Title: Space Oddity
Author: Nao, aka SuperMiss
A/N: 2x08 tag; spoilers for the end of the show. Sam/Annie implied. Basically an angsty one-shot, a little AU.

"And the stars look very different today…"

Everything was quiet in the dull room; clothes where he had left them, his bed and its rumpled sheets, all visible vestiges of a life he thought he hated. A life he had realized how much it mattered to him when he had finally managed to get rid of it. Returning to his present life, to his home, had been such a relief, at first, he thought as he sat down at the end of his bed.

Everything had been back to "normal" and so much normality after his colorful insight of 1973 Manchester life had been innerving. Frightening. He had suddenly felt estranged from what he used to call home, what he had been so desperately trying to have back, and he had failed to feel happy. His life in the present was no longer his.

He looked down at his hands, bleak in the semi-darkness of the room. He began to take off his boots. He had jumped from the station roof, for God's sake, and it had seemed the most natural thing to do; one moment of utmost bliss and oblivion. He had never felt this free of his actions in his whole life. Never been so happy, so eager to do something. To come back. Even when he entered the CID he had never been so alive. He was happy, back then, but he was lying to himself.

When he came back to 1973, in the middle of the shooting on the railway, had felt as if he was waking up from a dream, only to get stranded in an even worse nightmare. Everything had been fuzzy back then; he couldn't remember very well but surely the bad guys had been caught and the injured taken care of. The thought crossed his mind that maybe he was dead for good. And it should have disturbed him, or even terrified him somehow, but it hardly seemed to touch him and the more he was walking in these streets of the past, the product of his disturbed and dying mind, the more he was feeling happy. And there was no way he could have fought the overwhelming glee that had been creeping in his heart or prevent a huge smile from blossoming on his shaky face while he had walked back "home".

The broken mirror above the sink. The TV set showing only static. He mused that maybe if he gave it a shake it might deliver messages from his present. Maybe he was once again lying in a hospital bed, nearly dead. He realized that he didn't want to know. So he stood up and turned it off. As far as he was concerned, his present self was dead, cold inside, and unable to tell if he was really alive. The jump. The jump had been rejoicing. An act full of life. Surely if you were dead you couldn't be sad, could you?

Darkness was creeping inside the room and he was wondering what time it was when a sharp knock on the door jolted him back to reality for good. Annie was there, calling for him, behind the door. Sweet Annie. Sam smiled in the shadows and wondered if she was checking on him or only mad at him. He leaned his slim frame against the cold door and listened quietly; she was still there, she was waiting. Probably deadly anxious – anxious that he might be dead. But surely she was also already thinking of a way to make him feel guilty, for having abandoned them, for having betrayed them. Her.

But eventually he let her in, because as a dead man he didn't think he had the right to hold a grudge against anyone. Her presence somehow lightened the room, as well as his mood. He realized that he was hungry; he hadn't had a lunch since… he couldn't even remember.

One thing leading to another he asked her to stay and decided to cook them something. He didn't want to be left alone while so many dark thoughts were at bay. They were chatting, Annie told him that everyone was okay, but she never actually talked about what happened in the afternoon, now that it was over.

Light was coming back in the room, laughter as well, even if it wasn't frank at first, and a bit shy. Annie was amazed a man could cook for a woman with so much simplicity. Sam hadn't thought of it. It was one of the many things that differ from his time. No. His time was gone – well, to come – and he must no longer think about it. It was odd, but pleasant, and the meal was tasteful.

Maybe it was seeing him so thoughtful, or maybe Annie sensed he wanted to speak his mind but was restraining himself, fearing her reaction, but suddenly she asked him for the truth. And something in her eye, or in the whole situation, told him that she wanted the "real" truth. He was tired and confused so he began talking for good. The night has fallen now and Annie would probably stay overnight and he would have to sleep in the armchair, but it wouldn't matter, really. It was nice, being together. Sam still wasn't sure she believed him, but talking made his heart lighter.

"It was the freest moment in my whole life," he was saying, looking at the ugly wall rather than at Annie's pretty face. She was probably just frowning right now.

"It's... brave, I think", he heard her say, "to face death in such a way."

"What? No! I didn't embrace it... I thought it was a way to come back... home." His voice broke on the last word, as if he wasn't sure he believed in what he was saying. The gloom was quickly coming back.

"But you still committed suicide, to come back here..." The silence was full of unsaid feelings and Sam couldn't dare look at her. "How does it feel... to die, I mean?"

Sam considered the question for a moment. It hadn't really hurt, well, not much more than being run over by a car. He was getting used to it, maybe. There hadn't been music the second time, only music in his head. Perhaps it was all in his head. Perhaps he was dead. He shivered violently and Annie finally noticed his trouble.

They stopped talking and drank wine in silence. The moon rose and shone through the dirty window panes, illuminating the reliefs of their meal. The street was quiet, the night undisturbed. Annie, sweet Annie, she tried to make him laugh, to alleviate his distress. They started talking about what they would be, each and everyone of them at the station, if they were in 2006. It was obviously based on the assumption that Sam actually come from the future, and that Annie believed him. Or so it seemed.

"In 2006... someone like you would run a police station. You could be DCI. You could be chief scientist. You're bright, Annie, I hope you know that..." She was looking at him with her eyes smiling, pleased and a little curious about such an other world where women were respected and trusted as men.

"In 2006," Sam carried on, his voice trailing a little, but a smile slowly appearing on his face, "the Guv, he would stand accused in a court. Or he would probably have been killed. Criminals of my... of this time don't really like men like Gene." There was malice in his eyes now. "I don't even believe people like them, people like Ray and Chris, could survive in 2006. As policemen, I mean. They can be such lovely people..." His gaze crossed Annie's and they suddenly started laughing.

"And I... I would be dead. Suicide, I guess."

Annie was hovering next to him, ready to grasp his hand or make some other kind gesture. Sam raised his head and stared at the molded wall, at the shadows. Then he added in a breath, turning a little to look at Annie, her face bright in the moonlight, "But it doesn't matter. I'm here now."

The End.

A/N 2: I began writing this maybe 10 months ago. I wasn't quite satisfied and kept giving up and then coming back to it. And now... here it is.
Not sure of what it's worth. My English is probably lost somewhere between British and American English.
Please, let me know what you thought!