Fic: Fickle Thing, Happiness, green cortina, dakfinv
Title: Fickle Thing, Happiness (Part of the Steady As She Goes AU)
Author: dak
Word Count: 5785 words
Rating: green cortina
Warning: angst
Pairing: Sam/OC
Summary: Why can't life be simple, neat, and contained? Why does time-traveling have to make things so complicated?
A/N: This is another one-shot set in my SASG AU. Takes place after Bygones. So, it won't make any sense unless you're familiar with that 'verse. And, this fic did not want to be written. It had to be written, but it didn't want to be written, and it was like pulling teeth to get it written. But, it's finished, and I hope you enjoy.
Gladys stared at them. She said nothing, simply stared at Sam and Ray, absentmindedly clutching her stomach.
“Well?” Sam finally asked nervously, unable to stand the silence any longer.
“I’m trying to work this out,” she spoke calmly and clinically. “You,” she pointed to Sam, “woke up in 1973 where you became his,” she pointed to Ray, “DI, as well as DI to my father.”
“Yes,” Sam and Ray replied in unison.
“And, after suffering a series of almost impossibly traumatic experiences, disappeared from 1973 and woke up from your coma the same day my father, who could confirm all this, died.”
“Yes,” Sam and Ray nodded.
Gladys stared at them, then rose from the couch. “I’m going back to my mother’s,” she said softly.
“Gladys, wait,” Sam tried to stop her.
“Why couldn’t you just say you were writing a book on my father? Or hat he’d been your mentor? Or you’d been stalking him? No, you couldn’t come up with something simple. You had to overcomplicate things and worse, drag Uncle Ray into it as well!”
“I know it’s a lot to ask...”
“A lot? You’re asking me to swallow Mount bloody Everest with a side of TARDIS for dessert,” Gladys laughed bitterly and pulled a cigarette from her pocket. “You are so unbelievable, you know that?” She frantically flicked her lighter, but was unable to produce a flame. Sam reached into his pocket, produced a second lighter, and lit it for her. They stood there silently, waiting for something to break. Nothing did.
“I...I’ll be at mum’s,” she whispered, and disappeared down the hall. Sam watched her leave, then slowly closed the door.
“Well, that didn’t go quite as expected, eh Tyler?”
Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dropping his arms, he crossed the flat and stepped into the kitchen.
“I knew we should’ve waited for Chris. She always believes Chris,” Ray added, following him. Sam began rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.
“I promised to be there for her, and I’m there for her. I promised to tell her the truth and I told her the truth,” he became more animated with each word, angrily shoving the dishes into the machine. “What else does she want? What am I supposed to do? Nothing is ever good enough for her!”
“Who does that remind you of?”
Sam slammed the dishwasher door shut and grasped the counter tightly.
“She needs time, Tyler. Only reason I believe yeh is cos I were there. She weren’t even born yet.”
Sam stomped out of the room and Ray followed closely behind.
“Margaret was the same after her miscarriages. She’d push the Guv away an’ all ‘e could do was wait for ‘er to come round. And she did. Every time.”
“She didn’t have to deal with a time-travelling husband. Oh, wait. I’m not that. I’m not even her fiance. I’m nothing.”
“So you are always like this, not just when you’re in the Seventies.”
“Piss off.”
“ ‘Scuse me, Boss, but ain’t I the only one helping yeh? Fine. You want to pout forever and lose the best thing you ever had, I’ll shove off back to Brighton,” Ray grabbed his coat and went for the door. Sam made no attempt to stop him. When the door closed for the second time, he finally allowed himself to collapse onto the sofa.
*
“Bryant, I need those reports from the Hyatt Hotel robberies. Todd, you and Mack need to investigate a drugs case down at the quays.”
The men nodded an quickly went about their business as Sam hurried to his desk. He was examining the files in his hands so intently, he didn’t notice Maya come up behind him.
“And where are you assigning me, Chief Inspector?” she asked casually, sipping her morning coffee. Sam replied without even glancing up.
“Dog walker found a body near the M.E.N. Arena. Plod’s securing the scene until we get there.”
“Plod?”
Sam blushed as he realized his slip.
“Uniformed officers. Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” she smiled.
“No. It’s not,” he slapped the folder shut and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. “I’m here now. I need to behave properly.”
“Behave properly? Sam, are you feeling okay?” she laughed gently.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Nothing. Forget it. So, a body, you said?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. Maya grabbed his keys and handed them over.
“Brief me on the way, sir.”
*
Twelve hours of solid police work and they were no closer to solving the young woman’s murder than the dog walker was. Sam had returned to his flat only because Maya had ordered him home. He felt useless at home, though. Without the case to distract him, Sam was left alone with his thoughts. He used to have Gladys there to distract him. Now, he had nothing and he knew he needed to fix that. He had no idea how. He took out his phone and hit the speed dial.
“Hello? Margaret?...Yes, it’s Sam...No, I don’t need to speak to Gene.”
His stomach clenched as he said the name.
“I’m looking for Gladys. Gladys, your...Hello? Oh, hi Sarah. Is Gladys there?...She’s out. Is she at her office or...okay. Thank you. Could you tell her I called? Cheers...I’m, I’m fine...Yeah...You, too.”
