Note: I am SO sorry this has taken so long. I've been battling through writer's block and I'm a busy woman at the best of times, but nevertheless, here we have it. I faithfully promise the next bit will be quicker!
Enjoy!
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"You're in a good mood," Jack observed several mornings later as Gerry waltzed into UCOS, whistling It Don't Mean A Thing If You Ain't Got That Swing, face split by a stupid grin.
"Why not, Jacky-boy, when life is so bloody marvellous?" The Cockney replied chirpily, and Jack rose an amused eyebrow.
"What's her name?"
The fact that his colleague didn't even seem to mentally berate his own predictability spoke volumes to the ex-Chief Superintendent.
"Annie," Gerry answered, murmuring her name as a blissful rhapsody, which was met accordingly with Jack's uproarious laughter.
"Don't bloody laugh!" The Cockney snapped, which only served to crack Jack up further - by the time Gerry had mentioned that he really liked 'this one', the older man was wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.
"What's the bleedin' joke?"
Jack swiped a hand through the air in mock defeat, shaking his head and still chuckling heartily.
"I'm sorry," he responded, supremely unapologetic, "there's no call for it really…"
A disgusted frown overtook the former Sergeant's lips, spitting poison as he headed grouchily for the kettle.
"You can just piss off," he growled, and Jack actually clutched his side, shaking with chortles.
"Are you trying to kill me?"
"I bloody well will do if you don't shut up!" Gerry fumed, threateningly brandishing a teaspoon in his friend's general direction.
Inhaling sharply to retain both his sanity and a good working relationship with his colleague, Jack held up a palm as a gesture of mock defeat.
"You just tell me when I need to buy the tux, mate…"
With an agility he thought he'd lost a good thirty years previously, Jack ducked at precisely the right moment as the teaspoon sailed towards his head and instead smacked directly into the chest of Brian Lane, who had just walked through the door and now looked morbidly offended.
"Give over!" The Northerner snapped, chucking it right back at the furious Cockney, who easily caught it and went straight back to stirring his tea with a graceful fluidity, as though this was an everyday occurrence.
"Sorry mate," he apologised briefly, taking a sip of the beverage before glaring daggers at Jack. "Someone's being a prick."
"Are you?" Brian asked Jack with interest, and Jack smirked wickedly, clapping a hand to his friend's shoulder.
"Don't believe a word of it," he replied lightly. "You know me, Brian - I'm nothing short of a paragon of virtue."
Brian rose a cynical eyebrow, resting his bike against the office wall and removing his helmet.
"Yeah," he deadpanned, "and I'm Joan of Arc."
Gerry snorted PG Tips with amusement, spluttering for a moment before chuckling madly, coughing harshly and resuming his laughter. Jack simply muttered something about them both being 'just about ready for nursery' and projected his fountain pen at the raucous ex-DS like a dart. Utterly missing due to his irritation, it instead collided with the soft black fabric of the coat of Sandra Pullman, who stood at UCOS's entrance and looked less than pleased. Brian sucked a harsh intake of breath through his teeth and mimed having his throat slit at the now nervous Jack, and Gerry merely clapped a hand to his shoulder.
"Been nice knowing you, mate," he exclaimed mirthfully, standing aside as Sandra knelt, picked the pen up and aimed at a passive Jack, who didn't dare try and dodge the proverbial bullet - the iridium nib struck him in the shoulder, smearing his suit jacket briefly with ink, before sliding directly downwards to the carpet. With a satisfied smile, Sandra headed for her office, calling out a 'good morning!', and being met with two enthusiastic similar wishes.
"Yes," Jack answered despondently, removing his jacket and staring bleakly at the large blob of rapidly drying ink upon its collar, "isn't it just…"
"You're not going to take that lying down, are you?" Gerry asked incredulously, still hellishly amused, and Jack tapped his temple knowingly.
"You haven't seen her in a shooting range," he explained darkly. "Trust me, I'm lucky she aimed for my shoulder. I could have just gone blind - far be it from me to tempt fate."
Brian snickered appreciatively as the Superintendent made her way back into the main office, grinned at Jack and clapped her hands together once.
