hiya, this has been distracting me from what i'm supposed to have been doing all day! please enjoy!

Jessie xx

The End Of The World Doesn't Matter If I'm With You

"What's the flamin' date?" Gerry asked crossly as he tried to fill out his expense form for the month.

"12th December," Steve looked across at the cockney, over his newspaper.

"2012," Sandra added for good measure, exiting her private office and grinning at Steve as she made her way toward the kettle.

"Twelve, twelve, twelve," Brian mumbled.

"Oh, that's right," Steve observed. "It's the end of the world!"

Sandra rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly," she sighed as she filled the kettle and flicked the switch. "Coffee?"

All three of 'her boys' responded in the affirmative. She sighed and lined up four mugs, checking inside each and frowning at the stained interiors. Apparently no amount of rinsing was sufficient for removing the tell-tale rings of forgotten coffee.

"That's cobblers," Gerry replied to Steve's statement. "If the world was going to end, do you not think they'd have been some sign of it by now?"

"Gerry," Sandra groaned. "Can you not just do the paperwork? Why start a philosophical debate in the middle of the day?"

"Because it's interesting," Brian pushed his glasses the eighth of an inch up his nose that it had slipped whilst he had been concentrating on reconciling their latest list of cases against the MET database. Strickland had decided that their clear-up rate should be comparable in crime to the rest of CID. A debate of religious morality and the mortality of the universe was indeed more interesting.

"The world's got to end sometime," Steve agreed, standing to help Sandra deliver the drinks. "Why not today?"

"Isn't it all some religious bollocks?"

"Gerry!" Sandra exclaimed. She picked up her coffee, leaving Steve to distribute the others' to them and took a temporary seat at the table, frowning at the mess. "What is all this stuff?"

"Stuff," Gerry glanced over and offered unhelpfully.

"Actually, there are many theories as to the end of the world," Brian persisted. "Natural disaster being a favourite; earthquake, tidal wave, hurricane…"

"Thank you, Brian," Sandra said firmly. "I thought this was the 'tidy table'?"

"Here," Steve joined her. "Let's have a look at what we've got here."

"But those things take ages to well, finish," Gerry responded to Brian.

Sandra looked exasperatedly between them, then at Steve who was grinning as he stacked papers on top of each other and discarded biscuit wrappings into a pile which he transferred to the bin.

"Good afternoon," a voice came through the door, swiftly followed by their DAC.

"Afternoon, sir," they chorused, sounding like a class at school.

Rob Strickland smiled to himself, and then at Sandra, she truly was presiding over detention today as they attempted to tidy their office and paperwork in readiness for the Christmas break. He knew there was little chance of them not taking on any cases in this last week, especially as he had done his best to ground them; but there was always hope.

"How's it going then?" he asked, casting an eye around their office which appeared to his organised eye to be in even more of a mess than usual, especially the place where Sandra sat, his eye having rested on her. "I thought that was the 'tidy table'?"

"Mmm, so did I," she agreed, rising and leading the way to her office, offering a pointed glance at each of her colleagues in turn, leaving them in no doubt that the 'tidy table' had best start living up to it's name, preferably before she re-emerged from her personal den.

"So," he tried to phrase the question so that it wouldn't sound accusatory, knowing that he hadn't officially ordered them not to do any actual police work.

"Everyone is still very much 'on message', sir," Sandra smiled politely. "No-one has dug up any bodies in woods, or received any dodgy leads from even dodgier snouts. And the office will be tidy, soon."

"Right," he smiled back. "So not actually ordering your department to not do things, is the way to encourage you all to do the housekeeping?"

"Apparently," she laughed. "Brian's currently checking our clear-up rates against the MET database and as soon as Gerry has finished doing his own filing – "

Strickland raised his eyebrows.

"- he'll be compiling that list of potential cases that you wanted on your desk before the holiday. Sir," she hesitated.

"What is it?" he asked, swallowing back his hearty amusement that Gerry would be in charge of any element of the bureaucracy that modern policing required.

"Two things, one, do you really think that any of these management strategies that you've asked me to consider could successfully be implemented here? And two, I know the boys are entitled to their Christmases off, but…"

"Sandra, there is no reason for you not to enjoy the festive season as much as anyone else," he assured her. "And no, but I have to show that I've given you the opportunity to review all new initiatives that have been successful in other departments."