Sam hung up and dropped the phone onto the couch. Gladys was out with friends. That was good. Sam was glad for her. She deserved to get out and relax. He just wished he knew where she was. He flopped his body onto the couch and turned on the telly for comfort. He flipped through the stations for several minutes, but couldn’t get Margaret’s voice out of his head.
Did he need to speak with Gene?
He tried channel surfing again. It didn’t work.
“Five-hundred channels and not one bloody test card,” he sighed. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of some pointless reality competition wash over him.
Did he need to speak with Gene?
He wished he could, but what good was wishing for something he’d never get?
*
“We finally got an ID on our vic,” Maya approached him as soon as he entered the office, handing him a fresh file. “Her name is Elizabeth Thomas. She was a student at the university. Her cousin, Samantha Dowd, reported her missing when she didn’t show for tea last night.”
“When was the report made?”
“Around midnight. She was supposed to be at her cousin’s at eight.”
“Awfully soon to be reporting a missing person. Usually we wait twenty-four hours before making a formal inquiry.”
“Her aunt is a retired police officer. She pulled a few strings to get an investigation started. Good thing she did.”
“Where’s the cousin now?”
“I put her and her aunt, Elizabeth’s mum, in the rape suite.”
“The rape suite?”
“It has the nicest sofas,” Maya shrugged. “They’ve just identified her body. I thought I should put them some place comfortable.”
“Think they’re ready to speak to someone?”
“Ready as ever. It’ll take weeks for the shock to wear off.”
Sam nodded and reviewed the file, readying himself for the interview.
“Want me there?” Maya asked.
“You’ve already established a relationship with them. It’d help if you were.”
Together, Sam and Maya walked to the rape suite.
“Oh, the aunt’s in there, too. I have a feeling she wants to be heavily involved in the investigation. Balls of a bull, that one.”
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Well, it’s true,” she huffed, and Sam managed to get his grin under control before opening the door.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Sam stated solemnly as he approached the grieving family. “I’m DCI Tyler, you can call me Sam, and I’ll be running the enquiry into your daughter’s death,” he sat down across from the mother. “I want you to know I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thomas, and I promise to do everything in my power to bring her killer to justice.”
“T-thank you, Chief Inspector,” the woman smiled through her tears.
“Call me, Sam. Please,” he smiled, and looked at the younger woman to Mrs. Thomas’ left. “And you’re the one who first contacted us, Miss Dowd?”
“It’s Misses,” the young woman softly corrected. “And yes, I did. Lizzie was supposed to meet me and my husband for dinner last night. When she didn’t show, I rang my mum, who said I should contact you, the police.”
Sam nodded in understanding and turned his attention to Samantha’s mother, who had been silent so far.
“You made the right decision, Mrs...”
“Mallows,” the woman whispered, her mouth obviously dry. “Ann Mallows. Annie.”
Sam finally saw her, through the graying hair and fine wrinkles, and his mouth, too, went dry. He knew he was staring and that was fine because she was, as well. It did, however, confuse the other people in the room.
“Sam?” Maya whispered.
“Yes. Sorry. Mrs. Thomas, Maya is going to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright. I’ll be back shortly. There is some...information I’d like to cross-reference regarding your daughter’s case,” Sam excused himself and left the room before it started spinning.
The air was getting warmer; his tie was constricting tighter. He knew this was the beginning of a flashback and he had to escape public view before it overwhelmed him. He ran downstairs and snuck out the back entrance - the same entrance he’d used to sneak out Joni.
Breathing was difficult. He couldn’t stop it. Gladys could always pull him back, anchor him, but Gladys wasn’t here. He didn’t know where she was and why couldn’t the ground stop bloody spinning?
“Shh, shh. ‘S alright. You’re alright. Can you hear me? Sam? You in there?”
He opened his eyes and Annie was there, clutching his face with her soft hands. For a moment she was young, but the youth quickly faded to reveal the mature, confident woman before him.
“Annie?” he asked, his mind clearing.
“That’s right. It’s me, sir,” she smiled and lowered her hands to his. “Chris...Chris told me. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t, but...it’s you, isn’t it?” she asked, her face sad but hopeful.
“Yeah. It’s me,” he answered, and pulled her into a warm embrace. It seemed to last forever, or maybe he just wished it had. They finally pulled apart, but remained close, and Sam remembered the reason she was there.
“Oh God, your niece. Annie, I’m so sorry.”
Tears began to form in her eyes, but she fought and held them back.
“Well, if anyone can find out what happened, it’s you, sir,” she smiled.
“Let me...can I take you for coffee? To...ask you about Elizabeth?”
“Is this part of your formal enquiry, DCI Tyler?”
“Absolutely, ma’am.”
“Good. Then I accept. Because if you’re wasting your time chasing round women twice your age instead of finding the bastard who murdered my niece, I’ll hang you up by your balls for all of Manchester to see.”
*
“I don’t know what April will tell you, but hiding the truth will only hinder the investigation,” Annie blew on her hot coffee. “Lizzie wasn’t a good girl, Sam. In trouble soon as she could walk. April and Mark could almost always keep her in check, but after Mark passed two years ago - cancer - well, my sister couldn’t control her anymore.”