"Right then," she stated chirpily, "one of you can make me tea, someone else can update me on the double murder and the other one can ask me how my life's going."
"The latter," Gerry claimed immediately, curiosity ignited, eyebrows almost level with his receding hairline. "'Ow's your life going, Sandra?"
"Wonderfully," she emphasised, murmuring a contented sigh. "New man, Gerald."
She tapped the side of her nose playfully, and Gerry was momentarily bewildered as he felt an unconscious stab pierce his insides. Careful t0 keep his expression schooled into neutrality rather than horror and briefly wondering why he had to bother, he tried to sound intrigued as he swallowed harshly.
"Oh yeah?" He enquired as lightly as he was capable of.
"Oh yes," she responded, winking wickedly before turning to Jack and Brian.
"Tea," Jack said instantly, and Brian sighed as he practically ran to the kettle with a triumphant grin. Sandra smiled encouragingly at the ex-Inspector, who rolled his eyes and led her to the whiteboard. Gerry, meanwhile, was left staring at the spot they'd both vacated, and spun on his heel as they reached the edge of the office, incapable of maintaining the working order.
"No, I'm sorry," he stated coolly, staring directly at Sandra, "you can't just leave that 'anging."
The Superintendent stared at him, utterly vexed.
"Leave what hanging?"
"That!" The Cockney practically snapped. "The bloody thing about a new bloke!"
She rose an exasperated eyebrow, looking less than amused.
"You're never normally bothered," she pointed out lightly.
Only Gerry's utter hatred of the French and their linguistic atrocities prevented him from spitting out a curt response of "au contraire". Oh no, of course he wasn't bothered - why should he be bothered? It wasn't like he lov -
Oh, you can just stop right there, his mind piped up in warning. Really. Think about prostitutes, Gerald…
No, that was never going to work. Nothing would drag him away from that earth-shattering realisation.
Prostitutes in swimwear?
Mmm, getting there…
Prostitutes dressed as policewomen?
… Bollocks!
"Yeah, well… I am this time," he managed lamely, painfully aware that six eyes were scrutinising him with decades of detective experience.
Bloody brilliant, his mind snapped. A magnificent excuse, Standing - truly Oscar-winning, you bleedin' MORON.
Only Sandra's clipped response prevented him from smashing his skull into the nearest wall in self-deprecation.
"Your concern has been noted."
Oh good. Thank you for THAT.
"Yeah, well - I've got a new bird an' all!"
Congratulations - you've just managed to make yourself look about as mature as your eight-year-old grandson.
SHUT UP!
Unbeknown to the internally furious Cockney, Sandra felt a knife plunging somewhere deep within her, and she damn near shuddered.
So he's got someone new - again, she deadpanned mentally. So what? Not like you normally give a damn, is it?
Bullshit, her mind rebuked, laughing bitterly. Oh no, you don't love him or anything, do you? Not the perfect, clinical, hard, cold bitch… she's not meant to care, is she?
"How nice for you," she answered dryly, unsuccessfully attempting to swallow the nastiness encumbered in the words. "Can we get on with the case now?"
Practically snarling, Gerry broke her glare and delved into his coat pocket, pulling out his trusty Malboro.
"You can do what the 'ell you like," he snapped. "I'm off out for a fag."
"Oh, are you?" The Superintendent spat back.
"Yes," Gerry sneered, grabbing his lighter and cup of tea in one vicious swipe, holding her enraged gaze as he headed outwards. "I bloody well am!"
The glass almost shattered as he slammed the door after him, and Brian eyes widened with astonishment in his friend's wake.
"Alright," he said heavily, "what the HELL was that about?"
"No idea," Jack replied solemnly, glancing at his watch, "but I do know it's a personal record - none of us have ever walked out at five past nine before. The closest was me at ten past eleven, but that was for a dental appointment."
"Pass," Sandra answered coldly, anger and pain still flowing freely through her veins. "All I know is that if he doesn't come back, he'd better hope he doesn't want any more children, the stupid prick!"
