Fic: Träumerei (Life on Mars)
TITLE: Träumerei
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
RATING: PG, Gen, warnings for 2.08 spoilers, canon character death.
WORD COUNT: 1,420 words
AUTHOR'S NOTES: For the Life on Mars 2008 Ficathon, for neuralclone. The prompts were Maya post-2.08, cold case unit, Sam mystery. While I probably didn't hit them all straight on, I hope I did well enough. It's more a 2.08 fix-it fic, to be honest. Many thanks to both darthfi and jantalaimon for their betas.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Träumerei
Maya wasn't, in any way, shape, or form a coward, but when news reached her that Sam had woken up from his coma, she spent the next few weeks avoiding the issue.
Not that it was hard. A new case took her out of town for several days. All right, so it was only as far as Liverpool, but out of town on a job was as good as incommunicado for the purpose. And then her mother was ill with cold, and that took care of another weekend. But even as each little emergency and 'must-do' filled up the days and then the weeks, Maya was conscious that she was just scared of seeing Sam.
And it wasn't quite fair. She had said her goodbyes. She'd moved on. It would do no good for her to dwell on the past. But that was even less fair to Sam. As far as he knew they were still a couple. Sure, they'd fought the night before his accident. Had been fighting for months before that. But they hadn't quite had the opportunity to call it quits before Sam had fetched up in a too-warm white room, very likely to never wake up again.
So Maya found herself outside Sam's room one beautiful spring morning. Not the same one as their big farewell scene, as Sam had finally been moved out of intensive care. Still a private room, though. Private healthcare had many privileges. Heart in her mouth, she knocked on the door, waiting for Sam to respond before turning the handle and walking in to the room.
Sam looked tired, Maya thought. Tired and too thin. Worry lines creased his forehead, pain lines etched deep at his mouth, but as he smiled in welcome, his face lit up, causing her heart to both sink and lighten at the same time.
"Maya! How are you?"
"Well," she replied "and you're looking better than you did last time I came to see you."
"Mr Morgan is quietly confident that I'll be able to go home soon. Still need quite a bit of physio, but I'm getting there."
Maya patted Sam's hand awkwardly. "I'm glad, Sam."
"Sit down, will you, you're making the place look untidy," Sam said, lightly and Maya did so, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the hard plastic seat.
"Sam, I ... " she started, but trailed off, uncertainly.
Sam smiled gently and reached out a frail, too-thin hand, clasped her hand in his own. "I know Maya. I heard you while I was sleeping. I heard you say 'Goodbye'. And I'm okay with that. Truly I am. But I hope we can still be friends. I like you. I even love you, still, a little bit. But I'm not in love with you, not any more."
Maya looked at him, really looked at him, not daring to believe.
"We're okay?" he continued.
And Maya realised they truly were.
Over the weeks she began to spend more time at the hospital, and later on, when Sam was well enough to go home, to start back at the station, albeit on light duties, they spent even more time with each other.
Sam bitched incessantly about the physiotherapy and later the endless meetings he was forced to attend while still convalescing.
Maya talked about her new job, the difficulties of moving from CID to the newly created Cold Case Unit, the frustrations of coming into a case so many years too late. And the delight of solving even one old case.
Neither talked of relationships, of themselves or of other people.
They helped each other through the daily frustrations. Maya, rather cheekily, pointed out to Sam that with all the managerial meetings he was forced to go to while still not fully operational, it could only mean that he was on the fast track to promotion. That raised a wintery smile and a look that was not quite appreciation.
Sam, on the other hand, took to looking through the case files she brought home, occasionally making comments and observations, belying a continuing interest in policing that Maya, in her more introspective moments, thought he had lost.
He was changed, somehow. Never the most approachable of men, he was more open but, at the same time, distant. Maya caught him staring into space, more than once. Staring at something only he could see.
She mentioned it, once, and Sam had looked at her, lost.
"While I was sleeping I dreamt. A long, convoluted dream. I just, I just miss it, sometimes. You know?"
Maya didn't. But she nodded anyway. "Perhaps you ought to talk to someone about it," she offered.
"Makes me sound so bloody silly, to be honest. Pining for a dream."
Maya privately thought it just made Sam seem so very human, but she now knew that Sam wouldn't talk to her. "You're seeing that psychologist next week, aren't you? Perhaps you should talk to him."
"Her, actually. And no, I'm not. Ms. Drake suggested that it might be easier if I related my experiences directly onto tape. Save the heart to heart and all that. It's not as if she's there to sort my head out. She's just collecting data for her research project. That's all."
"Well, it can't not help, can it?"
"Probably not."
Whatever Sam did, or did not do, he seemed much better in the weeks that followed. Still frustrated at not getting out into the field, but at least engaging more in the life at the station, talking more about the future and what he wanted out of it.