“Any trouble with the law?” Sam asked, taking notes and sipping his latte.
“Nowt on the record, but that’s my fault, I suppose,” Annie sighed. “She was picked up twice for shoplifting and once for drugs possession - marijuana. I always got her off with a warning. Maybe I shouldn’t have. If I’d let her face the consequences, instead of...”
Sam reached out and took Annie’s hand.
“It’s too easy to look back and see how things could’ve been done. If anyone knows that, it’s me. You were there for her, Annie. That’s all you could’ve done.”
“I know,” Annie smiled sadly and nodded. Sam pulled back and returned to his notes.
“What was she studying at uni?”
“Fashion design. Well, that’s if she ever showed up. April doesn’t know, but Sam told me Lizzie was going to be suspended for skipping classes.”
“Samantha, your daughter,” Sam confirmed nervously. Annie beamed.
“Born 1978. Right fire cracker she is, too.”
“Wonder where she gets that from,” Sam smirked. “She’s married?”
“Last year. Rich is an assistant bank manager at the HSBC on the high street. Sammy is an architect with one of the local firms. She may have my personality, but has her father’s drawing skills, thank goodness.”
“Mallows,” Sam thought. “PC Mallows? Who did the suspect sketches?”
“The same. Chris properly introduced us the year after you...” Annie trailed off and looked away. Sam sipped his drink and did the same. “I still can’t believe it,” she whispered.
“You’re not the only one,” he sighed.
“How long as it been? For you...in your...”
“Almost two years,” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I woke up in 2006, had six months of physio before I was discharged. It was another five before I became DCI again.”
“I’m sorry I never believed you.”
“Don’t be,” he smiled. “Really. I didn’t believe it myself some of the time.”
“But, things have been good for you? Since you’ve...been back,” she asked hopefully. Sam hesitated and prayed she didn’t notice.
“Yeah. Yeah, they’ve been great,” he lied. “It’s good to be back,” he adjusted his notebook. “But, back to Lizzie. Do you know who she was hanging out with? Any mates that could’ve pulled her into something deeper...”
*
Another twelve hours and finally the investigation was proceeding. Lizzie had recently taken up with a bad bloke by the name of Nicky Dexter, and Dexter had a record - three arrests for assault and one for possession of cocaine. Maya and the others were tracking him down.
Sam slipped his key in the lock and hope the suspect would be found by morning. This case was personal now, and he’d solve it for Annie’s sake, if nothing else. When he opened the door, he was surprised to find the lights already on. He closed the door just as Gladys emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing loose-fitting jeans and one of his old, Man United t-shirts, and she looked like she’d been crying.
“Hey,” he started.
“Hey,” she replied.
“How...how have you...”
“Alright. Okay. You?”
“Alright.”
“Good,” she smiled. “I, uhm, just came by for a few things. I’ll be gone in a minute.
Sam’s heart dropped.
“Oh...are you hungry? I went shopping yesterday. I could whip something up if you...”
“I already ate. With mum.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll, uhm, I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Gladys nodded and disappeared into the bedroom. Sam dropped his briefcase and keys on the couch and walked into the kitchen. Before getting any much needed food, he pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge and popped it open. Loosening his tie, he returned to the living room and switched on the telly. He’d have to wait until she was done in the bedroom before he could change.
Five minutes passed before Sam heard her footsteps pad into the living room. He expected a quick goodbye as the door opened and shut. Instead, the couch dipped as she sat down beside him.
“How’s work?” she asked, staring at the TV.
“Alright. Busy. Niece of an old colleague was killed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You might know her. Annie Cartwright. She was the first female detective in your dad’s team, here in Manchester.”
He felt Gladys stiffen. He was an idiot. He should never have mentioned it. He was an idiot.
“Vaguely,” she finally answered. “I remember his team from London better.”
Sam nodded. He had to learn to keep his mouth shut. They sat there in silence, letting the sounds of the television fill the space between them.
“Oh, you’ve dripped mustard on your tie again,” she sighed and pointed at his chest.
“Where?” he asked, looking down.
“There.”
“I don’t see it.”
She huffed and placed her finger on the blue silk tie.
“There. That’ll have to be dry cleaned.”
Sam waited for her to move her hand, but she didn’t. He waited. She still didn’t move. So, he slowly reached up and surrounded her hand with his, rubbing his thumb against her palm. Her skin was dry. He wondered if she’d stopped using with that Body Shop moisturizer she loved so much.
Gladys shifted her hand and soon their fingers were entwined. Sam didn’t want to take his eyes off those fingers. But, he did as he reached his other hand to her face and stroked her cheek. They leaned forward slowly, tentatively, and shared a kiss more hesitant than any they’d ever had before. Sam was finally relaxing, when Gladys suddenly pulled away.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered as she withdrew her hand from his. “I can’t...not yet.”
Sam let her go.
“Don’t be. It’s okay,” he assured her. “We don’t have to...”
Gladys sprung up from the couch and went to gather her things.
