#can you believe i broke my writing haitus to bring you a Completely Unexpected And Very Random thing like this? WELL THERE IT IS!

[honeylikewords]

agent andy’s super secret, super special, super spy romance-love-extravaganza mission! (andy dwyer)

(this was not really a request, but just a spur-of-the-moment work! it’s dedicated to my lovely friend @regrettablewritings!)

(the basic plot is Andy doing what he does best- being goofy and loveable! but this time, in pursuit of a lovely lady friend’s attentions! will he succeed? will he fail? will he eat chili dogs? find out below!)

(warnings: none!)

yes, you're lovely, with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft there is nothing for me, but to love you and the way you look tonight you look hot tonight... 

Andy likes a lot of things. Top five favorite things in the world? Well, that list depends on what day you ask him, when in the day you ask him, how hungry he is, what the last TV show he watched is, if he’s seen any cool dogs that day-

To say the least, Andy is both the most fickle and most loyal man in all of Pawnee. His tastes are both constant and assured while also shifting with the rapidity of the winds of a hurricane. He’s all over the place, like a hyperactive puppy in a room full of chew toys.

But the one thing he consistently likes, always, all the time, every day, every night, and every evening in-between is the girl who works as an intern in the Pawnee Municipal Hall of Records. 

Her office is on the second floor and Andy likes to pretend to have a “shoe shine-ist appointment” with someone in the city clerk’s office so he can have a reason to wander up to the second floor and walk past the door to the room where she works.

Today is a Wednesday, which means Andy has his lucky boxers on from when the Colts won against the Cowboys, and his special blue-checkered flannel shirt which his mother told him makes him look “adult for once”, which is a very nice compliment, in his opinion. Before heading upstairs, he stands in front of the bathroom mirror in the men’s room and combs his hair over as neatly as he can with his big hands, smiling at himself.

He has a Food And Stuff grocery bag with him which rests on the lip of the sink as he finishes slicking his unruly hair into place, and he clears his throat in the mirror, practicing his most adult, suave smile; the one where all his teeth are visible but not in a creepy way, and one eyebrow is raised in what he believes to be a seductive manner. He makes a small growl between his teeth and practices what he’s going to say to the girl.

“Why hello-oo, my lady,” he drawls, bowing slightly in the mirror. “You’re looking very… lovesome today.” Nice, he thinks to himself. Sexy, but not too sexy.

“May I ask for you- thou-” he corrects himself- “-To join me uponth this, um… evening… to dinner?”

As he’s trying to formulate what he’ll do when she answers him, a stall door behind him opens and Ben walks out, looking at Andy with confusion written into his furrowed brow. Andy blushes, a little embarrassed, and glares at Ben.

“Bro,” he chides, “You can’t just walk in on me while I’m practicing!”

“But I- I was in here before-” Ben stumbles over himself, looking around in flustered panic, then seems to give up with a sigh. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t mean to burst your bubble there, Andy. Go ahead, pretend I was never here.”

“Well, I can’t really do that, seeing as how I can still see you and I remember you being here so… now I have to wipe my brain and start all over.” Andy turns back to the mirror and watches Ben leave, exasperatedly mumbling to himself as he walks out into the hallway.

When the room is finally clear, Andy stands up in the mirror and takes one last look at himself. He looks at his beard- thankfully, he trimmed it last week so it’s not scraggly or full of Cheetos particles (well, at least, not as many Cheeto particles as before)- and then looks at his face. He looks into his own hazel eyes, the ones that squint a little but still seem so wide and excited. He flashes himself a giddy smile when he thinks about what he’s about to do, and his whole aura seems to grow brighter.

He feels the warm, glowy feeling inside his stomach and chest, the one that tingles down into his fingertips and toes and a little into his butt; the feeling that makes his heart feel like he’s just watched the Colts win the Superbowl, or just played a great show with Mouse Rat. The feeling in his heart that he gets when he thinks about her, and the way she looks when she smiles back at him, or how she gets so focused on her files at her desk and her eyebrows knit together in that cute way.

Deciding that he’s ready, Andy nods at himself in the mirror and says his last words of the pep talk he’s been giving himself in his head.

“You got this, Dwyer. And if you don’t, then Burt Macklin’s got it. And if he doesn’t got it, then, uhm, Johnny Karate’s got it. And if he- oh, nevermind. You’ve got this.”

