laughter. She expects Lena to be shocked by this information, but when her phone buzzes, she finds this is not the case. 

Lena: she always has, even when we were younger...but she doesn't like people to know

Sam doesn't know what to do with this information. She doesn't think it's necessary to broadcast her volunteer hours, but it's strange that Andrea seems to be keeping it a secret. Particularly with her reputation. She's known to be ruthless and almost cruel, so Sam would think the brownie points for actually having a heart would go a long way. 

But then she thinks about the way Andrea seems so afraid to be vulnerable. This may expose a chink in her armor that, for whatever reason, she perceives to have devastating consequences. Sam puts her phone away and heads to the other play area.

Her shift passes quietly, the kids very intently working on crafting holiday ornaments with more glitter than was probably wise. Sam glances at the door every so often, but Andrea doesn't try to track her down. She isn't sure if she's disappointed or relieved.

As she's heading to the parking lot, she's surprised to see her phone has a message.

Andrea: Tell anyone about this and you're dead

She's taking it well, at least. Sam laughs. So dramatic.

Sam: are you always this dramatic?

Andrea: I'm serious Arias.

Sam: & risk making you sound like an actual good person? wouldn't dream of it

A pause, the typing bubble appearing and disappearing before a response comes.

Andrea: Thank you

The next day is Saturday, but after shuttling Ruby to soccer practice and then a friend's house, Sam gets to the office to try to catch up on a few things. She's surprised to find Lena already there, which isn't normally a surprise since she hardly ever goes home. But what is a surprise is Lena, sitting behind Sam's own desk, eagerly waiting for her. It has a very "being called to the principal" vibe, and Sam hesitates by the door.

"Lena, hey," Sam says, glancing around nervously. "Did we-- have a meeting?"

Lena smiles slyly, her eyes swirling with something that Sam can tell means trouble. There's about a fifty-fifty chance it has nothing to do with work, which should be a relief but really isn't. "No, not officially."

"Okay...." Sam places her bag on the ground next to the chair in front of her desk. "So why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Lena denies, folding her hands together gently like she's waiting to deliver a verdict.

"Oh good, so you're just being weird for fun," Sam says, taking a seat and staring at her boss who is taking up residence at her own work space. Not out of place at all. 

"I'm just wondering why you haven't told me about Andrea," Lena says smartly, her eyebrow slowly gliding up. Sam isn't sure what it is with these two and their fucking sharp-ass eyebrows that can dissect with a simple gesture, but it's going to be the death of her. Their facial expressions seem to speak volumes when their voices say little, and it's impressive, if not terrifying.

"Andrea?" Sam gulps. She places her left hand in her pocket, fully aware Lena can't see the string, but better safe than sorry. She can't be absent-mindedly fiddling with the string right now, or Lena will pounce. "What about her?"

Lena hesitates, then shrugs. She leans back in the chair, crossing her legs and Sam feels like she's absolutely being interrogated. "You tell me."

"Uh--" For a heart-stopping second, she wonders if Andrea let it slip to Lena that they are tethered. But that's absurd. Andrea doesn't want anyone to know, so it's hardly likely she'd tell Lena. Right?

"You really expect me to believe you just coincidentally ended up at that bar together?" 

"Yes..." It's not a lie, but she still feels the way her neck heats under her shirt. She hates avoiding something monumental with Lena. It feels wrong.

Lena frowns and leans forward, placing her feet back on the ground. "And the hospital?"

"Also a coincidence," Sam says, adamant. "I was just as surprised as you are."

"I thought you hated her," Lena says bluntly.

"I did," Sam admits, releasing a breath. "I mean, I do. I do? I don't know," she stumbles, and that's a new development. Usually declaring her disdain for Andrea comes as naturally as breathing, but suddenly she's a stuttering mess, tripping over her feelings. She glances at her watch, trying to figure out what excuse she can use to get out of this conversation without admitting too much. She hasn't given herself a minute to really parse her feelings for Andrea, because doing so means actually acknowledging something, and that's a catastrophe waiting to happen. And she definitely hasn't fully accepted that Andrea's her fucking soulmate , which probably overrides any feelings she might (allegedly) have anyway. She knows she promised to tell Lena as soon as she made the soulmate discovery, but that was before it turned into a total mindfuck. She thinks Lena will understand taking some extra time to process how the hell she's supposed to make it work with Andrea Rojas . 

Lena watches her with curious intensity and Sam fidgets before relenting, "I don't really know her."

"Well, here's what I know," Lena says gently. Sam can tell she's trying to be helpful and not pushy, which she appreciates. "The other night, hanging out-- you seemed happy."