“I, uhm, mum’s expecting me. If she remembers who I am,” she added sourly. “I’ll...I’ll call you. Later. Maybe we could go out for dinner or, uhm, yeah. Dinner would be nice. Don’t you think?”
“Dinner sounds good,” Sam agreed.
“Great. Good. I’ll...I’ll call you then,” she repeated, carrying her bag to the door. “Good luck with your case,” she added, then disappeared out the door. Sam watched her leave, then turned back to the telly. At 3am, he finally fell asleep on the couch, still in his suit, with the beer turning warm and flat on the table beside him.
*
“Here. Before you fall onto keyboard,” Maya thrust a steaming paper cup of coffee into his hands.
“Huh? Oh, cheers,” Sam gratefully accepted the coffee.
“Been getting enough sleep?” she asked, perching herself on the edge of the desk.
“Yes, mum,” he sighed sarcastically.
“I’m not your mum. Just your DI. Your actual mum, since we’re on the subject, has rang a few times looking for you. She says you haven’t called her in a week.”
“I’ve gone longer than that without calling.”
“Yes, but that was before you were hit by a car and put in a coma. Mums tend to worry a bit more after something like that.”
“I’ll call her later.”
“I’m sure she’ll pleased. So, what’s bothering you this morning?” she prodded, crossing his arms. Sam sighed. He knew it was useless attempting to lie to a woman who was a detective, his partner, and his ex-girlfriend.
“Gladys came over last night.”
“That’s good! Isn’t it?”
“She says she’s going to call me later so we can arrange a date.”
“Good for you,” she pat him on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” he replied with uncertainty.
“Don’t worry, Sam. Like everything else, this’ll all be behind you soon,” she smiled.
“I’m sick of having to ‘put things behind me,’” he snapped and reached for Elizabeth Thomas’ file. “We find that boyfriend yet?”
“Working on it, sir,” Maya stood. “I’ll go check what progress we’ve made.”
“Let me know what you find.”
“Will do,” she nodded and returned to her desk. Sam returned to the file and his notes, pretending he wasn’t waiting for the phone to ring.
*
He showered twice. And used that aftershave she liked - that Calvin Klein junk. He never used aftershave, but she said she liked the smell of that one and he decided it was a small sacrifice to make to win back the woman he loved. He knew she didn’t love getting flowers - didn’t see the point of them - but he’d bought her some yellow roses anyhow. She usually didn’t mind roses if they were yellow, and still had the thorns. He wondered if there was any psychological basis to that. He decided he should stop trying to psychoanalyze his girlfriend.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was nervous. More nervous than when he called her up for their second date. More nervous than when he tried to explain his relationship with Gene to her. Tonight, it wouldn’t be make or break. No grand pronouncements needed to be made. He just needed to show her that it could still work, that they could still work, even if she thought he was completely mental. He’d had plenty of healthy relationships with people who thought he was insane, hadn’t he?
Sam decided to not answer that question.
He needed to stop thinking, but he didn’t know how. So, he paced. He paced outside the small Italian restaurant they’d agreed to meet at. He paced and double-checked that his dress pants were suitably pressed and that his shirt was buttoned properly. He’d messed it up the first time he’d tried.
He was being foolish. There was no need to worry. Everything would be fine. As soon as she arrived, everything would fine.
Except, she never did.
*
“Come on, Nicky. We know you were there. We have witnesses. Plus, forensics confirmed it. It was your hair and your skin and the fibers from your jacket that were on Lizzie’s body.”
“She were me girl, man. Course my DNA’d be all over the bitch.”
Sam shoved the table across the room, letting it smack into the wall. Both Maya and the suspect were frozen in shock at his outburst. Sam rounded on Dexter, but didn’t touch him.
“Trapped under her fingernails? In her defensive wounds? Admit it. You were pissed she was turning you out! You had a nice, little thing going and she was ending it all because she knew you were shite.”
“Ain’t true,” Dexter shook his head, but his voice wavered.
“You followed her to the bar that night! You waited for her in that alley! You struck her down and you dumped her body! We don’t even need to be having this conversation, Nicky. I’m doing you a favor. You confess, the judge might be lenient. You make us take this to court - it’s automatic life.”
Sam was so close, his breath was ghosting over the pale man’s face. His brown eyes were dark and murderous. His hands were gripping the armrests of Dexter’s chair, turning his knuckles white.
“She...she were asking for it,” the man finally stuttered.
Sam’s lip curled into a snarl. He leaned in, then pushed himself back, kicking his chair against the wall. Maya took over the confession as Sam hurled himself from the room. He paced up and down the hall, tugging at his tie while he waited for Maya to finish the interview.
“That was one way to get a confession,” Maya remarked as she entered the hall and closed the door. She held out the paperwork and Sam grabbed it from her hand.
“It worked, didn’t it?” he hissed, the anger and adrenaline still coursing through him.
“Good to see the Seventies haven’t affected your interrogation style,” she remarked, crossing her arms.
“I never touched him, did I?”
“I have a feeling you were about to.”
“You going to report me for damaging company property?”
“Sam...”
“I knew I was in a bad situation, I took myself out of it, and you’re questioning my judgement?”