He grins wide, then ducks out of the bathroom, grabbing his Food And Stuff bag as he makes for the stairs, heart pitter-pattering as frantically as it does when he’s done too many jumping jacks or tried to eat too many hamburgers at once. Reaching the top of the steps, Andy takes a deep breath, both to calm himself and because he did actually get a little winded. Once reassured of his ability to breathe, Andy makes his way to the door to the Hall of Records.

Stopping just before the door, Andy peeks his head, nose resting on the edge of the doorframe in what he thinks is a sneaky, subtle spying position. He can see her clear as day, and the sight of her brings an unintentional smile to his face and makes his childlike heart flutter happily.

She is illuminated from behind by the open windows, the ones streaming in the summer sunlight and warm breeze. A portable fan sits on the corner of her desk, blowing cool air onto her face and stirring up with wispy hairs that frame her pretty eyes, and Andy makes a happy sigh to himself when she adjusts her seat in her chair, turning so that he can see more of her face.

Her eyes are focused on an open file on her desk, one that she is tracing over with a highlighter, and Andy follows the movements of her hands with rapt attention, forgetting his awkward stance in the doorway. He instead watches her do all her little things, the tiny, miniscule motions that would go unnoticed to anyone that didn’t absolutely, wholeheartedly, entirely love her.

He notices how her fingers tap on the bridge of the highlighter. He notices how her other hand supports her neck, loosely rubbing at the baby hairs at the back of her head as she gives herself a small neck massage. He notices the movement of her eyes and the blinking of her lashes, and how her lips part when she breathes. He notices the tapping of her practical-shoed feet under the desk, and how her ankles cross to keep her comfortable in the office chair. Andy sees it all, and tucks it away in the special part of his brain that never forgets.

Andy may have been called a lot of things- things like birdbrained, a goldfish, a dumb sack of rocks- but he does remember things. Important things. Like the 1992 lineup for the Indianapolis Indians. And all the police procedures he’d read about. And his dog’s birthday. And this girl’s middle name, favorite foods, the way she takes her coffee (and how she takes her tea on the days when coffee makes her feel sick), and the movies she wants to see this summer.

He remembers everything about her because it matters to him. All the other stuff that he forgets? Bah, that’s stuff that he doesn’t care about. But all these teeny-tiny things about her mean the world to him, so he will never, ever forget them.

Just as he’s about to make his happy, lovestruck smile as he remembers the first time they’d ever spoken, she looks up from her work and meets his eye. And he’s a goner. He grins at her, making a wave as he silently mouths “watch this!”

Which is when he tucks himself in to do an army roll down the hall, moving across the doorway without entering. He hears her sit up and lean across the desk, calling “Andy?” nervously. He reaches into his grocery bag and grabs the first item: a paper airplane.

From his position on his stomach on the floor, Andy sticks his head back into the doorway and squints one eye as he lines up the paper airplane, then tosses it right at her desk, grinning wildly. He waits and watches her catch it, then rolls back out of her line of view.

“Andy, what’s-” “SHH!”

He rolls back in only to hold his finger over his lips, playfully shushing her. He points at the airplane then motions for her to open it up, smiling the whole time.

“We can’t talk,” he whispers. “The scene’s been compromised by Russian agents!”

She blinks at him, then smiles, rolling her eyes but nodding along, opens the airplane. Andy waits to watch her reaction, nervous butterflies bursting in his stomach. Her eyes scan over the page, reading over his messy scribble in Sharpie that reads “Do You Accept This Mission, Secret Agent Codename: Beautiful Mess?”

When she looks up, Andy feels his face get hot, and his armpits feel sweaty, and suddenly he wishes he was a million miles away, not laying here on the dusty tiles of the second floor of the Pawnee City Hall building. But then she smiles and nods, giving him a silent thumbs up, and he grins, floating on cloud nine.

He fishes into his bag and grabs the hard plastic of a CD case, then slides it across the floor to her. She stops it with her shoe and leans down to grab it from under her desk, reading the label he’s put on it.

“PLAY ME,” screams the CD. She pops it out of the case and slips it into the CD-ROM port on her office computer, eyeing him with a wry smile on her lips. He grins back, watching her for even the slightest hint of her feelings.

