Title: The way we get by
Author: mswyrr
Rating: Mature
Warning: Spoilers for the entire first series.
Summary: Annie and Sam, getting by.
If you weren't real I would make you up
-Joseph Arthur, "Honey and the Moon"
Annie stood just inside his flat. She hadn't said anything since he let her in. She was shifting on her feet, looking everywhere but him.
Sam pushed his uncuffed sleeves back up, and watched her. It was obvious she had something to say, and just as obvious that she'd rather lick the holding cells clean than say it. It didn't take much to imagine what she was here about; he hadn't exactly been the picture of sanity lately. But he wondered what made her so anxious this time. It wasn't like they hadn't talked about this before. Many times. Yet here she was, with her fingers worrying at the hem of her WPC suit jacket, looking nervous as a cat.
He hoped this didn't mean she was finally going to call the men in white coats--knowing his mind, it was more likely he'd end up in a recreation of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest than a compassionate facility--or that she was afraid of him. His stomach gave a twist at the thought.
"So," she said, stepping further into the flat, "what's all this then?" She gestured at the piles of books and notepaper strewn across his bed.
He shrugged. "Research."
She reached over and picked a book up, reading off the cover. "International Journal of Neuropsychiatry and Clinical Neurosciences." She lifted her brows at it, then set it back on the bed. "A little light reading?" Her lips quirked. "I've got an Agatha Christie back at my flat, if you want to borrow."
Sam wondered how long she'd take to warm to her topic. "Miss Marple?"
"How'd you know?"
He tapped his head. "Keen investigative reasoning," he said, and gave her a quick smile.
She smiled back faintly, thumbing through another book. "Yeah?" she asked vaguely.
"Yeah." He sighed. "I can even tell you didn't come here to talk about books."
She closed the book and looked him in the eye. "I came because I'm worried about you, Sam."
He brushed his hand back through his hair, sighed. "I appreciate it, but there's nothing you can do."
"It doesn't have to be me, you could talk to someone..."
"No one here can help. You know what I think. If I'm crazy, then I'm too far gone to doubt my delusions. Nothing's going to change my mind."
"But how can you know?" she asked. "You won't even try!" She exhaled, and it seemed like the fight went out of her. "You're slipping away," she continued quietly. "I don't know who you're going to latch on to next. What if you meet some violent criminal and decide he's you're baby brother? You're going to get killed. You're going to get someone else killed."
"It's not -- I've never had a brother."
"Sister, then."
"No. And even I'm not so far gone I'll mistake some hairy criminal bloke for a sister," he said lightly.
She frowned at him.
He tried a different tack. "You told me that we have to believe in the people around us. Believe in me."
"I have done. But you keep doing and saying these things, pointing guns at people -- You asked me not to abandon you, but isn't that what you're doing?" She reached over, picked a book up and waved it at the others, "Isn't that what this is?" She tossed the book aside. "I keep thinking that one day, you're going to get lost in all of this." She was blinking hard, fighting it, but tears came to her eyes anyway. "You'll just be gone," she said, and he'd never heard her so defeated. "You'll look, and you won't see me. You won't see any of us."
He felt tightness in his chest. Guilt? He stepped forward and put an arm around her. There wasn't anything he could say to her. What she was afraid of, that's what he was hoping for. What he was fighting for. And he'd destroy everyone here if that's what it took. What could he say?
Except.
"I'll remember you," he offered sincerely.
She raised her head and gave him a searching look. Tight little wrinkles appeared between her brows, and then eased. She nodded. "Okay," she said. Then she reached up, undid the top button of his shirt, and bent to kiss his throat.
"What you doing?"
She looked up. "Giving us both something to remember," she said. She undid the next button, and slid her hand against his chest.
He stilled her hands. "You don't want to be involved with someone who's-- Who you think is..."
"I already am," she said, and stepped forward to kiss him. Her lips were soft and a touch dry. "Just for now, be here with me," she said when they parted.
Her thumb brushed his nipple.
His breath caught. "Okay."
He kissed her. Her blouse smelled like fresh ironing and faint perfume. He pulled it free from her skirt as he licked her bottom lip. He could taste her lipstick and feel the warm smooth skin of her back beneath his fingers. She opened her mouth. She was so hot, and she tasted like mint toothpaste.
-
Sam woke. Annie was laying against him, asleep. They were cuddled together in his narrow bed, skin on skin. He smiled and kissed her forehead, feeling the blissed out well-being that came after great sex.
Then he noticed that the telly was on.
"She's pretty," a childish voice said from behind him.
He turned and saw her strolling across the room, holding her clown. "I watched you," she said. "You were like doggies." She tittered behind her small, pale hand.
Sam put his arm around Annie and closed his eyes, willing the girl away.
-
He came awake gasping. He felt someone rubbing his back and looked up. In the light of the television screen, he could see Annie. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with her bra and knickers on, and her black stockings half pulled up. "You were thrashing about. Are you okay?"
He nodded, catching his breath. "Yeah," he said. He stared at the television. "Did you turn the telly on?"
"No. Didn't you?"
"Must have."
She stood, pulled her stockings up, and reached for her skirt.
"Do you have to go?"
"I don't have to. I'll go into work tomorrow wearing yesterday's wrinkled clothes and smelling of sex, shall I?" she teased, smiling to take the sting out.
"Yeah." He handed her the shoe he saw laying near the bed. "Sorry."
She smiled, stepping into the shoes as she buttoned her blouse. "It's okay."
She finished dressing, and he walked her to the door wearing a sheet slug around his hips. Up close he could see that her black eye makeup had smudged, making her look a little like a raccoon or a Goth kid.
He smiled.
She smiled back and gave him a quick kiss. "Good night, Sam."
"'Night, Annie."
And then she was gone.
-
She was professional the next day. More than usual. Sam went along with it; he didn't want to make problems for her or give fodder to a bunch of sexists. He didn't approach her, even when they were alone; sexual harassment might get a free pass in 1973, but he wasn't taking it. If she wanted to forget about it, he wouldn't push her. If she wanted to talk, he was here. He left himself open to it, doing paperwork at his desk long after the others had gone.
At a quarter past six, his patience was rewarded. Annie came in, leaned against his desk and smiled. "Your bed's horrible," she said.
"It is," he agreed.
"Too soft, and lumpy in places, too."
Where was she going with this? "Yes."
"I have a good bed. We should stay at my flat tonight."
He blinked. "You still want to...?"
"Yeah."
Okay. "For how long?"
"As long as we're both here?"
"Okay." He got up and grabbed his coat. "Got something to cook with at your flat?" he asked her as they left the station.
"Yeah."
"All right. If you stop by a market on the way I'll make something to eat."
She looked over at him. "You cook?"
She sounded dubious.
"I haven't poisoned anyone yet. Like curry?"
"Sure. Not too hot?"
"Okay."
-end-