* * * * *
It was late spring, and Sam had got news that he was to start going out with the squad again. He'd seemed so enthusiastic at that, Maya had decided to cook him a celebratory meal. All had been going well with them; so well, in fact, that Maya had tentatively started to hope. Sam was changed after the accident, more open, as if he'd learned that keeping everything to himself was a recipe for misunderstanding.
Perhaps, Maya thought, tonight.
Relaxing on the sofa after dinner, sitting just the right distance apart for casual conversation, Sam made his usual reference to the ever-present case file on the coffee table.
"Are you still working on the prostitute case?"
Maya shook her head. "No, we've wrapped it up. No-one is talking, looks like a dead end."
"So what's the latest case then?"
Maya shrugged. "Another dead end, according to Webster. He's got us trawling the archives as it's so quiet at the moment. Honestly, you'd think he prefers a nice stinking corpse. Anyway, it's just some idiots trying to imitate the Great Train Robbery. Got away with it as well. But it was more than thirty years ago. And it was well-investigated at the time. A couple of undercover policemen were killed. It looks like they did a good job on the investigation, but again, no one was talking. The only clear lead we have at the moment is that it looks like another copper was involved. He vanished at the time and was never picked up. That's why Superintendent Webster is so interested. A case that may be solved as a police corruption case would be quite a scoop for the Unit."
Sam paused in reaching for the file and sat back. With a frown on his face, he remarked, "sounds complicated."
"Yes, very," Maya acknowledged. "But I'm feeling confident about this one. There are a couple of points of potential interest. Only semi-cold, which is unusual for this unit."
Sam nodded, distractedly playing with his coffee cup.
"Are you okay, Sam?" Maya asked. "You've gone rather pale."
"Headache," Sam muttered. "Had it, on and off, all day. I should go home, try and sleep it off."
Maya agreed, solicitously. The consultants had warned of such things, headaches and nausea and blackouts, even a benign tumour was not without its dangers. Abandoning her own vain hopes, she fetched Sam's coat and saw him to the door.
Three days later Sam was dead.
Maya couldn't work it out. He had seemed so normal, he seemed as if he was coping. He was interested in getting back in to the thick of things. And still he saw fit to end it that way.
Burying her own grief in the solace of work, she pulled her current casefile towards her, a missing copper, presumed drowned. While the case was over twenty-five years old, a body had very recently turned up and Maya was confident that they could solve this one.
The End
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
RATING: PG, Gen, warnings for 2.08 spoilers, canon character death.
WORD COUNT: 1,420 words
AUTHOR'S NOTES: For the Life on Mars 2008 Ficathon, for neuralclone. The prompts were Maya post-2.08, cold case unit, Sam mystery. While I probably didn't hit them all straight on, I hope I did well enough. It's more a 2.08 fix-it fic, to be honest. Many thanks to both darthfi and jantalaimon for their betas.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Träumerei
Maya wasn't, in any way, shape, or form a coward, but when news reached her that Sam had woken up from his coma, she spent the next few weeks avoiding the issue.
Not that it was hard. A new case took her out of town for several days. All right, so it was only as far as Liverpool, but out of town on a job was as good as incommunicado for the purpose. And then her mother was ill with cold, and that took care of another weekend. But even as each little emergency and 'must-do' filled up the days and then the weeks, Maya was conscious that she was just scared of seeing Sam.
And it wasn't quite fair. She had said her goodbyes. She'd moved on. It would do no good for her to dwell on the past. But that was even less fair to Sam. As far as he knew they were still a couple. Sure, they'd fought the night before his accident. Had been fighting for months before that. But they hadn't quite had the opportunity to call it quits before Sam had fetched up in a too-warm white room, very likely to never wake up again.
So Maya found herself outside Sam's room one beautiful spring morning. Not the same one as their big farewell scene, as Sam had finally been moved out of intensive care. Still a private room, though. Private healthcare had many privileges. Heart in her mouth, she knocked on the door, waiting for Sam to respond before turning the handle and walking in to the room.
Sam looked tired, Maya thought. Tired and too thin. Worry lines creased his forehead, pain lines etched deep at his mouth, but as he smiled in welcome, his face lit up, causing her heart to both sink and lighten at the same time.
"Maya! How are you?"
"Well," she replied "and you're looking better than you did last time I came to see you."
"Mr Morgan is quietly confident that I'll be able to go home soon. Still need quite a bit of physio, but I'm getting there."
Maya patted Sam's hand awkwardly. "I'm glad, Sam."
"Sit down, will you, you're making the place look untidy," Sam said, lightly and Maya did so, perching uncomfortably on the edge of the hard plastic seat.
"Sam, I ... " she started, but trailed off, uncertainly.
