Story List:
1. S1 E8 - The Sands of Time
2. S1 E8 - The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth (3 parts)
3. S1 E8 - Ricketts' Return (5 parts)
4. S1 E8 - Georgie Tries Her Luck (2 parts)
5. S1 E8 - Deep French
6. S1 E8 - 'Big John' Strikes Again (2 parts)
7. S1 E8 - The Path Not Taken (4 parts)
8. S1 E8 - Heavenly Bodies (5 parts)
S1 E8 – The Sands of Time
He'd been so content. Well, almost. Then she made him slog down the beach embankment and his shoes are full of sand AGAIN! He'd almost refused. After all, HE had the beers! He could have insisted she come back to the veranda where he'd left her… but something about her slouched on his beach like that had prodded him to venture out.
So now, here he sits, properly, in a chair, above the sand, his dignity intact. How could she think I'd sit in the sand like a… a… wild man!? A well brought-up Englishman does NOT sit in the sand! No, a proper gentleman keeps his person clean and tidy at all times. And it's nice. It IS! I'm high. I'm dry. And I've been tricked into staying on the island. AGAIN!
He shakes his head. Oh, well, so I stay a bit longer. It's not like I'm going to live the rest of my life here, is it? No, of course not. I'll keep putting in transfer requests and I'll pore through the job postings. I might not make it back to England in a single move… but surely there are Commonwealth countries that I can advance through until I DO get back to England? Perhaps Canada? Or Bermuda? Or Australia? Well, maybe not Australia, those people are…
His head jerks up. What? She asked a question and I didn't hear it. I must be more tired than I thought. He grips his slipping beer bottle a bit tighter and looks to her. He can see she's waiting for an answer so he clears his throat and plays for time, "Um, I don't know…"
She gives him a sassy scoff, "You don't know if you've changed your mind about us? Isn't your year almost up? Aren't you due back to rainy old England soon?"
"Oh, um, yes, the protocols can be tricky. I'll start looking into it tomorrow but, for now, I just want to sit here and rest." He gazes out to sea. It really IS quite restful; the flat horizon, the subtle shifting colours, the tranquil clouds, the dancing light. He could watch it for hours.
"Wouldn't you rather… lie down?" she murmurs low.
He doesn't even look at her, just shakes his head, "No, that would be rude, wouldn't it? I asked you to share a celebratory beer so how can I ask you to leave before we're finished?" She's very quiet. He slides a languid glance her way only to see she's peeling the label off her bottle. He frowns, "You're bored, aren't you? I should have realized you want to go check on your mother. I'm sure you'd prefer her company to mine anyway. Who wouldn't?"
She bites her lip, a move that gives him pause, "You're right, I should be thinking about my mother... but I'm not, I'm thinking about… about lying down…"
He blinks, shuffles to his feet, "Oh! Ah, right, right, it's been a long day for you too! I didn't mean to detain you. The sun is low enough to call it a day." He reaches down, takes the nude bottle from her hand, "It's OK, it's not in your job description to keep me company." He tries to laugh at his feeble joke but there doesn't seem to be any spare air in his lungs…
... because he suddenly realizes he DOES want her company, wants it in the worst way. He needs to get off this beach and away from her. His mind casts about frantically, "Um, look, I'd better go inside. With this breeze, I don't want to get sand in my eye, do I?"
She looks at him in an almost forlorn way. "No," she finally says low, "we don't want that."
He picks up his chair by the top rail and gives her a hearty 'just mates' smile, "Good, let's stow the furniture and call it a night." She grabs her chair and drags it back to his home. He almost says something about marring the beach then stops himself. Somehow it doesn't seem right to chastise her when she looks so woebegone. Once they reach the steps he turns to her, "Jolly good, thank you. Now, off you go. I think we both deserve to turn in early tonight."
His question seems to stump her. Her brow furrows and her lips press together and she just stands there staring at him like he's the biggest puzzle she's ever encountered. He senses she wants something… or wants to say something… but he has no idea what. Finally, he can't stand the stricken look for another second and blurts out, "What! What is it? Have I said or done something to offend you? Again? I really can't think what…"
"Kiss me," she murmurs, never taking her eyes off him.
"… I could have pos… WHAT?!" The shift of mental gears almost kills him. He goggles at her in alarm. She didn't just say 'Kiss me'! She must have said 'Dish me' or 'Fish me' or 'Miss me' or… or… His brain snidely tells him he's babbling so he shuts up and just goggles.
She waits until his panic subsides into anxious fidgeting before she speaks again. "I said 'Kiss me', two simple words I've been trying to say for a long time now. Sorry if it upset you, I didn't think you'd be so insulted. I obviously misread you entirely so I'll go now and we can forget I ever said anything. Good night, sir."
She turns away, trying very hard to keep her head up and her back straight as she leaves her dream behind. Yeah, Camille, and that's ALL it was… a dream, just a foolish dream. You'd better hope he forgives your terrible lack of professionalism and doesn't write you up or fire you. He's a gentleman, he'll probably be very polite about it but still…
A firm hand catches hers.
END