Things I'll Never Say, a bill fanfic

A/N: For all of you Jam fans. Especially my fiancée dcmasters – this is a belated birthday present.

I've been sat at this desk, staring into an empty office, for the best part of an hour now. All my paperwork is in order, I've checked and re-checked for spelling and grammar errors and I've even beaten my high score on Solitaire. I have literally nothing at all to do. If I really wanted to, I could probably arrange with the DCI to leave early seeing as I have everything up to speed. But I don't want to leave. I want to see Sam Nixon.

Every five or so minutes I've asked a different colleague if they know of Sam's whereabouts. I'm sure Phil's picked up on something; he certainly will when I run out of detectives to ask and start again by asking him. Everyone has said something similar: she's chasing up a vital lead and said she wouldn't be long. The waiting is killing me, ripping my insides to shreds with nerves as well as the skin around my fingernails – if I pick it at much more I won't have any fingers left. Note to self: I need to brush up on ways to cure boredom which don't involve self mutilation.

I'm tugging at my hair I'm pulling at my clothes I'm trying to keep my cool I know it shows

"Sam!" She casually saunters in to CID and my mouth runs away before my brain has a chance to catch up. "I mean, hi." A prime example of foot-in-mouth disease if there ever was one.

"Hi, Jo." She smiles. Her face lights up like a beautiful angel when she smiles. She called me Jo rather than DC Masters too, which is always a good sign.

"Are you ok?" She presses and I realise her greeting was an indication for me to actually speak instead of gawp.

"Me? Yeah, I'm good. You?"

"I'm fine, thank you. Was there...anything you wanted?" I rack my brains for something half intelligent to say. I can't just say no after practically jumping on her before can I?

"Yes, there was actually..." I look around the normally bustling department. Glancing briefly to the clock, I realise that everyone would have left without me noticing a good fifteen minutes or so ago when the day shift ended and that DI Nixon and I are the only two people left. Her eyes are fixed on me, waiting for me to continue. "...I was, er, wondering if you'd like come round to mine tonight? Few drinks, some dinner, maybe a film, that sort of thing." I try my best to sound cool and calm but I don't think she buys it. She's not DI for nothing.

I'm staring at my feet
My cheeks are turning red
And I'm searching for the words inside my head

"Yeah, why not? 7:30 ok?" I almost fall backwards with shock. I wasn't expecting her to say yes! My heart tells me to jump for joy and kiss Sam there and then, but my head stops that and brings me back to earth.

"Yeah, 7.30 would be great." I smile, she smiles, I feel warm inside. "What would you like to eat?" I find myself asking.

"I don't mind. A takeaway would suffice." I smile again, this time at how sweet she is.

"No, honestly, I'd like to cook. In fact I insist." I feel so glad to hear my normal, jokey self returning.

"Well, if you insist," She giggles a little, I love that giggle. "Then how about...spag bol?"

"Ah, my speciality!" I haven't made a spag bol in years but there's no way I'm letting her know that.

"Great, I'll see you then Jo." She replies before making her way to her office as I leave the station to prepare for the evening ahead.

Sifting through the mass of tins and packets in my kitchen cupboards, I'm pleasantly surprised to discover I actually have all of the ingredients I need to make spaghetti bolognese. I'm glad that's one less thing to worry about.

With the water for the pasta boiling and my finest bottle of wine in the fridge, I decide to quickly change into something for the evening. What a big mistake to think I could ever get changed quickly! Do I wear jeans and a casual top? Something a little smarter? Holding a few tops up to my body as I look in the mirror, I just can't decide. What if Sam turns up wearing an evening dress? Or the other extreme, a tracksuit? Images of DI Nixon in various outfits corrupt my thoughts until I physically have to shake my head to remove them. Stick to the task in hand, Jo. Eventually, I choose the safe option of a long sleeved pale blue shirt (which is slightly low cut, might I add) and dark jeans. Not too smart, but not too casual either. Running a brush through my hair and spraying perfume, I nod – satisfied with my appearance. I just hope Sam is too.

'Cause I'm feeling nervous
Trying to be so perfect
'Cause I know you're worth it, you're worth it

7:20pm. Dinner is almost ready, the table's set and my stomach's doing somersaults. What if she's late and the food goes cold? What if she's gone for casual clothing and I look too smart? What if she'd prefer red wine to white? What if she doesn't show up at all? Come off it Jo, you know you can't live your life on 'what ifs.'

The doorbell ringing forces me to fall back to reality. I look to the clock. 7:30pm on the dot. I smile, what do you expect from a perfectionist like Sam Nixon?

"Hi, Jo. You look great."

"Thanks, you look...stunning." I shock myself with my honesty but I can't help it. She's wearing a low cut red top with a knee length pencil skirt and she looks beautiful.

"Thank you." She smiles that gorgeous smile of hers once again. My knees turn to jelly and I have to steady myself using the door frame.

"Come in; make yourself at home and all that." I take her jacket, it's filled with her warmth. She smiles, kicking off her boots and admiring the decor.

"It's a lovely place you've got here." The second compliment in the space of two minutes, from the DI!

"Thanks. It's not much but it's home."