Sam snorts at that. Sure, she had a great time with Andrea the other night, and they've already crossed the line into other territory, which was mind-blowing, but nothing else is going to happen. Andrea still won't even admit progress in their friendship ( acquaintanceship? What do you call soulmates in denial? ) and so Sam's happiness doesn't really carry much weight. 

Still, she shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. It was fun."

"Give her time," Lena says sagely. Sam goes to argue, but Lena holds up her hand. "It doesn't have to amount to anything. You can be passive enemies, I don't care. But I'm just telling you to give her time. This could be a good thing."

"When did you become my therapist?" Sam asks, only partially kidding. She appreciates what Lena is trying to do, but she's handling it. 

"Actually, that isn't the only reason I'm here," Lena says, switching again to Professional mode. It's pretty incredible how she can turn it on like that. "Do we have the end of quarter numbers?"

The end of the quarter is always a fire drill that leaves Sam over-caffeinated and buzzing, coordinating among all the different departments, reviewing spreadsheets upon spreadsheets with the audit team, and running the analytics to verify L-Corp is keeping everything above board. Sam has taken a more vested effort in it all as of late, and it's a grind, but she's glad to have it in her control. 

Better than the alternative.

"Final projections should be on your desk," Sam says. She's running on about 3 hours of sleep, actually, due to said projections, but she placed them on Lena's desk before crashing last night.

Lena's lips twitch.

"And," Sam continues, "I reviewed everything personally. No room for error. Not like last year."

Ah, last year. Last year, Sam was blessed with an eager, albeit inexperienced team, and despite her best efforts, there were several glaring mistakes that should have been caught much earlier. Sam was overtired and dealing with a sick kid, but it was no excuse. L-Corp couldn't afford the shady numbers, the glaring inaccuracies. Lena caught the errors and brought them back to her attention, and they managed to rectify the mistakes before the press got wind of it. But ever since then, Sam has been tasked with handling it personally. 

Lena doesn't blame her, but Sam still very much blames herself for the near-disaster. 

Lena visibly relaxes. "Good." Then, "You know I trust you, right?"

"Yes, you tell me every time we discuss this," Sam says, laughing lightly.

"Just checking," Lena says. She pushes herself up to standing, surveying the office. "Alright, well, that's all I wanted. I'll get out of your hair and let you do your job."

She'll blame the pleasant wine buzz for this later, maybe. But Sam posts a vague picture on instagram of a bottle of wine, some unknown label, and Andrea is fucking lonely. 

Andrea: You can do better than that wine label, Arias.

She doesn't think about it. She simply texts, refills, and waits. 

Sam: oh? got a recommendation?

Andrea snaps a picture of her current bottle, a Catena malbec, one of her favorites. 

Sam: cheers ;) 

Sam: im starting to think the universe might know what its doing

Andrea: It’s the wine, isn't it?

They're not flirting, but they're not not flirting, and Andrea hates how good it feels.

The gym down by the waterfront is tucked away among the trees, a private oasis, warm and welcome and tranquil. Andrea considers her good fortune, because it doesn't look like one of those trendy corporate gyms she reads horror stories about. But they do have an espresso bar, so she quickly thanks whatever pseudo health professional allowed that to happen, because there's no way she's doing this without an extra kick. 

She's absolutely, one hundred percent NOT a gym person, but her logo is on the side of the building, some health benefit perk or other such sponsorship she hasn't bothered to look too deep into. But every so often, she gets the strange desire to exercise, and making an appearance at a spin class gives the facility enough clout to stay in the black. So, she pulls on her designer spandex, grills herself in the mirror, and then heads toward the dark pulsing nightclub of a spin studio. 

"This feels deliberate," a cheerful voice says behind her, and everything in Andrea's body turns to ice. 

"I swear--" she starts, turning around. Big brown doe eyes are the first thing that she clocks, and then it's a full-on assault. Her mind can hardly keep up as she notices Sam in all her spinning glory: tight black shorts, tight black tank top, all lanky muscles and tight, tight, tight and Andrea wants to project herself through the ceiling. The red string, complete pain in the ass that it is, also tightens between them as Sam reaches for her water bottle. "Sam."

"Andrea".

"I didn't know you came here."

"I didn't know you came here," Sam replies, smirking. "I've never seen you."

"Well my name is on the building."

"Are there any buildings where that isn't the case though?" Sam teases. She's got a point.

"Yeah, well, it's probably a one-time thing," Andrea says, shrugging and avoiding more suffocating eye contact. "I wouldn't have come at all if I knew you were going to be here."