She clicks her mouse and opens the program to play the CD, and out of her speakers comes Andy’s own voice, blasting as he had leaned too close to the microphone.

“Agent Beautiful Mess,” Andy mumbles in his most serious spy voice, “I have a very important mission for you. A VIP mission. Very Important… Pizza… (no, shit),” he had whispered. “(What’s a good P word, Derek?)” A second voice from elsewhere in the room at the time of recording chimed in. “Pepperoni.” “No, a spy word!”

Andy blushes as he realizes that he did not edit his conversation with Derek out of the recording that he has just gifted to the girl he has a massive, huge, soul-smashing crush on. But as the embarrassment floods his face, Andy watches hers, and sees that she doesn’t look annoyed, or pissed off, or bored.

She looks… happy.

She starts to giggle, covering her mouth with one hand as she listens to Andy and Derek bicker back and forth about the best word that starts with P to include in the description. After about two minutes of unresolved sniping, Andy gave up and went back to his original intent in the recording.

“ANYWAY,” he announced. “The mission is… to gather all the tools from Agent Jean Claude Van Damme- that’s not the real Jean Claude Van Damme, by the way, but the codename for me- and then accomplish the mission that will be handed to you in the final tool. Good luck… this message will self destruct in five… four… three… two… one… KA-BLOOSH, BUH-SHEW, BLAM BLAM BLAM, BBBBRRRR-”

After the recording stops playing Andy’s homemade explosion sound effects, the girl behind the desk looks at Andy, shaking her head playfully, a massive smile plastered to her face. That smile makes Andy feel dizzier than a case of shoeshine head.

He grins back at her, as happy as a kindergartener at recess. She motions for him to slide her the next “tool to her mission” and he happily reaches into the Food And Stuff bag, pulling out a bag of Skittles and a bag of Starbursts.

Andy throws them to her, both bags managing to land on her desk. They are labeled “PART ONE” and “PART TWO”, and the Starbursts bag has a sticky note on it.

“COMBINE ONE SECRET PILL WITH TWO TABLETS TO CREATE THE POWER SERUM,” reads the note.

She starts laughing, and Andy can’t help but join her. He ignores the annoyed stares of strangers walking past him in the hallway, focused only on her happy smile, and the way her voice sounds as it bounces up and down with joy. When she stops laughing, Andy points at the bags and uses his hands to gesture to her the act of opening and eating, so she does it.

She takes out two Starbursts and a Skittle and smushes them together in the right way, making a little sandwich with the Skittle in the middle, properly forming “Andy’s Mouth Surprise”. When she’s completed it, she holds it up and wiggles it at him, showing him her accomplishment. He gives her an enthusiastic thumbs up, then signs to her to eat it, making oversized chewing motions with puffed out cheeks and an exaggerated swallow.

Following suit, she eats the candy, taking her time chewing it and choking a little as she laughs at Andy’s ridiculous expressions. When she’s done, she holds her arms up and flexes like a WWE wrestler, showing off her guns. Andy silently applauds, and when she winks at him, his stomach explodes with lovey-dovey fireworks.

Andy crawls into a kneeling position and reaches into the bag for the final object, throwing it at her feet with reckless abandon. God, he hopes with works. He crosses his fingers and watches her confusedly look down at the mass of feathers and hot glue currently on her desk.

He has hot glued two plastic birds from Food And Stuff together, the tips of their wings fused as if they are holding hands. To the legs of one of the birds he has tied a note, which she unspools and reads, her face going from incredulous smile to a softer, more surprised expression.

The tension comes back into Andy’s muscles, and he can feel his chest and stomach and arms and palms start to sweat and itch with anxiety. The bad feelings make him sweaty, and he’s so worried that she’ll say no that he doesn’t know what to do except crouch in the doorway, forgetting his superspy routine to just watch her.

His fingers fidget with the drawstrings of his shoeshine apron as he remembers the words he’s written for her.

“Agent Beautiful Mess:

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is…

…

…

To go…

With Agent Jean Claude Van Damme…

On a romantical date…

Today, or tomorrow, or whatever works for your schedule. Agent Van Damme is very flexible and has, like, nothing to do after work, so he can do whatever you’re down for whenever.

Sincerely, love,

Agent JCVD.

(P.S. this is Andy.)”

