Title: Not her type
Author: Loz
E-Mail: loz06(at)yahoo(dot)com
Rating: T
Category: Phil.Sam. Yes you read it correctly.
Series: Absolutely and positively not. This is the one and only there will ever be and even then I'm not confidant about it…at all, so much so I forgot about it for about a week.
Spoilers: So minor it shouldn't ruffle any feathers. Just as long as you know there's something floating around between Sam and Phil and a bit about their pasts this should all make sense…I hope!
Archive (if applicable): www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net(slash)loz06
Feedback: The good, the bad and the very ugly it's all appreciated.
Summary: Sam Nixon contemplates Phil Hunter.
Authors' notes: I'm quickly going back to the Neil.Andrea asylum before anyone realises I've escaped. Or. I'm only changing teams for this one story.
Thanks: Phoenix angelwolf who read critiqued and supported me… Thank you!
Disclaimers: Phil might not be Sam's type and the Bill is definitely not my show.
Phil Hunter is not the type she goes for anymore, now she's in her forties.
In her twenties at university sure, when she had a weakness for academics, the men who could command the attention of a room full of people on even the most boring aspect of their specialty, the men who were like fine wine and only seemed to get better looking with age. They were wise, educated in more ways than one and as she looks back despite the fact it was dangerous, more for the man she was with than her, it was safe, the relationship was never going to go anywhere. At the same time it was exciting and under their spell she felt herself flourish and mature.
Of course there was the devastatingly handsome guy, who for many others was the only one to be with, like Phil they were full of charm and confidence. Often she wondered if she only bothered in an effort to keep up appearances, to conceal the true nature of the type of man she was attracted to and slept with. The handsome ones only wanted Sam for her looks; they were at university for a good time for the social aspects, cruising through their course casually until they could start making money and then continue the good times.
They took her to parties and out to pubs and nightclubs, showing her the other side of university life, one she never quite felt comfortable in. Alcohol was drunk like lolly water, rich parent's income disappearing up noses and veins and illicit acts of sex that she would never partake in happening each night. They didn't share Sam's intellect or her passion for what she was studying and as soon as they realised she was only half interested it was over.
Surrounded by books and those who were considered to be the top of the psychology field, the very things she had a passion for she felt in her element. She found herself involved in in-depth conversations and was allowed access to resources others weren't further fuelling her passion for her studies.
It didn't matter if she became obsessed with her latest psychology professor, thought about him every waking moment, drowned in his eyes deep coffee brown like that in the cup she brought to each of his lectures, she thought little of the decadent hours spent making love.
Not now.
Now she wears a suit of demure navy blue and blacks, pressed and made by moderately well known designers, not frayed jeans and bright colours, back then she was too busy with psychology to keep up with fashion, not that she really does now. She wears sensible heels, no longer wobbling to great heights with aching calves and feet all the time wondering how many passed out students she'll have to step over to get to the toilet.
Her hair is neatly tied back or straight and under control; she's traded the rubber bands and mismatched pins she'd secure before running to a lecture for elegant clips, her hair doesn't fly wild and springy anymore. She keeps it maintained having long ago decided regrowth wasn't the image she wanted to make known and now there's the occasional grey hair she likes to keep hidden.
She has a job she loves and is dedicated to; with it comes responsibility though she's never had a problem dealing with responsibility and she has ambitions. These days she lets her work and worth do the talking though she knows her male colleagues have noticed her and turned their heads at some point in the beginning. She'd rather be known for her instinct, resilience and self belief than the colour of her hair. Every now and then she still gets the opportunity discuss and debate and attacks the opposing side with just as much vigour as she did when she was at university going up against someone with infinitely more experience than she.
A sleep in on Sunday is a rare luxury not a regular occurrence and drinks are something casual done after work, the only drugs she ever sees are the ones in evidence bags.
She no longer falls for the 'wrong type', the adulation in her eyes for men senior to her in position and age has gone but she still makes mistakes, there was Peter Cavanaugh but she'd never put such a label on her time with Abi's father, Abi undoes anything and everything bad there. She wonders for a second if considering her affair with Peter Cavanaugh means she thinks Phil Hunter would be a mistake as well.
She looks for stability, someone who's down to earth and level headed with a sense of humour, intelligent and most of all someone who's not threatened or unable to cope with whom she is…she's strong and she needs someone who can handle that. Perhaps that's all boring, Phil certainly isn't any of those things. Then again she's not really looking; being a mother to Abi is number one priority and she can't honestly say she's unhappy with her life as it is.
Yet she finds herself drawn to him.
Phil's one of the good looking guys that took her out in university; he's cocky, charming and overconfident. His smile seeps confidence and he can blur the lines between professional and personal with it. He often steps in too close to her and was forward about why he chose the desk he did. He takes pleasure in his reputation to the point of nausea for others and at one time she couldn't stand the sight of him.
Then she realised what an elaborate mask it all is.
Phil's life is a mess.
By his own doing.
He has women angry with him and rejecting him all over town. Some have chosen to air their aggravations with him right in the middle of the station much to the displeasure of his senior officers. His liaisons have often put cases off kilter and put him out of favour with those same senior officers and some colleagues.
His marriage has failed though for that he really only has himself to blame, he's cheated on his wife multiple times, resulting in a child more times than once and a close scrape much of the rest of the time, that's Phil.
His head is all over the place, tied down to the love for his children with the wrong women and the guilt of not being able to get his own wife pregnant.
He's struggling with the person he used to be and his inclination to go back to and the one he's become since his brush with death, the new Phil that people like much better. Still she doesn't feel any amount of sympathy for him; he played his own hand and has to deal with the consequences.
The older she gets the more she loathes the type of behaviour he has displayed in the past towards women and continues to do so to a lesser degree though that doesn't seem to have had an influence on her.
Maybe she shouldn't discount him just because he doesn't fit her criteria whatever that is; just because she used to loath him as a copper and a person, just because he's the type of guy she would have dated briefly in university but has left behind.
Maybe that's why she finds herself nervously accepting a date, assured she really has nothing to lose, she's already hated him once.
She finds herself checking her hair and make-up in the mirror; she's traded her normally functional hair style for something elaborate and impractical. Whereas during the week she keeps her make-up minimal and sensible she takes a little more care tonight.
Waiting for him to pick her up, she feels fluttery in the stomach, she wobbles slightly on the heels that are higher than she wears during the week but are much more elegant than those she used to strap her feet into.
She feels nervous at how striking he looks in his suit; she finds her reaction is a similar feeling to that she used to have long ago.
She finds herself accepting a drink and a dance, later asking him inside her flat for that same deep brown coffee she's always drunk…and enjoyed.