And maybe she does. Maybe she doesn't care.

She looks up, away from Johnny and sees him and smiles and Andy takes a deep breath, smiling in return even though his chest feels tight and he can't really manage to get the air down. She tilts her head, and her hair falls to the side, a tumble of loose curls that he knows are as soft as they look, as warm as the honey glint of them in the light. Exhaling shakily, he goes into the office, sliding into his chair easily.

"Mornin'."

"Morning, Andy." She smiles again and he swallows, turning his attention to the papers on his desk, something needing his attention. She has his attention, she just doesn't need it. Or want it. Or want him.

"You headin' out?" He directs this at Johnny, no animosity or urging in his voice. He likes Johnny, and knows that he should just be happy for them both, wish 'em the best. But it's hard to be noble and not want more when Bailey's coming around his desk to go over the papers with him, to lean across him and have her arm brush against his.

"Yup." Johnny's a man of few words a lot of the time, and Andy gives him an honest grin. "Beer later?"

"Before your shift?"

Johnny's grin widens. "I like to think of it as after yours."

"Fair enough." He glances up at Bailey, trying to breathe again as he sees her watching Johnny. "You wanna come, Bailey?"

"Yeah. I could…I'd have a beer." She grins at Johnny, flashing a quick look of gratitude to Andy. He revels in it for a moment, doing his best not to think about what it means, what he's giving. Not giving up. He has to own it, possess it to give it up.

Johnny's grin tightens, and Andy presses his lips together. Johnny's likely moved on from Bailey or maybe he just knows that Andy might have an ulterior motive here. Either way it doesn't matter now. The deed is done, the die is cast and Johnny's taking off for the day. Which means there are eight hours to kill between Johnny leaving and Johnny coming back and every single one of those Andy's got another chance.

Assuming he's ever had a chance at all.

Johnny likes Bailey. He likes her a lot, certainly a lot more than he should. She's the kind of girl he's supposed to stay away from. She's sweet and mostly innocent and she believes that crap about good in people and believing the best of them and all that stuff he left behind a whole lot of beer and cigarettes ago.

But he can't help but like her and look at her, and he tries not to. She needs someone who's going to treat her the way she should be treated. He knows Andy likes her, and he thinks she'd be okay with Andy, but he also thinks Andy likes to take care of the girls he dates, and Bailey wants to be taken care of, but she doesn't want to be treated like she's something less than any guy doing her job.

Johnny's not sure Andy grasps that, and he doesn't want to see either of them hurt, and he's pretty sure that's what would happen. Of course, he also could be hoping for that kind of thing just so he'd have a reason then, a reason to move in and take her in his arms and hold her, and it wouldn't have anything to do with them and everything to do with Andy, and maybe if things went a little too far, well, they'd deal with it then.

Johnny knows all about too far though, and he likes the thought of it. But he's not so sure that Bailey could handle too far. He's not sure how far is far enough with Bailey, but he's pretty sure he's gotten there.

The one thing Johnny knows about himself though, watching Andy and Bailey through the glass as he shrugs on his coat and heads for the door, is that he's not so good with enough. He likes more than he needs, and more than is good for him, and he thinks more of someone like Bailey, who would be good for him - God, he bets she'd be good for him - might be just good enough, but he knows better than anyone that he's not good enough for her. He sees it in everyone's eyes, though they try not to think it, but Johnny's got very few delusions about himself.

But that doesn't stop him from wishing things were different.

Bailey breathes in the smoky air of the bar and wants to laugh. It's like a freedom in the thick, cloying smell but a different kind that the freedom that fills the fall air outside. This tastes like independence and adulthood and all those years of school and getting coffee and getting her behind pinched by lecherous old men in the past. WKRP is a chance and she's going to do everything she can to prove she's worth all the time and money and attention that Andy and Johnny and Mr. Carlson are putting into her.

It's more than that though, she thinks as she feels the warmth of Andy's hand against the small of her back as he guides her to the table already covered with an empty glass and Johnny's arms as he leans on it. It's freedom. Freedom of choice and desire and wonder and discovery. She's always been the good girl, and she likes being the good girl, which is why Andy's so attractive. He's the right guy for her - hard working, stable, fun, friendly. All those things that her mother says she needs, says she should want. And she does want them.

Eventually.

But Johnny's like the reports she's read in Rolling Stone or heard about at concerts. He's lived more than most people, lived hard and fast and dangerous, at least to her Midwest upbringing, and he's what she wants more than anything at all. He's experience, which is the one thing Bailey thinks she needs more than anything else.

Which isn't to say Johnny isn't, in his own way, all those things that Andy is; and that Andy isn't all those things that Johnny is, but all she can do right now is keep moving forward and see what falls in line and what falls in place and, she thinks it's maybe inevitable, whose arms she ends up in. And, as far as freedom goes, she's not sure those arms will belong to the same guy she'll likely fall into bed with.

Johnny heads out to the station and Andy pours the dregs of the pitcher into Bailey's glass. Her face is flushed and her eyes are half closed, watching Johnny leave the bar. Andy drains his own glass and sighs, digging a few bills out of his wallet. He stops as her hand covers his, fingers smoothing over his wrist. "I can pay my share."

He looks at her hand for a moment, feels it warm against his skin. "I invited you along."

"Doesn't mean I don't like to pay my own way, Andy." She doesn't blink as he lifts his gaze to hers and rolls his hand, letting her damp fingers touch his palm. "I'm a big girl now."

"I know that, Bailey." He's slightly drunk and slightly in love and his drawl's thicker and he's not leaving this bar alone. The problem is that he still has no idea if he's leaving the bar with Bailey. "Would never accuse you otherwise." He swallows and glances down at their hands again. "Big girls though, they make choices."

"Is that what you want, Andy?"

"I think choosing is what you want, Bailey." He lays his money out on the table, enough to cover his third of the bill. "I think you just don't know who you want to choose." He stands up and leans in, kissing her lightly on the temple. "You'll figure it out."

"Because big girls do?"

He looks down at her and shakes his head, staring at her bright eyes and parted lips, the low lights and neon glinting off her glasses. He leans in, his lips light and soft on hers, his voice barely a whisper. "Because that's what big girls do."