She’s too quiet, Andy worries, picking at the loose threads of the apron. She’s not reacting or saying anything. She’s just re-reading the words, and Andy can feel his once-light heart sinking to the bottom of his sneakers. He should’ve known. No girl like that- smart, pretty, kind, funny, and super hot and also good at pretty much everything she does- would ever look at a stooge like him. And he’s not even a funny stooge, like Larry, Moe and Curly. He’s just a regular stooge.

But then she picks up the fused birds, admiring them for a moment before gently kissing the head of one of the birds. Oddly enough, it’s the bird that Andy thought of as himself, making the other bird her. She sets the birds down and scoots back her chair from the desk, standing up, and Andy stands up too, nervous.

He says nothing as she comes up to him, and as he stands at his full height of 6’2”, he suddenly realizes how small she feels next to him. And he realizes how much he likes that. Andy wants to pick her up and carry her in his arms in a big, tight hug: one that would never let her go.

She looks up at him with her soft, sweet eyes, and Andy swallows a thick lump in his throat, his breath coming in shorter.

“Are you mad?”

Looking taken aback, the girl Andy has fallen for puts a hand to her chest, shaking her head.

“No, no, Andy, why would you think that?”

“Well, you didn’t say anything and when people don’t say anything I get really worried and then I start talking a lot because I feel like I have to so that other people don’t get worried too and I really want you to like me because I really like you in a romantic kinda way and I wanna hold your hand and-”

She presses up on her tiptoes and puts her plush lips to his, and Andy suddenly can’t remember anything in the world except that she feels exactly like how he’d hoped she would. She’s supple and smooth and smells amazing (a little sweaty from the summer heat, a little floral from her shampoo, and a lot like sugar-fruits from the candy), and her mouth tastes like Starbursts and Skittles and his daydreams.

When they break, her hands remain on his chest and his grip her waist, his head spinning faster than the tilt-a-whirl at the county fair that he’d thrown up on back in eighth grade. He can’t breathe, but instead just stands there, frozen.

One of his hands moves up to her face, thick thumb parsing over the hill of her cheek as he cups her jaw. His fingers touch her hair and he stares at her, mouth hanging open. He can’t stop studying her face, because he doesn’t want to forget a single instant of this amazing, life-changing moment. He wants to remember every detail; he wants to remember every hair on her head, every spot on her face, every lash around her eyes, every breath out of her. He wants to remember everything in vivid Technicolor forever and ever, and store it away in the special part of his brain that never, ever, ever forgets.

“Andy? Are you- did I upset you?”

Her voice crackles with concern, and Andy’s reverie breaks; he’s been quiet for too long. He’s made her worry, just like he worried over her. Damn.

“No way. No way, not ever, no- I- would you- can you do that again?”

She giggles, putting her own hand on his beardy cheek and scratching it softly (in the back of his mind, Andy imagines that this must be why dogs love being petted). Looking up at him, she nods and stands up on her tiptoes again, hovering just over his mouth.

“You kiss me this time,” she murmurs. “Just so I know I’m not, like, forcing myself on you.”

“Wouldn’t mind even if you did,” Andy replies dreamily.

And then he kisses her back, one hand holding her face and pulling her in close, one hand on her waist to keep her steady and stable. He doesn’t care that they’re in a government building and could very likely get scolded hardcore for this. He doesn’t care that anyone could walk by and see them. Hell, he hopes someone does, so that way everyone knows: Andy got the girl of his dreams. He’s got her, right there, in his arms, her lips on his lips, and he doesn’t intend to let go.

They part for a second time, and Andy feels dizzy, but in a good way, like after he’s taken medicine for his cold and he’s fuzzy and sleepy and warm. He feels contentedly feverish, and like everything in the world makes sense. He feels like he could write a hundred and one love songs and still have ideas for a hundred and one more. Or maybe just a hundred, since two hundred and two love songs is a lot. But he’d love her even more than the words of two hundred and two (give or take) love songs could ever convey.

“So,” he breathes, giggling. “Is that… a yes to the date?”

“Yeah,” she smiles back. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

In that moment, Andy doesn’t need to be a spy, an FBI agent, a ninja or anything else to be happy. He has everything he needs right there in his arms, looking back up at him with the same excited, gleeful glimmer in her eyes.

And, wow, is she beautiful.