The Morning After Part 1 – Her

Disclaimer: New Tricks belongs to the BBC. But since Santa didn't bring me my own for Christmas, I'm going to have to borrow them.

Rating: M for some swearing and adult situations.

Pairing; Sandland.

First of a three parter. The first two parts will be p.o.v. Inner conversations in italic.

/

Ouch

That was all Sandra could think as she tried to open her eyes enough to focus on the clock on her bedside table. The morning light had started to filter through the open blinds and was now trying to burn her eyes out. At least, that's how it felt. She finally manages to make out the numbers on the electric demon glowing at her, eight twenty, still the middle of the night as far as she was concerned. It was Saturday and she really didn't need to be anywhere but in her bed.

How much did I drink last night, I don't even remember getting home. She thought, assuming of course I am home!

She cracked one eye open again, doing her best to keep her head still so that the hammering inside it wouldn't get any louder, it felt like someone was doing the drum solo from 'wipeout' on the inside of her skull. She focused on the bedside table. Clock, hers check. Lamp, hers check. Window, in the right place, check. Okay so she was in her own flat. That was a good thing.

She tried to remember the night before. She had gone to the Commissioner's New years eve party. It hadn't been the usual office get together with a few crates of cheap plonk, this year he'd thrown a huge party at a hall, all drinks free and it had been a brilliant night, as much of it as she could remember anyway.

She snuggled back down into the warmth of the duvet...Wait! The warmth was coming from behind her. She tensed, suddenly becoming aware that she wasn't alone. There was a very warm and very definitely male body spooned up behind her! Right on cue the body sighed in his sleep and an arm snaked around her body, the hand resting on her naked stomach. Sandra almost stopped breathing, she had only just realised that she was stark naked, and judging by the part of his anatomy which she could feel pressed against her thigh, so was he. Her mind started to race, desperately trying to remember the events of the evening before. She focused her mind on her body, the priority right now was to figure out if they had actually done anything. It only took a second to figure out that she had either been to an extremely vigorous exercise class in the middle of the night, or that she had been well and truly shagged. She tried to quell the panic building inside her. She did some quick calculations and worked out that she was in the safe part of her cycle, so if they hadn't used protection, at least pregnancy wasn't an issue, but that wouldn't protect her if he had any std's.

Who? She thought. She hadn't done anything this irresponsible since she was in university. She thought back to the party. She had danced with several men. Gerry!

Oh, please no! It wasn't that she didn't like Gerry, but he was one of her best friends, it would be like kissing your brother or something. But then she remembered Jack and Brian taking a very inebriated Gerry home. She had stayed and danced some more. One man stuck in her mind.

Oh God! Not the slug! She felt physically sick. If it was Sam 'the slug' Parkinson she would have to kill him and hide the body to stop him from going back to the station telling everyone that he'd 'had' Sandra Pullman.

He was known as the slug because when you had spent a few minutes in his company, you felt all slimy, and he tended to creep up on you. He had tried to dance with her several times, cutting in front of those she was happy to dance with. He had tucked a sprig of mistletoe in his hair, trying to get a kiss from any unsuspecting female who happened to wander into his vicinity. And he had pursued her mercilessly all evening.

Surely she hadn't got so drunk that she had ended up bringing the slug home, she really would have to get herself tested if that was the case. But there was something else niggling at her memories. She strained to remember. The slug had tried to kiss her. She had kneed him in the bollocks, raising a cheer from the women in the room. She had gone out to get some air but the bastard had followed her, and was getting aggressive, that was until someone had taken him by the throat and told him to get lost.

The knight in white dinner jacket had called her a taxi and got her inside. She remembered the driver arguing with her saviour, telling him that he wouldn't take her home without a chaperone. The man had come with her and made sure she had gotten home safely. She had kissed him and sent the taxi away, her saviour had been equally drunk and it hadn't taken much to persuade him to join her for a 'coffee'.

Sex. She remembered that now. And it had been good. Really, really good. An image swam into her mind, of him above her, bracing his weight on his arms to avoid crushing her, thrusting in and out, driving her to climax over and over. His face became clear. The face which belonged with the body behind her.

Shit! Fuck! Shit! She had screwed her boss! The warm, muscular, aroused body behind her was Robert Strickland! She has been thoroughly shagged by her supervisor. No that wasn't fair, because she had a very vivid memory of her riding him to orgasm, which meant that she was equally culpable.

She froze as he stirred behind her, his hand wandering up towards her breasts, she could feel him getting harder against her thigh. Suddenly his hand stopped, she could feel his breathing change. He was awake. She lay as still as she could, unsure how to face him, so she took the cowardly way out and pretended she was still asleep. She felt him slide his hand away and he gently backed away from her. She found herself missing his warmth, but stayed still. She felt the bed move and realised he was sat on the edge. She rolled over onto her back, still keeping up the act of being asleep, and snuck a look at him. He was sat with his head in his hands, she resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. He stood and quietly crept around the room, gathering up his clothing. He fished a pen out of his jacket and took a tissue from the box on the bedside table. He scribbled a note which he laid on the pillow and leaned across, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead before stealthily creeping out of the bedroom door, his clothes still in his hands. As the door shut, Sandra sat up. Her head was still pounding, but now she was angry. She never thought he would be the shag and run type. She picked up the dreaded tissue, expecting to read the usual drivel about how it was him not her, and that this was for the best. She stopped when she read the simple note.

"I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me."

Her eyes filled with tears. She had a decision to make.

/

Part 2 to follow.