“I know this case is personal for you--”
“My personal life is none of your business, Inspector,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Just close it out, finish the paperwork, and get that piece of scum behind bars.”
“Yes, sir,” she took the confession back and stormed off down the hall.
Sam took a few minutes to calm himself down, then returned to CID. The case would be officially closed by this evening and then he would be able to inform Annie and her family of the results.
*
He needed a coffee. He’d go for a coffee and then he’d call her. Something must have happened. Something must have happened with Margaret or work or maybe she’d been ill. What if she’d been ill? He needed a coffee. He’d go for a coffee and calm down and then he’d call her.
Sam parked his Jeep perfectly parallel to the pavement and walked to his favorite coffee shop. It hadn’t existed in 1973. Even though he’d been home for so long now, it still felt good to have little things like lattes back. He pushed open the glass door, stepped inside, and heard a laugh he’d recognize anywhere. He turned.
Behind him sat Gladys, her hand being stroked on top the table by some bloke he’d never seen before. He didn’t know what to say. Was he supposed to say anything? All he’d wanted was a coffee, not have his heart torn to bits. What was he supposed to say?
“Sam.”
She noticed him first and immediately wrenched back her hand.
“Sam...what are you...”
She grabbed her jacket and walked over to him, leaving her confused companion behind.
“I came for a coffee,” he pointed to the counter. “You didn’t...where were you?”
She bit her lip and looked away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and that was her only explanation. Sam was fine with that. He didn’t know if he could handle any lies today.
“Right,” he nodded. “Okay, well, I’ll just get what I came for and leave you and your boyfriend in peace.”
“He’s not...I’m...he,” she started to panic, cover her tracks. Sam recognized all the signs. He was a police officer, after all. Not wanting to make a scene in public, he stepped closer so he could whisper.
“You don’t want to be with me because you think I’m mad, fine. Just tell me. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. I’ve handled it before. But don’t think you can string me along while you try out other bits on the side.”
Then, she punched him in the stomach. Gene had taught her well.
“You really are thick, aren’t you?” she hissed and stormed out of the cafe. The bewildered bloke she’d left behind wasn’t sure if he should follow or not, but quickly decided he shouldn’t be in the same room with Sam.
Sam left without his coffee. Suddenly, he wasn’t in the mood for non-alcoholic beverages.
*
“I’m sorry, Annie.”
“Why?” she smiled as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You did what you promised, Sam. You solved the case.”
“Lizzie was planning on leaving him. Fixing her life up. That’s why Nicky became so angry with her, if it’s any consolation.”
“You know what? It is. It’s good to know we hadn’t lost her before she...”
Annie could control her tears no longer, and let them flow down her face.
“Hey, hey,” Sam soothed, moving from his chair to sit next to her on the sofa. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, whispering words of comfort. “It’s over now.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and he placed a kiss on the top of her head. They held each other until Annie’s tears stopped and Sam’s began.
“Now, what’s gotten into you?” she smiled and tilted back his head.
“Nothing, sorry. Nothing. It’s...I guess I didn’t realize how much I missed you,” he shook his head and wiped the tears from his face. “Annie, if I had stayed...if all that hadn’t happened...if I hadn’t woken up...”
Annie took him by the chin and made him stare her in the eye.
“It did, Sam. It all happened like it was supposed to. And there’s nothing we can do to change that. It wasn’t meant to be, you and me.”
“But...”
“But, nothing, you silly bugger,” she laughed. “I’ve had a long time to think about it. Longer than you, I guess,” Annie took both his hands in hers. “I’ve led a good life Sam. Bloody hell, I’m not even sixty! I’m still leading a good life. I have a husband who loves me, wonderful children, and an Airedale Terrier, to boot. After you left, I had to learn how to be happy again, Sam. We all of us did - Chris, the Guv, even Ray. And you will, too. Takes time is all. This life business is hard!”
Sam withdrew his hands and dropped his head.
“I’ve tried Annie. I’ve tried so hard, and I don’t know what else to do. It feels like everything’s slipping away, again, and I don’t know how to hold on to what I have.”
“Same in every decade, you are,” she sighed, rubbing soothing circles over his back. “Always looking for big answers when just little ones’ll do.”
He took a deep breath and finally raised his head.
“What should I do, Annie?”
Her hand stilled on his back.
“Don’t go jumping off any roofs, to start with,” she warned. “And trust those around you. You have friends here, Sam. They’ll help you, if you let them. You have to fight, but you don’t need to do it on your own.”
Sam nodded and rose from the couch. Annie had a family to get back to. He had a report to file.
“And Sam?”
“Yeah?” he turned and was warmed by her smile.
“So you know, I’m going to be a really good friend to you.”
*
Right now, all he wanted was a drink. Tomorrow, he’d work on be happy. He unlocked his door and was surprised to find, for the second time that week, that someone was already there.
“Gladys! How d’you work this bloody thing? Oof. Bloody hell. It’s got more buttons than...”
“Dad! I told you to wait. Now put it down before you break it!”