Both Brian and Jack sucked air in through their teeth, wincing horribly.
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Hard day at the office - would appreciate a virtual hug. Jon x
Sandra smiled warmly for the first time since that morning, feeling all of the day's animosity melt away at Jonathan's message. Gerry hadn't come back, and had in fact subsequently switched his phone off. She had briefly considered popping round and half-killing him, but the day and their argument over virtually nothing had drained her of all energy - she could barely be bothered to hunt out a takeaway menu from the kitchen drawer, never mind screaming the odds at the wayward prat.
Besides, as much as it killed her to realise it, he was his own man - he could do whatever he liked with whomsoever he liked, and she was past of point of pretending she was angry with him for skipping the day's work.
She pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off the impending headache before typing a brief but sincere response. Their 'relationship' had really picked up over the past few days, and she almost felt like she knew this man personally - he was her best option of any comfort this evening, at any rate.
Yeah, me too - colleagues, eh? Virtual hug on its way. Annie x
Sipping her wine with almost physical relief, she closed her eyes and waited for the bleep that would indicate that he had replied. Several minutes, two aspirin and a muttered curse of Gerry's name later, and she opened the new response.
Tell me about it. Are you hungry? x
The detective rose an eyebrow, wondering where this was going, almost able to sense his hesitancy.
Starving, but I'm an atrocious cook and the number for the Chinese could be anywhere. Why do you ask? x
This time, the answer was almost immediate.
Was wondering if you fancied some dinner…? No pressure, obviously. My treat. X
For someone who desired nothing more than to spend the evening in a tracksuit, lamenting bravado-enriched Cockneys with attitude problems between Sky-Plussed episodes of Strictly Come Dancing, Sandra took barely a moment to convince.
Sounds brilliant, she answered honestly. I need to forget today ever happened. x
That makes two of us, Annie. Eight, in The Garden of the Orient - that alright with you? X
It was like fate - that was her favourite Chinese restaurant in the whole city.
I look forward to it. X
She signed off, renewed energy pulsing through her veins. Yes, that was what she was going to do - she was going to meet a man she was fond of, not curl up with the remainder of the Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough and wallow in self-pity. She was going to go out, have fun, bring him back, work off her anger and then repeat the procedure the following evening, and so on and so forth - and to hell with what she looked like in that profile photo. She'd just say it was an old shot.
… a VERY old shot.
Most importantly of all, however, she wasn't going to spare a thought for that insensitive, insufferable, rude, crass, irritating, sexy bastard that she was halfway in love with.
Go with the LBD, Sandra - classy and just a little bit suggestive.
Grinning now, she headed for the shower, nerves fluttering through her and optimism stealing her heart for the first time all day.
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I look forward to it. X
Leaning back and removing his glasses, Gerry Standing blew out a relieved breath he hadn't realised he was holding - that could have gone far worse. God only knew how much he needed to take his mind off things - Sandra was going to go absolutely nuclear on him tomorrow morning, and probably rightfully so. He had acted ridiculously, and not going back to face the music of his own immaturity would have hardly helped matters.
He sighed deeply, flicking his forehead in self-annoyance - was it really her fault that she meant the world to him? After all, he held no claim to her…
But she had been unnaturally rude to him, and he had been entirely justified in his response to that.
Where the hell's that pink jumper? He wondered idly. Might make a good impression…
Yes, that was what he was going to do. He was going to go out, have fun, have a decent meal, drink a little too much, end up in a cab and hopefully with a cheap shag. He was categorically not going to sit here with taped episodes of Strictly Come Dancing, whiskey and only his thoughts for company. So he looked nothing like that bloke online, but hey… it was an old photo, right? Practically ancient.
Mostly though, he was not going to think of Sandra once - that infuriating, brilliant, delicious, stunning bitch of an Ice Queen that was probably going to remove his gentleman vegetables in the morning.
Best make use of them tonight then, eh?
Chuckling and with renewed hope that the day might turn out to be slightly less shit than he'd already written it off as, he headed for the bathroom, stuck the plug in and started the hot tap running.
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Aren't they just adorably similar? R&R! :)