Sam's smile dips into a confused frown, but Andrea simply shakes her head. 

"You're--" Andrea gestures vaguely over her. " Distracting ".

The doors choose that exact moment to burst open and everyone starts shuffling toward their bikes. Sam, of course, picks one right next to her. Andrea wanted to suffer in peace, and now she's going to have to pretend she has some semblance of a working cardiorespiratory system for the next hour. 

Fucking perfect.

She has no idea how the class goes, because she can't stop glancing over at the bike next to her, where Sam's lean arms are glistening with sweat, her usual smile pulled into a serious looking frown as she keeps pace with the instructor. She has no business being that hot, but now Andrea understands why the "world class stamina" comment was painfully accurate. 

Sam catches her gawking during a rest period and winks.

Fuck this gym.

Financials:

Interesting news for you to look into. I'll get you the information later.

M.E.

Re: Financials:

It better be worth my time, Edge.

A.R.

That's how Monday morning starts, and Andrea can already tell she's in for a long fucking week. Morgan Edge is a scumbag real estate developer, and a pain in her ass, but he's always had an in with her father, so Andrea's hands are tied. And they continue to be tied, as he tries to get on her good side. In reality, it's L-Corp he's after. Andrea wasn't born yesterday. She knows Edge has a grudge with Lena that runs deep, first because she ruined his precious waterfront restoration project and then because Lena bought CatCo under his nose. Now, as the beneficiary of Lena's generosity (she'll have to send a fruit basket for this particular headache) she is the proud owner of CatCo and therefore, the target of Edge's baseless complaints. She doesn't want to take his accusations against Lena seriously, but she also knows she has to keep him appeased, lest he come after her next. 

(Unknown): Seems your friend isn't as good as she says she is. Here.

Andrea clicks the link, where there are several files for her to download. She knows this is probably against several IT policies and could be a phishing scam, but she only gave Edge a phone number she hardly uses, so she can easily shut it down.

What she's met with, however, is surprising. There are account numbers and lengthy inventory lists, information on shell corporations associated with L-Corp and several offshore accounts that seem to be quite active. There's also the matter of the revenue being generated from a warehouse Lena claimed was shut down. 

It's incriminating, but Andrea isn't sure it's enough to launch a full investigation. She also doesn't want to be involved in something this dastardly, especially if it's going to hurt her friend.

Andrea: Lena wouldn't do that. There are explanations, I'm sure.

(Unknown): Dig into the CFO -- heard the quarterly financials weren't all kosher.

She doesn't want to take any advice from Morgan Edge, of all fucking people. The coward can't even commit to being a source without hiding behind a burner phone. But Andrea isn't stupid. She knows there has been significant chatter in the tech sphere regarding L-Corp's financials, and as much as Andrea really doesn't want to pull Lena down, CatCo has an obligation to report the goings-on of the industry. It started last year, but the claims weren't substantial enough, and she assumed people were merely gossiping about the Luthors, as usual. 

She wants to tell  Lena directly, but she isn't sure if she's making a big deal out of nothing. And Lena is already very aware of the things being said about her company and her family -- that is nothing new. So before Andrea gets her all worked up, she'd rather have something concrete, not just Morgan Edge and his (probably) photoshopped PDFs. But the fact that Edge is pointing the finger at Sam changes things slightly. If Sam is somehow involved in a potential scheme against Lena, Andrea has no choice but to dig in.  

"William, Nia, my office, ten minutes," she snaps as she makes her way through the bustling CatCo bullpen. It's early, and the typing is pre-coffee levels of frantic, but Andrea isn't focusing on any of that. In fact, she can hardly see straight. Suddenly, she's livid .

This is why she doesn't get close to people. They always have a way of letting her down sooner or later. And this is the biggest fucking disappointment of all. Her soulmate, the one person she's supposed to be able to count on, the one she's supposed to bare her entire soul to, is probably (most likely) a fucking con artist. And the worst part is, she can't even be mad at the universe.

 This is exactly what she deserves. 

But, that being said, she can absolutely be mad at Sam Arias. 

"Bring me everything you can find on Sam Arias," Andrea demands of her two top reporters as she explains the situation. William glances at Nia with a look of skepticism. "Try to leave Lena out of it, but I'll take anything we can get. Whatever it takes."

"We've gone through the archives already--" William starts, but Andrea is not interested in excuses. She wants results. She wants action.

"Then it should be easy work ." They stand stock-still, gaping at her. Andrea slaps her desk and they flinch. "I meant NOW ."

