AN: I watched the Extras Christmas special today, and this was born {so much love, by the way}. This is my first Extras story, so I hope you enjoy; I've written it in the last twenty minutes, and any mistakes are my bad. Happy Holidays, everyone! Trix x

Pair: Andy/Maggie friendship, but maybe more. {I think more, you don't have to}.

Spoilers: None.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. If I were the queen of the Beeb, it'd be a very different place.

PS: Apologies for the unimaginative title.

Would You Rather...?/The Marriage Contention


"Alright. I've got one." Andy states, turning to face Maggie. They're stretched across his oversized, Hampstead-Heath-overlooking couch, watching – Lord strike them down – Shakespeare Re-Told, {Andy really shouldn't have turned it down, as Maggie keeps reminding him mercilessly} with a bowl of popcorn between them.

"Go on." Maggie replies, the hint of challenge in her voice – can he best her? She thinks not.

"Would you rather marry someone like me, and be hopelessly in love and deliriously happy for the rest of your life, or marry someone who looks like him," he gestures to Richard Armitage on the TV, "but never feel true love and be totally unhappy forever?" There was challenge in her voice, there's victory in his. How can she beat this?

"Well, do I get to have sex with him?" She asks, also gesturing to Richard Armitage.

"Well... Yes, I suppose. But it's passionless and you always know that he's just using you for your body."

"Is he faithful?"

"Lo-I- I don't know, Maggie! I never make you give this much detail." He grumbles.

"Well just pick one, is he faithful to me or not?"

"No. Alright, no."

"...Oh, I suppose that's a bit sad for me..." Maggie says, more to herself than Andy.

"Alright, this isn't fun any more. You've ruined it. Congratulations. You've spoilt the game."

"No, no, no, it was a good one; I'll answer, just give me a second. Let me make sure I've got it clear.
I can marry you – "

"No, not me specifically, just someone like me." Andy interjects, but Maggie ignores him.

"I can marry you and be happy, but have a husband widely acknowledged to be unattractive and pudgy – "

"Oy!"

"- Or be married to someone universally accepted as a sex god – "

"- he is not a sex god – "

"- and be miserable." She concluded. She turns to him. "I s'pose I'd marry you, Andy."

In spite of himself, Andy smiles. "You'd marry me?"

"Yeah. I'd marry you." Maggie shrugs, not seeing the way Andy's extended the originally innocent Would-You-Rather. "Although, he's probably better in bed than you are even when he's not paying attention."

Andy shakes his head. "That's it. I don't want to marry you now." He turns back to the TV in a huff.

"What, you want to marry me, now?"

"What? No. I don't want to marry you. You're my Maggie, not my wife."

"Alright, fine. Forget it. Don't come crawling to me when you start getting older and fatter and attractive women won't even pass you on the streets anymore."

"Thank you. Thank you for that." Andy teases, focussing again on the television. After several minutes he speaks again. "Why? Do you want to marry me?"

"Well, if my only other option is to marry a sexy beast who doesn't even like me, then yeah."

"No, but generally."

"I don't know. I don't really think about it. I'm your Maggie, not your wife."

"You're my Maggie?" He taunts her, grinning.

"Oh, Andy, stop it, you know what I mean."

"I wouldn't mind, actually. I mean, I could do worse."

She rolls her eyes. "Thanks for that, I feel much better."

"No, I'm serious. I'd marry you in a heartbeat." He insists, and Maggie turns to face him again curiously, waiting for the catch. "If I had to choose between you and Richard Armitage."

Maggie glares at him and does what any mature female in her position would do.

She throws a handful of popcorn at him.