Sam smiled gently and reached out a frail, too-thin hand, clasped her hand in his own. "I know Maya. I heard you while I was sleeping. I heard you say 'Goodbye'. And I'm okay with that. Truly I am. But I hope we can still be friends. I like you. I even love you, still, a little bit. But I'm not in love with you, not any more."
Maya looked at him, really looked at him, not daring to believe.
"We're okay?" he continued.
And Maya realised they truly were.
Over the weeks she began to spend more time at the hospital, and later on, when Sam was well enough to go home, to start back at the station, albeit on light duties, they spent even more time with each other.
Sam bitched incessantly about the physiotherapy and later the endless meetings he was forced to attend while still convalescing.
Maya talked about her new job, the difficulties of moving from CID to the newly created Cold Case Unit, the frustrations of coming into a case so many years too late. And the delight of solving even one old case.
Neither talked of relationships, of themselves or of other people.
They helped each other through the daily frustrations. Maya, rather cheekily, pointed out to Sam that with all the managerial meetings he was forced to go to while still not fully operational, it could only mean that he was on the fast track to promotion. That raised a wintery smile and a look that was not quite appreciation.
Sam, on the other hand, took to looking through the case files she brought home, occasionally making comments and observations, belying a continuing interest in policing that Maya, in her more introspective moments, thought he had lost.
He was changed, somehow. Never the most approachable of men, he was more open but, at the same time, distant. Maya caught him staring into space, more than once. Staring at something only he could see.
She mentioned it, once, and Sam had looked at her, lost.
"While I was sleeping I dreamt. A long, convoluted dream. I just, I just miss it, sometimes. You know?"
Maya didn't. But she nodded anyway. "Perhaps you ought to talk to someone about it," she offered.
"Makes me sound so bloody silly, to be honest. Pining for a dream."
Maya privately thought it just made Sam seem so very human, but she now knew that Sam wouldn't talk to her. "You're seeing that psychologist next week, aren't you? Perhaps you should talk to him."
"Her, actually. And no, I'm not. Ms. Drake suggested that it might be easier if I related my experiences directly onto tape. Save the heart to heart and all that. It's not as if she's there to sort my head out. She's just collecting data for her research project. That's all."
"Well, it can't not help, can it?"
"Probably not."
Whatever Sam did, or did not do, he seemed much better in the weeks that followed. Still frustrated at not getting out into the field, but at least engaging more in the life at the station, talking more about the future and what he wanted out of it.
* * * * *
It was late spring, and Sam had got news that he was to start going out with the squad again. He'd seemed so enthusiastic at that, Maya had decided to cook him a celebratory meal. All had been going well with them; so well, in fact, that Maya had tentatively started to hope. Sam was changed after the accident, more open, as if he'd learned that keeping everything to himself was a recipe for misunderstanding.
Perhaps, Maya thought, tonight.
Relaxing on the sofa after dinner, sitting just the right distance apart for casual conversation, Sam made his usual reference to the ever-present case file on the coffee table.
"Are you still working on the prostitute case?"
Maya shook her head. "No, we've wrapped it up. No-one is talking, looks like a dead end."
"So what's the latest case then?"
Maya shrugged. "Another dead end, according to Webster. He's got us trawling the archives as it's so quiet at the moment. Honestly, you'd think he prefers a nice stinking corpse. Anyway, it's just some idiots trying to imitate the Great Train Robbery. Got away with it as well. But it was more than thirty years ago. And it was well-investigated at the time. A couple of undercover policemen were killed. It looks like they did a good job on the investigation, but again, no one was talking. The only clear lead we have at the moment is that it looks like another copper was involved. He vanished at the time and was never picked up. That's why Superintendent Webster is so interested. A case that may be solved as a police corruption case would be quite a scoop for the Unit."
Sam paused in reaching for the file and sat back. With a frown on his face, he remarked, "sounds complicated."
"Yes, very," Maya acknowledged. "But I'm feeling confident about this one. There are a couple of points of potential interest. Only semi-cold, which is unusual for this unit."
Sam nodded, distractedly playing with his coffee cup.
"Are you okay, Sam?" Maya asked. "You've gone rather pale."
"Headache," Sam muttered. "Had it, on and off, all day. I should go home, try and sleep it off."
Maya agreed, solicitously. The consultants had warned of such things, headaches and nausea and blackouts, even a benign tumour was not without its dangers. Abandoning her own vain hopes, she fetched Sam's coat and saw him to the door.
Three days later Sam was dead.
Maya couldn't work it out. He had seemed so normal, he seemed as if he was coping. He was interested in getting back in to the thick of things. And still he saw fit to end it that way.
Burying her own grief in the solace of work, she pulled her current casefile towards her, a missing copper, presumed drowned. While the case was over twenty-five years old, a body had very recently turned up and Maya was confident that they could solve this one.
The End