"Right," she rolled her eyes. Enjoying the festive season was hardly something she could relate to. Visiting her mother then reheating Christmas Eve's Chinese banquet for one, was hardly the height of her year.

"So, you're really not secretly working on a case?" he asked, glancing back into the main office to see each of the men individually continuing on their tasks, Brian at his computer, Steve moving things around on the 'tidy table' and Gerry scratching at his temple with his pen whilst scowling at the forms on his desk. It was certainly a convincing picture, if they were up to something there would definitely be furtive glances in the direction of Sandra's office.

"Honestly no," she assured him.

"In that case, you won't be working late tonight," he said carefully.

"No," she replied cautiously.

"I just wondered if maybe you'd like to come out to dinner?" he questioned slowly. "With me."

She resisted laughing out loud. Firstly at his suggestion, secondly at his qualification that the dinner invitation was from him. She studied his expression for a while, assuring herself that he was indeed serious and considering that over nearly nine years of working for him, this was the most direct he'd ever been. Sure, there was that time when he tried to flatter her by saying that she was the most successful and … attractive officer to be presenting the 'Hero of the Year Awards', but he'd still been married at that time. He annoyed her, constantly. But he did always support her and UCOS, and he wasn't an unattractive man. But he was her boss. And he was Strickland. If Gerry got even a sniff of what had just happened, she'd never hear the end of it. "I don't think so, thank you, sir."

It was polite, honest, conveyed everything that it needed to. He excused himself in as dignified a manner as he could muster and conveyed some message about returning to check on their progress when he could find the time, he was very busy at the moment. Very busy trying to pretend that he hadn't just been turned down by Sandra Pullman, even busier trying to pretend that he hadn't just asked her out.

Sandra returned to the main office to find that they boys had once again bored of their tasks.

"What did 'e want?" Gerry asked, scribbling a signature of his expense form and tossing the pen down.

She observed him for a moment, contemplating telling him the truth. Reminding him, and the others, that she was still a full-blooded female interested in the opposite sex. She decided against it. "Just checking that we're not breaking his orders and taking on unauthorised cases when we're supposed to be getting ready for the Christmas break."

"Since when did the force take Christmas breaks anyway?" Steve asked.

"Since they retired," Brian said sedately. He hated holidays, but he did at least subscribe to this one. As much as he would never admit it, putting up the decorations for when Mark came to visit, thinking of something nice to get for Esther for Christmas, settling with Esther on the sofa on long winter nights, in front of the television, feeling the warmth from the electric fire as they relaxed, were the things he cherished about this holiday. It was only two weeks, but it was worth it. Perhaps this year, she'd even let him help with the dinner.

"Well it won't matter anyway, this year," Gerry reminded them. "Not if the world is going to end today!"

Sandra groaned again.

"So if it's not going to be a natural disaster, because it's too late for one to take its hold now," Steve acknowledged Brian and Gerry's earlier points. "What's going to happen?"

"I dunno," Gerry stood up from his desk and fished in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes.

"Maybe, everything will just stop," Brian suggested.

"What, and just, no more?" Steve looked to him for confirmation.

"Oh god," Sandra sighed. There was no way the boys were going to drop this one now.

"Ok, so new question," Steve continued as Gerry opened the fire escape and lit up a smoke. "What do you want to be doing, when it stops?"

"Ha," Gerry let out a bark of laughter. "That's easy, sex. Go out on top!"

Sandra and Brian cast disparaging glances in his direction as he blew a stream of white into the dark winter afternoon.

"Are you sure you can still manage that?" Sandra asked with a smirk.

"Funny," Gerry grimaced. "Is my phone on the desk?"

"Yeah," she cast a tired eye over the bombsite that Gerry insisted in calling a desk.

"Pass it 'ere," he continued.

"And what did your last slave die of?" she scowled as Steve picked up the phone and tossed it toward the ex-detective.

"I dunno," he muttered. "But I bet 'e 'ad a better sense of humour."

Sandra washed her cup up in the sink as Brian and Steve started to converse about slavery, a subject she really didn't have the energy for. Why was it, she wondered. That whenever there was office work to be done, the boys would find absolutely any subject of conversation more fascinating?

"Well that's sorted," Gerry informed his uncaptive audience as he closed the fire door and returned to his desk.

"What is?" Brian asked.

