A/N: The lyrics at the top are from 'For Baltimore' by All Time Low (if you listen to it, go for the acoustic version- it's beautiful) and the line in bold is in answer to Beth's challenge. Enjoy! xxx

Disclaimer: I don't own New Tricks.

Our Goodbye

"I don't want to say goodnight

The city comes alive

When we're together

Why can't Thursday last forever?"

He'd probably never been more grateful in his life for promising him this. One last night, before she left. Just them, a takeaway and a film to end her last Thursday at work. He was gazing out of the window whilst she plated up the food, the comforting aroma filling the living room as his warm breath hit the cold window, making his view of the road beyond the house hazy. The past year had made him learn to appreciate the smaller things in life, with the sudden departure of two of his best friends. His mind was filled with snapshots that he treasured; going to see an AFC Wimbledon game with Brian for the first time after ten years of knowing him, drinking in the pub with Jack shortly before he left, and the picture that he kept on his phone of their four drinks on the circular table.

He remembered Sandra asking him why he took that photograph, and teasing him for being a soppy old bastard when he told her the answer: that their drinks summed up their personalities. Brian's orange juice; a metaphor for his recovery, a symbol for the better man that he had become. Jack's whisky; firm, strong, yet with a much-needed kick that represented his icy glare and sharp tongue. Then there was his beer, the classic drink, always there. The last man standing. And finally Sandra's dry white wine, luring you in with its enticing appearance, yet possessing some strange quality that left your mouth dry, almost enslaving you into going back for more.

The frustrating beauty of hindsight had told him that he must have had a feeling, somewhere in his subconscious, that Jack was going to leave, that UCOS had somehow reached the zenith of its day and would now be forever consigned to decline, as though it were some sort of tacky seaside resort that was well past its heyday. Maybe they all had known that, somehow, as if it was inevitable. Like the old saying. Good things don't last. They can't.

"Earth to Gerald." A sharp yet melodic voice cut through his thoughts. He turned around to find that she had put the food on the coffee table, brought in the drinks and set up the DVD player without him even noticing her presence directly behind him. He'd always had a feeling she was in the secret service. Either that or he was going deaf, which was probably the most plausible answer.

"Sorry, I was just…"

"Thinking?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, I've been doing a lot of that recently too." She mused, moving to sit on the cream fabric sofa. He joined her, settling in.

"This looks good," he announced, half-heartedly attempting to brighten the melancholic mood that had suddenly gripped both of them. There would be enough time to pretend that they were happy in the pub tomorrow, with Dan and Steve, but he didn't want to ruin the memory this would create either.

"Hmm, it tastes good too." She mumbled as she took her first mouthful of the aromatic curry. He realised with a pang of misery that he wouldn't be able to tease her about her passion for overly spicy or just generally bizarre food anymore.

"Mmm," he concurred as he matched her action. He really couldn't fault her knowledge of which of the thousands of takeaways in London were the best. "So what are we watching then?"

"I was thinking maybe Mamma Mia? I know how much you love ABBA."

"Too right guv." He admitted proudly, grinning at her as she set the film to play. "Dancing queen…"

All too soon, midnight arrived, plunging the city into darkness. The only source of illumination was from the streetlights which cast an orange glow against the grey tarmac, a reminder that the city was still alive, even at night.

"I should go," he sighed reluctantly. He'd grown way too comfortable, despite his intention not to. He hadn't wanted to succumb to the familiar addiction that her presence provoked in him, yet of course he had done. How could he not? It was as if she had weaved in to her web, intoxicating him with wine, lulling him into a hazy half-slumber with food, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around him.

"Okay," she whispered, sitting up and breaking the spell that had possessed them as she rose to her feet, stretching.

He matched her movements, attempting to wake himself up to prepare for what he would have to say. She turned to him and smiled slightly, strands of her golden hair unusually yet beautifully displaced from the contact, before leading him into the hallway. Once they were there, she turned to face him again, still smiling softly.

"So."

"Yep." He replied, maintaining the eye contact that she had built, blue on blue. "I'll see you tomorrow." He turned to leave, his fingertips resting on the door handle.

"Wait." She whispered, barely audibly. "Aren't you going to say goodbye?"

He had intended to leave quickly, like ripping off a plaster, avoiding saying the word in this quiet, intimate setting. No, he would say it tomorrow, at the pub after work.

"I'll say it tomorrow," he said quietly. "This isn't goodbye yet."

"But…" she replied simply. This was goodbye, it was their only chance to say a proper goodbye when he was simply Gerry and she was Sandra, not when he was trying to act normal to avoid merciless jibes from Steve and she was pretending not to cry for the sake of her own reputation. It was their goodbye.

"Why won't you say it?" she asked eventually.

"I once heard this line in Peter Pan, it went something like 'never say goodbye, because saying goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.'"

"But Peter Pan never grew up, and we are grown up, and we live in the real world, and I'm not going to forget you, so grow some bloody balls and say it." She snapped, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

"I can't." he said simply, and walked away into the night.