It took Sam a moment to realize the voices were coming from the telly. It took him another minute to realize they weren’t speaking directly to him. Frozen by his front door, Gladys rushed out of the kitchen and pressed pause on the VCR.
“You’re back early,” she commented as she set her drink down on the coffee table, not using a coaster. Sam imagined the ring he’d have to scrub off in the morning.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Back for more of your things?” he set his briefcase down by the door and removed his suit jacket.
“Not that I should explain myself to you, seeing’s how you’re acting a complete and utter twat, but I’m here to finish our conversation from the coffee shop.”
“So what’s his name then? Derrick? Lance? Maybe Edward?” Sam struggled to undo his tie.
“Do you want me to hit you again?” she shouted in frustration.
“I’m still recovering from the last blow.”
“Then shut up and listen to me instead of gabbing away like a granny at her bridge game! You said I don’t want to be with you cos I think you’re mad, yeah?”
“Sounds about right,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Well, I am confused, Sam. You and Uncle Ray put me through the wringer with your time-travel, coma, crazy cop stories. Excuse me if it’s been a bit hard to swallow. But, I’ve not been avoiding you because I think you’re a nutter. I’ve been avoiding you because I know it’s the truth.”
“That I’m insane?”
“That you were my father’s DI in 1973.” From the coffee table, Gladys grabbed a yellow file and walked it to Sam. “I found this in the cellar, the night after you and Ray told me. It’s about your kidnapping. And there’s these photos...” she handed it over to him, but Sam didn’t open it.
“I’ve seen it before,” he whispered, willing the horrible memories to the back of his mind.
“It’s you. Not your father. Not some doppelganger. It’s really you and I didn’t know how to deal with that.”
“So you went on a date,” he answered for her.
“Well...yeah. Not the best way of handling things, but...but I needed to see if I could be happy without you.”
“Thanks,” he nodded and finally left his spot by the door, heading for the kitchen. She followed.
“I’ve had to deal with a lot of shit in my life, too, Sam. I don’t handle stress well. I was a wreck when you met me, I’m still a wreck now. I thought, if I’m going to have a serious relationship, it needs to be with someone stable. Someone normal. Someone who hasn’t been through Hell and back with the scars to prove it.”
Sam didn’t bother with beer. He went straight for the top shelf whisky.
“So that’s it then?” he asked her, waiting for it to finally be over.
“I take after my dad, but I’ve bits of my mother as well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he poured himself a healthy glass, ready to down it.
“I can admit when I’m wrong.”
Sam set the glass down before it reached his lips. He heard her come up behind him. Saw her hands shaking as she wrapped her arms around her waist. Felt her heart beating too fast as she pressed her chest against his back.
“I’m at my most stable when I’m with a psych-job like you. You don’t try to change me. You don’t pity me. You understand me because you understand my family. You understand my father.”
“What would Freud say about that?”
“Long as am I happy, why do I give a shit what Freud thinks?”
Sam turned in her arms, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.
“So, what do we do now?” he asked when he pulled back for air.
“First, you pour me a glass of that fine smelling single malt.”
“Done.”
“Then, we sit on the couch and watch these home movies I found, and you tell me what Gene Hunt was like in the Seventies.”
“You really want to know?”
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it,” she smirked.
“Fine. Done.”
“Then, maybe next week, if you’ve been good, I’ll see how I feel about spending the night. That work for you?”
“That works for me.”
Five minutes later, they were nestled together on the couch as they watched a larger than life man shrunk down to fit a television screen.
“Because it’s your birthday, Dad.”
“Exactly. It’s my bloody birthday and I don’t want it to be filmed for all and sundry to see. You promised quiet drinks at the pub.”
“When have you ever had a quiet drink at the pub?”
“...Fair point. Fine. You can film your little film, Gladys, long as it don’t impair your drink ordering abilities. Pint of bitter and a large whisky chaser, there’s a good girl. And don’t forget one for yourself. Bloody video cameras. Who’d want to watch this shite anyhow?”
Author: dak
Word Count: 5785 words
Rating: green cortina
Warning: angst
Pairing: Sam/OC
Summary: Why can't life be simple, neat, and contained? Why does time-traveling have to make things so complicated?
A/N: This is another one-shot set in my SASG AU. Takes place after Bygones. So, it won't make any sense unless you're familiar with that 'verse. And, this fic did not want to be written. It had to be written, but it didn't want to be written, and it was like pulling teeth to get it written. But, it's finished, and I hope you enjoy.
Gladys stared at them. She said nothing, simply stared at Sam and Ray, absentmindedly clutching her stomach.
“Well?” Sam finally asked nervously, unable to stand the silence any longer.
“I’m trying to work this out,” she spoke calmly and clinically. “You,” she pointed to Sam, “woke up in 1973 where you became his,” she pointed to Ray, “DI, as well as DI to my father.”
“Yes,” Sam and Ray replied in unison.
“And, after suffering a series of almost impossibly traumatic experiences, disappeared from 1973 and woke up from your coma the same day my father, who could confirm all this, died.”
“Yes,” Sam and Ray nodded.
Gladys stared at them, then rose from the couch. “I’m going back to my mother’s,” she said softly.
“Gladys, wait,” Sam tried to stop her.