Sam goes back and forth on how to approach the subject. She thinks she's ready to see how this could work. Their flirtationship ( that's what she's settled on calling it in her head, cute, no? ) seems to be evolving, and she'd be a fool to say she hasn't thought about the next level. Andrea is brilliant, and strangely kind, and she's easily the hottest woman Sam's ever seen. The string twirls happily and mysteriously around her finger, like it knows secrets Sam can only hope to unlock one day. 

She wants to ask Andrea on a proper date. They're only delaying the inevitable, right? And she can tell Andrea's softening, slightly. Enough where her lip no longer curls in abject disgust when they're in the same room. Enough where her texts aren't always hostile. 

But it's hard to make such a leap. And it's pretty much impossible over text. So until they see each other again, all Sam can think to say, late at night, where feelings are known to make themselves most clear is--

Sam: i think i might have been wrong about you

Andrea bites her lip, almost enough to draw blood. She stares at the ceiling, contemplating. She wants it, and she doesn't. She's about to ruin Sam's life, most likely, and she's only partially convinced it's deserved. She's angry as all hell at the prospect of Sam being a horrible person, but she's more mad at herself. The same patterns, the same shit.

Please don't say anything else. You have it right already.

Instead, she says, simply--

Andrea: I doubt that 

It happens a week later. Sam gets to the office, innocently booting up her laptop, when her phone chimes.

Lena: Have you seen this? [Link]

Sam frowns, clicking it.

Covert Fund Operation? CFO Sam Arias on the hot seat

"What the fuck?" Sam asks, bursting into Lena's office without knocking. They're past that, especially right now.

"I don't know," Lena says, wringing her hands nervously. She's studying her iPad and clenching her jaw. Her eyes snap up, defiant. "I think it's Edge."

"But--" Sam stumbles, scrolling frantically on her phone. Words like "extortion" and "corruption" hit her between the eyes. "But how did he get this?"

"I don't know."

Sam scrolls further, checking the publication source.

" Andrea allowed this to be printed?"

"I haven't been able to get a hold of her," Lena says, checking her phone again with a frown. "What are you doing?"

Sam is already halfway toward the door. "I'm going there."

"No, you can't--"

"Lena. I'm going there whether you back me up or not."

"Sam--"

"Give her time? Give her time?" Sam practically explodes, months of pent up energy flooding to the surface. "That's what you said. Give her time. Well guess what? Time's fucking up ."

"Excuse me, you can't go in there--"

Sam ignores the frantic secretary chasing after her as she bursts through the glass doors of Andrea's office at the top floor of CatCo Worldwide. 

"Care to explain this?" Sam shouts, pointing at her phone. But as she looks up, she notices the same copycat headlines all over the TV monitors above Andrea's head. Her name plastered on the ticker, Public Enemy Number One. "What the fuck , Andrea?"

"I had no choice," Andrea says calmly, so calmly that Sam wants to slap her. "It's business, Sam. Surely you understand."

"It's not business, you absolute fucking coward! " Sam shouts. Andrea flinches slightly, and it only adds fuel to Sam's already raging fire. "If it was, you would have spent at least ten seconds doing due-diligence, instead of printing this absolute trash!"

"Well that's why you're not in charge of a multimedia empire--"

"SAVE IT!"

Sam feels like her entire body is white-hot and volatile, her limbs practically shaking from desperation and rage. The only satisfying part of it is the way Andrea seems to be shutting down completely, barely pushing back against Sam's inferno. Part of her wishes she would fight, but the other part is so desperately angry that she wants to lay into her without interruption.

"You could have given me a heads up!"

"So you'd have time to prepare what I'm sure is a very well-thought out defense?" Andrea's lip curls, and there it is -- the abject disgust Sam foolishly convinced herself had disappeared. She feels like she's having an out of body experience, like she's watching this unfold from a comfortable perch on the ceiling, cheering for herself to destroy the enemy.

"You know what? You almost had me fooled," Sam says, the scoff of laughter getting caught in her throat. "All the nice things you try to do to cover up for the fact that you suck-- "  She shakes her head, staring Andrea down, ignoring the crystal blue of her stupid endless eyes. "You don't hate the person you're pretending to be, Andrea, you hate the person you are , because you are wretched and miserable and if I never talk to you again, I will consider myself blessed ."

She notices a glass paperweight on Andrea's desk and before Andrea can speak, her left hand makes contact, the string around her finger flashing in alarm. She watches the way it flies across the room, shattering with a satisfying crash.

"You're paying for that!"

"Sue me Rojas, I fucking dare you."