"I thought we could use this to wash the dinner down." She hands me a bottle of white wine, one incredibly similar to my choice which is still chilling in the fridge.

"Oh, thank you. You didn't have to." With a wave of my arm I show her through to the living room.

"It's fine, I wanted to." I nod towards the sofa, offering her a seat.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." I smile, leaving her – as much as it kills me to tear my eyes away from her gorgeous face - looking around my humble living area.

If I could say what I want to say
I'd say I want to blow you away
Be with you every night
Am I squeezing you too tight?
If I could see what I want to see
I want to see you go down on one knee
Marry me today
Guess I'm wishing my life away
With these things I'll never say

"Dinner's ready!" I call through to the living room, placing the plates in their spaces and pouring wine into glasses.

She emerges in the doorway: it's as if she's floated through like an angel. She takes the seat opposite me.

"Wow, this looks gorgeous!" Not as gorgeous as you look. I bite my tongue and force a smile in an attempt to stop any more inappropriate thoughts. I wait with baited breath for Sam to deliver the verdict. I hope she likes it. In fact, if I was religious, I would even pray that she likes it.

"This is delicious! I never had you down as such a good cook!" Sam likes my cooking, she likes my cooking! Our wine glasses clink together as she jokes about expecting beans on toast tonight. She's a cheeky sod. But seeing as she's broken the ice and allowed me to finally start breathing again, I'll let her off.

It don't do me any good, it's just a waste of time
What use is it to you what's on my mind?
If it ain't coming out, we're not going anywhere
So why can't I just tell you that I care?

We finish dinner. Sam eats every last mouthful. I'm dying to make a comment about how large her appetite is compared to her small frame but I don't fancy a slap right now. I pile all the dishes on my hectic work surface to leave until later. She's so adorable, she even offers to wash up. As much as I'd love to see her with her hands dirty – stop it, Jo - she's my guest.

Going through to the living room with the remainder of the bottle, she sits in the same spot on the sofa as before. Do I take the chair on the other side of the room or the other half of the sofa? I'd love to sit as close to her as possible but I'm afraid I won't be able to resist the urge to pounce on her. Heading over to the chair, she stops me and offers me the spot next to her on the sofa. That's got to be good sign, surely?

'Cause I'm feeling nervous
Trying to be so perfect
'Cause I know you're worth it, you're worth it

"That really was a lovely meal, thank you. You must've gone to a lot of effort." Her complimentary words mean more to me than she'll ever know.

"Oh you know, just something I knocked up." My trademark trait – using humour when feeling awkward.

"I admit I was quite surprised when you invited me for dinner." You and me both, Sam.

"I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together away from the office. As friends...of course." I add, not wanting to sound too forward.

She smiles, a little uncomfortably though, I notice.

"I'll get another bottle." I gulp down the rest of my glass as an excuse to leave the room, and the awkward situation. I hope she hasn't read too much into that. Or do I?

I lean against the worktop, taking a few deep breaths. Thoughts swirl around my mind leaving a dull aching sensation. Sam is a colleague, Jo, you know you don't date colleagues, never mind your boss! And a straight boss at that! I rub my eyes, they hurt from all this damn thinking.

"Are you ok?" I get the shock of my life as Sam speaks. I look up to find her casually propped up against the kitchen doorframe.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. I'll be through with the wine in just a minute." Pulling myself together, I take the bottle from the fridge and deliberately take a while to unscrew the cap in the hope that Sam will go back into the living room. She doesn't.

"You're not fine, I can tell. What's wrong?" She walks over to me and places her soft hand on my shoulder. I just want to melt under her touch and tell her how exactly how I feel about her, but I can't. She's all ears, waiting patiently for me to speak. It's the perfect opportunity for me to reveal everything. I can't do it.

What's wrong with my tongue?
These words keep slipping away
I stutter, I stumble, like I've got nothing to say

"Really, Sam, I'm ok. It's just been a long day, that's all." I pour wine into the two glasses, avoiding eye contact.

"If you're sure." She squeezes my shoulder a little and flashes me that famous smile.

"Yeah, I'm sure." I pass her a glass. "How does Pretty Woman suit you?" She giggles a little. I must refrain from turning to mush every time she giggles.

"Sounds wonderful." As I place the disk into the DVD player, I can't quite believe the irony – watching Pretty Woman with the beautiful Sam Nixon.

'Cause I'm feeling nervous
Trying to be so perfect
'Cause I know you're worth it, you're worth it

She chews on her lip a little as she concentrates on the film. Her index finger absentmindedly traces the rim of the wine glass. She laughs and smiles in all the right places. I can see her subconsciously mouthing the words to the most memorable lines. Child-like, she seems to get excited when her favourite parts of the film are coming up. She's adorable.

I'm paying no attention to the TV screen whatsoever. I'm using this opportunity to admire the woman sat beside me. There's a beam of light coming through the curtains, catching her hair and turning it a golden colour. I've never noticed before how unusual her eyes are, they're almost turquoise. Her body is perfectly in proportion, from her small but perfectly formed fingers to little but toned legs. She's a vision of beauty, the definition of the perfect woman, but she'll never be mine.

These things I'll never say