“Why couldn’t you just say you were writing a book on my father? Or hat he’d been your mentor? Or you’d been stalking him? No, you couldn’t come up with something simple. You had to overcomplicate things and worse, drag Uncle Ray into it as well!”
“I know it’s a lot to ask...”
“A lot? You’re asking me to swallow Mount bloody Everest with a side of TARDIS for dessert,” Gladys laughed bitterly and pulled a cigarette from her pocket. “You are so unbelievable, you know that?” She frantically flicked her lighter, but was unable to produce a flame. Sam reached into his pocket, produced a second lighter, and lit it for her. They stood there silently, waiting for something to break. Nothing did.
“I...I’ll be at mum’s,” she whispered, and disappeared down the hall. Sam watched her leave, then slowly closed the door.
“Well, that didn’t go quite as expected, eh Tyler?”
Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dropping his arms, he crossed the flat and stepped into the kitchen.
“I knew we should’ve waited for Chris. She always believes Chris,” Ray added, following him. Sam began rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.
“I promised to be there for her, and I’m there for her. I promised to tell her the truth and I told her the truth,” he became more animated with each word, angrily shoving the dishes into the machine. “What else does she want? What am I supposed to do? Nothing is ever good enough for her!”
“Who does that remind you of?”
Sam slammed the dishwasher door shut and grasped the counter tightly.
“She needs time, Tyler. Only reason I believe yeh is cos I were there. She weren’t even born yet.”
Sam stomped out of the room and Ray followed closely behind.
“Margaret was the same after her miscarriages. She’d push the Guv away an’ all ‘e could do was wait for ‘er to come round. And she did. Every time.”
“She didn’t have to deal with a time-travelling husband. Oh, wait. I’m not that. I’m not even her fiance. I’m nothing.”
“So you are always like this, not just when you’re in the Seventies.”
“Piss off.”
“ ‘Scuse me, Boss, but ain’t I the only one helping yeh? Fine. You want to pout forever and lose the best thing you ever had, I’ll shove off back to Brighton,” Ray grabbed his coat and went for the door. Sam made no attempt to stop him. When the door closed for the second time, he finally allowed himself to collapse onto the sofa.
*
“Bryant, I need those reports from the Hyatt Hotel robberies. Todd, you and Mack need to investigate a drugs case down at the quays.”
The men nodded an quickly went about their business as Sam hurried to his desk. He was examining the files in his hands so intently, he didn’t notice Maya come up behind him.
“And where are you assigning me, Chief Inspector?” she asked casually, sipping her morning coffee. Sam replied without even glancing up.
“Dog walker found a body near the M.E.N. Arena. Plod’s securing the scene until we get there.”
“Plod?”
Sam blushed as he realized his slip.
“Uniformed officers. Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” she smiled.
“No. It’s not,” he slapped the folder shut and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. “I’m here now. I need to behave properly.”
“Behave properly? Sam, are you feeling okay?” she laughed gently.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Nothing. Forget it. So, a body, you said?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. Maya grabbed his keys and handed them over.
“Brief me on the way, sir.”
*
Twelve hours of solid police work and they were no closer to solving the young woman’s murder than the dog walker was. Sam had returned to his flat only because Maya had ordered him home. He felt useless at home, though. Without the case to distract him, Sam was left alone with his thoughts. He used to have Gladys there to distract him. Now, he had nothing and he knew he needed to fix that. He had no idea how. He took out his phone and hit the speed dial.
“Hello? Margaret?...Yes, it’s Sam...No, I don’t need to speak to Gene.”
His stomach clenched as he said the name.
“I’m looking for Gladys. Gladys, your...Hello? Oh, hi Sarah. Is Gladys there?...She’s out. Is she at her office or...okay. Thank you. Could you tell her I called? Cheers...I’m, I’m fine...Yeah...You, too.”
Sam hung up and dropped the phone onto the couch. Gladys was out with friends. That was good. Sam was glad for her. She deserved to get out and relax. He just wished he knew where she was. He flopped his body onto the couch and turned on the telly for comfort. He flipped through the stations for several minutes, but couldn’t get Margaret’s voice out of his head.
Did he need to speak with Gene?
He tried channel surfing again. It didn’t work.
“Five-hundred channels and not one bloody test card,” he sighed. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of some pointless reality competition wash over him.
Did he need to speak with Gene?
He wished he could, but what good was wishing for something he’d never get?
*
“We finally got an ID on our vic,” Maya approached him as soon as he entered the office, handing him a fresh file. “Her name is Elizabeth Thomas. She was a student at the university. Her cousin, Samantha Dowd, reported her missing when she didn’t show for tea last night.”
“When was the report made?”
“Around midnight. She was supposed to be at her cousin’s at eight.”
“Awfully soon to be reporting a missing person. Usually we wait twenty-four hours before making a formal inquiry.”
“Her aunt is a retired police officer. She pulled a few strings to get an investigation started. Good thing she did.”
“Where’s the cousin now?”
“I put her and her aunt, Elizabeth’s mum, in the rape suite.”
“The rape suite?”
“It has the nicest sofas,” Maya shrugged. “They’ve just identified her body. I thought I should put them some place comfortable.”
