Author note: Hello. :D I thought I'd better post something as this area was created by a TRA friend of mine just for me and I haven't even used it yet! I've got absolutely no idea where I got this from - for once, it wasn't inspired by anything at all minus my own random head. Written to Strange Relationship by Darren Hayes, and whilst this isn't remotely a songfic, I do highly recommend a listen whilst reading because it's very relevant. :D
Have fun with it and make what you like of it - but make sure you tell me what you reckon! GB x
It was funny how life dealt you hands, the young woman acknowledged thoughtfully - if she gave it enough poetic licence, she could have died, yet all that was bothering her minus the moderate concussion and the mild whiplash was the fact that the Police Sergeant speaking to the drunken driver that had smacked her mother's car was quite frankly gorgeous. Although only seventeen, she had always been attracted to a good uniform ever since her interest in the opposite sex had truly commenced several years earlier, and that man, she decided in interest, was made for that copper's uniform. Slim, dusky blond and with vividly blue eyes, it was as though he'd been the model for the thing, it fitted him so perfectly.
Shame he's thirty odd, she thought in annoyance. Still, I would.
That Cockney brogue was slicing through her bitch of a headache with a velvet confidence - oh, he was good. The way he handled that breathalyser was nothing short of divine…
"Sandra!"
Her mother's voice shattered her quiet observation, and she cursed herself for enjoying the view more than worrying about her own health.
"Sorry mum," she apologised, ripping her eyes from the Sergeant and smiling at her thankfully uninjured mother.
"The paramedics are recommending you go and get checked out," Grace Pullman advised softly, and Sandra groaned.
"I feel fine -"
"No arguments," Grace replied firmly, cutting across her daughter's protests immediately. "The Sergeant's going to speak to you, and then you're heading to A&E."
Sighing loudly but relenting with a short nod, Sandra shot her mother an appeasing look and rose an eyebrow at the fact that the handsome copper was suddenly standing right beside her.
"'Ello," he greeted with a well-honed concern. "Sandra, isn't it?"
The teenager nodded, facing him with her typical feminine bravado and not bothering to be subtle with the flutter of her eyelashes.
"Evening officer," she replied, a mildly flirtatious note in her voice. He seemed to recognise the tone - well of course he did, a man that edible had to get such dulcet intonations heading in his direction all the time, even if it wasn't from women quite as young as herself - and he smiled warmly.
"Call me Gerry," he insisted kindly. "Now, if you feel up to tellin' me what 'appened I'd appreciate it greatly, 'cos I'm gettin' sod all from that bastard."
Grace shot the Sergeant a disgusted look at the use of the expletive, but Sandra merely laughed, winding a long blonde strand round her index finger as she explained. He eventually took her details and jotted down statement notes - and about bloody time too, because she'd been lost in her own lust about thirty seconds in - and then briefly addressed her mother in a significantly more professional tone.
"Right then," he eventually said lightly, returning his piercing eyes to Sandra. "You'd better get that pretty 'ead of yours sorted out, young lady. I might need to pop round and take more formal statements tomorrow."
"Here's to hoping," Sandra returned wistfully, smirking, and Gerry chortled.
"Go on, 'ospital with you," he ordered warmly, gesturing at the waiting ambulance, and she nodded, aggravated by her injuries. She mock-saluted as he turned away and he grinned, returning to his colleague as she stepped into the ambulance and was immediately accosted by a cautionary neck brace.
She absently wondered during the slow ride if her mother would ever permit her entrance into a car again - because that man, she thought with a grin, was sexy enough to warrant a slightly more severe concussion.
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Thirty years later, an older, more mature and significantly more experienced Sandra Pullman didn't even need her ex-boss to tell her who they'd invited into the recruitment suite; their eyes locked, and for a moment, she was seventeen and sitting on the back of an ambulance, massaging her neck with a wince and watching those skilful hands test a pisshead's alcohol intake. He was far older - fifty-nine, according to his file - a little chunkier and his hair was thinner and streaked with grey, but he was still curiously gorgeous, and those eyes were as violently blue as she recalled. She regained composure almost immediately and introduced herself and Jack as though she hadn't fancied the living hell out of him as a teenager. She discussed the job role with admirable confidence, only to be interrupted moments into her speech.
"It's 'er, innit?" He rhetorically asked Jack, whom he seemed to at least know of. "Woof woof, bang bang!"
He mimed a duet of guns, and Jack seemed like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing - and as peeved as she was, she felt herself once again melt somewhere deep within at his strong East End accent. Grinning internally in spite of her stony exterior, they held the rest of the interview, and by the end of it, she was disappointed to find that he hadn't really taken it remotely seriously - not only was he seemingly determined to put the decorative ashtray to a more productive use and constantly cracking jokes, but he'd stated his primary reason for wishing to join UCOS as the fact that 'the cash sounds marvellous'.
Still, three hours later, it hardly broke her heart when Jack suggested her teenage saviour as a potential candidate; of course, she acted annoyed - it wouldn't have been true to form to go all doe-eyed, and the thought frankly made her grimace - but due to the lack of alternative choices, his impeccable CID record and primarily the fact that she still found him so physically appealing, she thought it was probably worth a punt.
So I'm not going to fall in love with the idiot, she realised indifferently as she poignantly remembered the desire to throw the ashtray at his head, but christ knows I need something to look at…
"Do you want to do the job properly, or do you just want to look nice?" Jack demanded in annoyance.
She mentally smirked, a flash of a significantly younger copper enchantingly handling a breathalyser striking her mind.
Oh, definitely the latter, she retorted within, before sighing with relent and pretending that Gerry Standing's inclusion had been some sort of ordeal to decide.