"The girls are coming round for dinner tonight, Paula and Caitlyn have already replied," he looked around at the nonplussed faces. "Well, if it's going to be the last supper, I want to spend it with them."

"That's…" Sandra paused. How was it that after ten years, this man could still surprise her with how sweet he could be? "That's a really nice thought, Gerry."

He shrugged and sat down, grinning as he saw that his paperwork was already finished. He shuffled the pages to one side and clicked the monitor of his computer on instead.

"Brian?" Sandra asked as the older man reached for the handset of the phone on his desk. "Have you finished compiling that data for Strickland?"

"Aye, just printing off the report," he assured her. "I thought I might ring Esther though, see if Mark can come round for dinner."

She shook her head, as much as he hid it, Brian was possibly even softer than Gerry. She looked over to Steve who was turning the papers and books at his workstation over.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just want to find me phone," he informed her. "Want to check Charlie's not working late…"

"That's my man," Gerry exchanged a meaningful look with Steve before catching Sandra's eye glaring at him and hastily returning his attention to his computer screen. "Got a copy of that report of yours Brian?"

"I've just e-mailed it to you," Brian said. He held the receiver to his ear as he finished dialling his home number.

Sandra didn't want to sigh, or groan, or roll her eyes for the hundredth time that day so she settled instead for returning to her own office and staring aimlessly at the assortment of case files, unfinished reports and never-going-to-be-read memos. She decided to begin her own filing by removing the memos from her overflowing in-tray to the bin. After half an hour of doing this, her desk no tidier than it had been before she started, her eye was caught by a handwritten reminder about a meeting that she had long since made excuses for forgetting. He had such artistic handwriting, she thought, taking in every loop and line of his hastily written note. He always stood up for their department, her mind instantly pulled his latest defence against Steven Fischer to mind as her favourite moment of his masterfulness. The memory of his stupid and short-lived beard brought a smile to her face as she realised that if the end of the world really was going to come today, then did anything else matter? Somewhere within her stirred the distant care-free and spontaneous days of her youth. She turned her eye to the clock. Time, times gone, times to come, she was spending too much time dawdling around the same philosophical questions that plagued the boys' housekeeping attempts. She stood up. The mess on her desk would still be there tomorrow, if there was a tomorrow.

"Come on then boys," she said. "Shall we call it a day?"

"Absolutely!" Gerry said enthusiastically, then mellowed his tone as he caught her stern eye. "I mean, that's a great idea, I need to go to the shop anyway, Jane and Emily have just text me back too."

"Great," Steve already had his coat on.

Brian was following suit, barely logged out of the system before he was out of his seat. "Oh, Sandra, that report for Strickland," he held out a printed copy of his report.

"Er, yeah," Gerry chipped in. "I've erm…"

"Tell me in the morning, Gerry," she pursed her lips, knowing full well that he'd spent the afternoon at his computer alternatively looking up recipes and racing odds.

"If we're here in the morning," he teased. "Goodnight, guv."

"Goodnight, Gerry. Thanks, Brian. See you, Steve," she was alone in the office as Brian's rear bicycle wheel exited. She laughed to herself. Detention was over for the day. The report in her hand gave her an excuse to go to the headmaster's office. She just hoped he would still want to see her. She crossed herself, of course he would. He'd be fiercely pretending that he hadn't made a fool of himself earlier. That she hadn't made a fool out of him.

"That's fine, no really," he resisted the urge to spit down the telephone line, the rational part of his mind telling him that it would only mean there would be spit on his telephone that he would have to clean off. "Of course, I wasn't trying to… of … well, that's fine then. So when can I see them? Hello? Helen? Hello? Damn!"

Sandra grimaced as she heard his end of the heated conversation through his office door. She knocked.

"Come in," he hissed through his teeth. If this was that DC from MIT6 been sent as a messenger for the DCS that had a face that he wanted to punch, then his day really wasn't getting any better. He glared at the calendar on his desk. Last day on earth? It couldn't be over soon enough.

"Good evening, sir," she opened neutrally. She had already guessed that the phone call had been to his ex-wife before he had said her name. The look on his face as he tried to ignite his desk calendar was one of pain and betrayal that she had only seen once before; last year when Helen had decided to take the children abroad for Christmas with her new husband. "I've got that report on clear-up correlation for you."

