A/N: This is told in reverse chronological order, just to confuse you (and me). Each chapter is told from a different character's perspective, so this chapter is from Gerry's point of view. Do enjoy and please feel free to review, it makes my day to get positive feedback. I haven't included Steve in this because I have no idea what they'd say to each other, I suspect it would just be a case of copious amounts of alcohol and a hug :D
Disclaimer: I don't own New Tricks.
She stretched out her legs to their full length, placing her feet over his thighs. They were concealed under her pair of bootcut jeans, but he knew that underneath, her legs were long and muscular. He looked down at her feet, eyeing her red painted nails, then raised his gaze back up to her face questioningly. She nodded slightly, returning her focus to the film but wearing a tiny smirk on her rosy lips. He took this as the green light to massage her feet, easing the tension from her muscles.
They were soft, her feet, yet elegant, with high arches and delicate blue veins just visible beneath her pale skin. They remained that way for a while, him drawing patterns on her feet with the pads of his thumbs, her grinning sarcastically at how bad the film was.
"Are you going to talk to me or what?" she asked, jabbing his thigh with her toe. This was to be the last time they would spend together for months, maybe years, and they were sat in silence watching Paranormal Activity 3. This wasn't how she'd envisioned it.
"What do you want to talk about?" he replied neutrally, flicking the focus back on to her. He'd let her choose everything about tonight, let her have it exactly how she wanted. Shall we go out for dinner? No, let's stay in. Your house or mine? Yours. What shall we do? Watch a film? What type? Horror. What time do you want to come over? Seven? That's fine.
"I don't know, whatever you want," she deflected, winking. Ten years cooped up in an office with Gerry Standing every weekday had made her as childish as him.
He smiled sadly, looking down. Her face fell wearily. "Gerry, what is it?" She'd grown accustomed to this over the past few days. No one quite knew what to say to her.
"I don't know, it's just…" he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "ten years and its come down to this, I guess. This is it."
"Oh, Gerry, for heaven's sake, how many times do I have to tell you?" she said in exasperation, but rather than her usual shouting, her voice was gentle, like a bemused mother telling her child off for dipping their fingers in the icing for the cake. What she did next, however, was about as far from motherly as you could get.
She steadily removed her feet from where they rested on his thighs. At first he felt cold from the loss of contact, until he realised she had swapped to his end of the sofa and was about to sit in his lap. Automatically he moved to accommodate her, sliding his hand around her hip to steady her. He didn't give one millimetre of a damn that she felt quite heavy (or at least heavier than the only other person who had sat in his lap recently, Gerry Junior) and his knees felt like they were about to give out at any moment, he just held onto her like his life depended on it.
She turned her head so she was facing him directly, her bright blue eyes only inches from his. He prayed to whoever was listening that she couldn't feel his heart pounding wildly or the little shivers running through his body.
"Gerry, don't for one second think that I'm done with you, any of you, yet," she began firmly. She was so close he could feel her breath on his face, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her. "I know we've had our ups and downs but we've been through a lot, you and me, and you've been a good friend. The best, in fact. And I don't want to lose this." She smiled at him before burying her head in his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. He pressed a long kiss into her wonderfully soft hair, savouring the moment. She was right; they had been through a lot, but they were stronger for it. He recalled being held at gunpoint with her, terrified, holding her as she cried over Jack, heartbroken, celebrating with her when they caught Hanson.
His memories were interrupted by a loud scream from the television. Sandra lifted her head, chuckling. "I think that just about sums up our relationship, we can't have a minute's peace without someone screaming at us," He laughed heartily.
"Sounds about right, although it's normally you screaming," he pointed out, only to be swatted on the arm for his efforts. "I guess that's true," she admitted, draping her arms around his neck, "Listen, Gerry, whoever replaces me, don't give them hell, yeah? It's not fair on them, and you're all better than that."
"I know, Gov, we won't. Promise." She smiled contentedly. "But nobody can ever replace you. There's only one you, and you're going to be enjoying yourself every day, right?"
"Too bloody right, I deserve it after you lot driving me insane, running me ragged and generally stressing me out for ten years, it's a miracle I haven't gone grey!" she joked, moving to get up as he laughed again. God, he was going to miss this.
She stood in front of him, blue meeting blue as their eyes locked, absorbing every detail of each other and locking the memory safely away so it would never be lost. "I'd better go," she whispered, "it's getting late. Early start tomorrow."
He briefly considered asking her to stay, but that would be selfish of him. She'd made it clear in the letters that she'd written to each of them that she was doing this for herself as much as them. Typical Sandra, the one to voice what they had all been thinking for some time now, albeit on paper so she could express her feelings better. She always had been perceptive of everyone else but crap at talking about herself. "Yeah," was all he could summon up.
His peripheral vision noticed her moving into the hallway, his ears heard her brush against the wall as she knelt down to put her shoes on, his nose smelt the heavy scent of her perfume on his shirt, but his body remained still, unable to move. If he moved, it would all be over. Ten years of friendship: laughing, joking, flirting, arguing.
The old Gerry, who still made an appearance in the back of his mind at times, would view it as wasted time (she's bloody gorgeous, why did you never ask her out?) but the new Gerry, the older, wiser Gerry-without-Sandra saw it as the best time of his life. He had three funny, intelligent, brilliant friends, four beautiful, successful daughters, three ex-wives who he'd managed to stay great friends with and a wonderful little ball of energy of a grandson. How could he have ever seen that as wasted time?
He stood up, moving into the hallway where she was stood patiently, waiting for him. She was wearing her long red coat with her black scarf and leather gloves. She looked perfect, except from the unshed tears filling her eyes.
"Sandra," was all he could think to say as he took the few steps towards her, encompassing her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around him, tight, for how long he had no idea. He knew that she hadn't wanted their goodbye to be emotional. He had pictured them all stood in a line at the airport, each taking turns to wish her a teary, choked-up goodbye. It hadn't been a pretty picture. No, he much preferred this, holding her in the warmth of his house.
She gently prised herself away, unsure of what to do next, what to say. Thankfully Gerry had thought of something to fill the silence.
"Sandra, I love-"
She put a finger to his lips to silence him. "I know." She whispered, stroking his lips with her fingertip, her touch featherlight. She removed her finger, only for it to be replaced by her warm, soft lips. They stood there for a while, breathing in tandem, their lips connected but not moving, enjoying the precious feeling of…whatever it was, it was good. Too good to last. For the second time, she pulled away from him, leaving him with the taste of her lips on his. By the time he came down from cloud nine enough to open his eyes, she was halfway out of his porch. He watched her walk away, memorising the familiar sway of her coat and the click of her heels. She turned around briefly as she stepped out onto the pavement in front of his house.
"Gerry?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't forget to give Brian a lift on Monday morning, will you?"
"I won't, Sandra. Promise. Scout's honour."
"Good boy, Gerald." She smiled and returned to the warmth of her car, her golden hair shining under the orange glow of the streetlights. He could have sworn he saw her brush a tear away before she drove into the darkness, but then again, his own vision was swimming in a hazy pool of warm water.
"Bye, Sandra."
