A/N: This is something I thought of when talking to TeamNewTricks last night, so blame her!

Sarah x

"I don't wanna talk about Sandra," Gerry warned Steve drunkenly. Touching upon the subject of Sandra Pullman when they were alone was never a good plan. He could say things he didn't plan on saying, and then Sandra would find out, and then he was stuffed.

"Why not?" Steve answered, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "She's brilliant," he added. Gerry looked around, and he felt the jealousy bubble up again. Just like it did every other man who showed an interest in Sandra. But Steve just laughed. "Relax, pal. I was winding you up!" he laughed. "I see the way you look at her," he said in a tone that implied that the several drams they'd already gone through had given him a great deal of wisdom.

"I don't look at her like anything," Gerry denied just a little too quickly. He knew it was true, though. He was aware that he sometimes watched her when she wasn't looking, admiring her tall frame and her golden hair. Watching those bright blue eyes light up with everything from excitement and amusement to anger and fear. "I don't!" he almost shouted in response to Steve's amusedly sceptical stare.

"You do," he simply answered, his smile growing wider at the very thought. Gerry glared at him defensively, not actually angry with him but just not wanting to talk about her.

"Don't."

"Do."

"Don't."

"Do!"

"Do what?" a female voice drawled behind them. Gerry cringed as he turned around, hoping she hadn't heard the rest of the conversation. She didn't look angry or upset, just mildly interested, so it looked like they were saved for the time being.

"Nothing," Gerry lied. "Nothing at all for you to worry about, Sandra," he smiled. "Dry white wine, please," he added to the bartender. Just his luck for her to walk in on a conversation specifically about his feelings for her. To be fair, there was a time when they argued constantly, but it was brief and many years ago now. Now it was just banter and laughing. And restraining himself at the sound of her laugh.

"Thanks," Sandra said, accepting the drink handed to her. "So what were you guys talking about?" she asked suspiciously, obviously thinking they were yet again up to no good. It wasn't an unfair assumption, since they'd been up to no good pretty much ever since Steve turned up. Nah. Who was he kidding? Gerry spent most of his time up to no good.

"Doesn't matter," Steve deflected, coming to Gerry's aid. "What are you doing in here anyway? I didn't think you liked it in here."

"I was actually looking for Gerry but since you're both drunk, it can wait until Monday. Just work stuff," she smiled. Next to Gerry, Steve finished another whisky and ordered yet another one. Gerry, in his drunken state, let his eyes linger on Sandra for just a moment too long. The feeling he experienced when she caught him sobered him up pretty quickly – he had a feeling that a mixture of love and dread might make a damn good hangover cure.

She said nothing but just drank her wine in silence. Gerry, stuck between Steve and Sandra, let himself appear as drunk as he was before, but he was more aware now of what was going on around him. But Steve seemed to have done the opposite; he'd become very drunk in a very short space of time.

Her blonde hair fell over her face, so she brushed it away. She smiled at Gerry, though somewhat uncomfortably, and shook her head at the state he appeared to be in. He knew she didn't doubt he was completely out of it, but he wasn't. "Where's Brian?" Gerry broke the silence.

"Esther made him go home and have dinner. He's barely gone home all week," she added in Esther's defence. "I swear he gets weirder every day. He just told me I should only use shampoo with seaweed! Dunno where he got that one from."

"Seaweed's full of minerals and crap that's good for your hair," he shrugged. Sandra looked at him incredulously, apparently shocked he would know such a fact. "Too many wives and daughters," he grinned. "Caitlin uses this shower jelly stuff to wash her hair, and it's got seaweed in it."

"Do it!" Steve whispered in Gerry's ear.

"No!" he whispered back at him, just quiet enough that Sandra wouldn't hear them over the Friday night commotion. Steve simply shook his head and ordered yet another round of drinks – Sandra's wine, Gerry's pint and his whisky. God, none of them would be standing very much longer if Steve had anything to do with it!

A brief thought occurred to Gerry; maybe Steve was right. Maybe, after nine years, it was high time he did something about it. He was acutely conscious of Sandra's presence next to him. She was actually in good humour for the first time in a while. She smiled again at him, rolling her eyes and nodding in Steve's direction. She too seemed to be wondering how he had taken such a drunken turn so quickly. When she came in half an hour ago, they both had had a few drinks, but they were not full-out drunk. Now Gerry had visibly sobered up and Steve had visibly got very drunk.

So he smiled back, letting himself settle down a bit. On his other side, Steve was rubbing his foot, complaining that it hurt. God only knows where his shoe was. It had been fine all day, but apparently it was since Sandra sat with them it was agony. And he was ordering another drink, saying something about anaesthetic that nobody quite understood. So they ignored him – he was in no fit state for conversation - talking about small things...the case, the weather, TV, anything that didn't involve him telling her the truth.

Just then, there was a loud clattering and Gerry took a heavy knock to his back, throwing him onto Sandra. Her arms reached out and caught him, wrapping themselves safely around his waist so he didn't fall. "Sorry!" Steve was shouting from the floor. "Must've tripped on the stool!"

But Gerry was barely taking note of Steve's words. He was transfixed by Sandra's eyes locked on his, her lips forming a slightly amused smile. And Gerry couldn't help himself. He moved in towards her, catching her lips on his. He let his hands slide to her hips, pinning her down so she didn't slide off her bar stool.

Her response was rapid; she was kissing him back ravenously, like she wasn't even thinking about it. Her breath was sweet, and yet tasted of alcohol at the same time. Like wine and Turkish Delight. A strange but oddly satisfying combination.

It was only when she needed oxygen that she pulled back from him, helping him back onto his feet. They turned, remembering that Steve had fallen, and helped him up. He was grinning childishly and yet was drunk to the point he could hardly stand. "I think I should go home," he drawled out. Sandra, the most sober of the three, picked up her bag but Steve held up a hand. "No, youse stay. I'm gonna get a tab..." he said, looking confused at his own words. "...no, cab. Taxi," he corrected himself.

"If you're sure you'll be alright, mate," he warned him, but his concern was waved away as Steve staggered out the door. He was missing something, though, and Gerry tried to call him back. "Steve!" he shouted, but gave up when Sandra turned him around and kissed him very softly on the lips, confirming that their kiss hadn't been a mistake. That she meant it.

Gerry bent under the bar and picked up Steve's missing shoe.

He was surprised by the weight of it, but when he looked inside, he saw why it was so heavy. It was filled to the brim with whisky.

The scheming old bugger.

Hope this is OK!
Please review!
Sarah x