He could barely see her properly as he looked up, his gaze still filled with anger, rage and trying not to hate his ex-wife. "Oh, right, thank you, DS Pullman."

"Sir?" she asked tentatively. "Is everything…?"

"Absolute rubbish?" he shook his head to clear the cloud of depressive fatalism and stood, smiling, taking the paper from her. "Absolutely."

She bit her lip. He was in no mood for cheering up, clearly. She walked toward the door, then stopped. One hand strayed to the doorframe, physically maintaining her presence in the room as she turned and looked at him. "Do you still fancy going out to dinner?" she asked.

He blinked. Then blinked again. Then spent far too long thinking about the time he spent blinking.

"It doesn't matter," she hastily retracted and tried to step backwards, stopped only by her hand unconsciously refusing to let go of the doorframe.

"Yes," he blurted out. "I mean, no it doesn't matter. Yes, I'd still like to go out to dinner, with you. Providing that it has nothing to do with you feeling sorry for me because you heard all that conversation I had with Helen before you knocked on the door."

"You really are a far better copper than anyone gives you credit for," she relaxed and grinned. She was not in control of her hand or anything else apparently. "I've been thinking about it ever since you asked. And the boys have been talking about the end of the world all afternoon, so even if it was a sympathy vote, does it matter?"

"End of the world?" he repeated, smiling in spite of himself. "Funnily enough I was thinking about the exact same thing just now."

"Pick me up at eight," she told him before disappearing out of view. Even that DC's reappearance three times before he managed to leave the office that day, couldn't dampen his excitement.

He picked her up as requested at eight o'clock sharp and took her to his favourite restaurant.

"This is nice," she looked around as he took her coat and handed it to the waiter. She had managed to spend two hours staring at her wardrobe before settling on a low cut black blouse and tight jeans. It was casual, unlike her breathing which was beyond her control and had been since he had turned up at her house in a dark grey suit with an open collared black shirt.

"Mmm," he managed to reply, his ability to form coherent sentences had flown since picking her up when all of his concentration had immediately been diverted to not realising just how low cut her blouse was or how tight her jeans were.

Through a collective and mammoth effort on both parts they managed to order, eat and make non-committal conversation about work and some serial on television that they both watched. He insisted on paying for the meal, but did it quietly while she was in the ladies so that she couldn't argue with him. She invited him in for coffee, he hesitated.

"Sandra," they were stood on her doorstep, the taxi waiting on the street. "I don't know if…"

"If you want to, or if it's a good idea?" she asked with a raise of her eyebrow.

"I don't want to ruin tonight," he said seriously.

"You won't," she assured him.

He leant in and planted a hesitant kiss to her cheek.

"I'm still here," she whispered.

"I'll just pay the taxi," he said, turning to step away but she pulled him back, by gently catching his arm. He looked at her in a moment of confusion as she bit her lip, looked at him, then leant forward and kissed him on the lips.

"Just to make sure you do come back," she teased.

He almost skipped to the taxi, informed the foreign gentleman that his services were no longer required that evening, for them at any rate, stopped himself from talking, paid the man and tried to saunter casually back up Sandra's drive way and through the open front door. Where sauntering is replaced by tripping up three steps and diving into a coat stand.

She laughed. "Wow, I thought you had better balance than that."

"I seem to be having some difficulty…" he stopped himself, felt the blood rise to his cheeks. Looked her awkwardly in the eye to make sure that she was still laughing, she was.

"Sandra, do you think this is maybe all a bit, sudden?" he asked.

"You can always call the taxi back," she stated, no longer laughing.

"No, I mean, is it what you want?"

"Rob," she informed him. "I've put the kettle on. We've had a lovely evening. If you want to leave it at that, then fine."

He shook his head.

"What then?" she asked.

"Let's skip the coffee."

She was as much surprised by her own behaviour that night as by his. They were both senior officers, with reputations that were apt to become ruined with the slightest slight. Yet none of it seemed to matter as they gave themselves to each other that night. Whether it was the threat of eminent extinction or simply the need to feel some closeness in their sometimes lonely lives; they wouldn't know or be able to explain. Though as they lay in the darkened room, waiting for their breathing to level again, each contemplated it.

"Sandra?" he asked as he stroked the back of her neck.

"Rob?" she asked, raising her head slightly off his chest.

"All that stuff about the end of the world…"

"What about it?"

"It doesn't matter, if I'm with you."