“Think they’re ready to speak to someone?”
“Ready as ever. It’ll take weeks for the shock to wear off.”
Sam nodded and reviewed the file, readying himself for the interview.
“Want me there?” Maya asked.
“You’ve already established a relationship with them. It’d help if you were.”
Together, Sam and Maya walked to the rape suite.
“Oh, the aunt’s in there, too. I have a feeling she wants to be heavily involved in the investigation. Balls of a bull, that one.”
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“Well, it’s true,” she huffed, and Sam managed to get his grin under control before opening the door.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Sam stated solemnly as he approached the grieving family. “I’m DCI Tyler, you can call me Sam, and I’ll be running the enquiry into your daughter’s death,” he sat down across from the mother. “I want you to know I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Thomas, and I promise to do everything in my power to bring her killer to justice.”
“T-thank you, Chief Inspector,” the woman smiled through her tears.
“Call me, Sam. Please,” he smiled, and looked at the younger woman to Mrs. Thomas’ left. “And you’re the one who first contacted us, Miss Dowd?”
“It’s Misses,” the young woman softly corrected. “And yes, I did. Lizzie was supposed to meet me and my husband for dinner last night. When she didn’t show, I rang my mum, who said I should contact you, the police.”
Sam nodded in understanding and turned his attention to Samantha’s mother, who had been silent so far.
“You made the right decision, Mrs...”
“Mallows,” the woman whispered, her mouth obviously dry. “Ann Mallows. Annie.”
Sam finally saw her, through the graying hair and fine wrinkles, and his mouth, too, went dry. He knew he was staring and that was fine because she was, as well. It did, however, confuse the other people in the room.
“Sam?” Maya whispered.
“Yes. Sorry. Mrs. Thomas, Maya is going to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright. I’ll be back shortly. There is some...information I’d like to cross-reference regarding your daughter’s case,” Sam excused himself and left the room before it started spinning.
The air was getting warmer; his tie was constricting tighter. He knew this was the beginning of a flashback and he had to escape public view before it overwhelmed him. He ran downstairs and snuck out the back entrance - the same entrance he’d used to sneak out Joni.
Breathing was difficult. He couldn’t stop it. Gladys could always pull him back, anchor him, but Gladys wasn’t here. He didn’t know where she was and why couldn’t the ground stop bloody spinning?
“Shh, shh. ‘S alright. You’re alright. Can you hear me? Sam? You in there?”
He opened his eyes and Annie was there, clutching his face with her soft hands. For a moment she was young, but the youth quickly faded to reveal the mature, confident woman before him.
“Annie?” he asked, his mind clearing.
“That’s right. It’s me, sir,” she smiled and lowered her hands to his. “Chris...Chris told me. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t, but...it’s you, isn’t it?” she asked, her face sad but hopeful.
“Yeah. It’s me,” he answered, and pulled her into a warm embrace. It seemed to last forever, or maybe he just wished it had. They finally pulled apart, but remained close, and Sam remembered the reason she was there.
“Oh God, your niece. Annie, I’m so sorry.”
Tears began to form in her eyes, but she fought and held them back.
“Well, if anyone can find out what happened, it’s you, sir,” she smiled.
“Let me...can I take you for coffee? To...ask you about Elizabeth?”
“Is this part of your formal enquiry, DCI Tyler?”
“Absolutely, ma’am.”
“Good. Then I accept. Because if you’re wasting your time chasing round women twice your age instead of finding the bastard who murdered my niece, I’ll hang you up by your balls for all of Manchester to see.”
*
“I don’t know what April will tell you, but hiding the truth will only hinder the investigation,” Annie blew on her hot coffee. “Lizzie wasn’t a good girl, Sam. In trouble soon as she could walk. April and Mark could almost always keep her in check, but after Mark passed two years ago - cancer - well, my sister couldn’t control her anymore.”
“Any trouble with the law?” Sam asked, taking notes and sipping his latte.
“Nowt on the record, but that’s my fault, I suppose,” Annie sighed. “She was picked up twice for shoplifting and once for drugs possession - marijuana. I always got her off with a warning. Maybe I shouldn’t have. If I’d let her face the consequences, instead of...”
Sam reached out and took Annie’s hand.
“It’s too easy to look back and see how things could’ve been done. If anyone knows that, it’s me. You were there for her, Annie. That’s all you could’ve done.”
“I know,” Annie smiled sadly and nodded. Sam pulled back and returned to his notes.
“What was she studying at uni?”
“Fashion design. Well, that’s if she ever showed up. April doesn’t know, but Sam told me Lizzie was going to be suspended for skipping classes.”
“Samantha, your daughter,” Sam confirmed nervously. Annie beamed.
“Born 1978. Right fire cracker she is, too.”
“Wonder where she gets that from,” Sam smirked. “She’s married?”
“Last year. Rich is an assistant bank manager at the HSBC on the high street. Sammy is an architect with one of the local firms. She may have my personality, but has her father’s drawing skills, thank goodness.”
“Mallows,” Sam thought. “PC Mallows? Who did the suspect sketches?”
“The same. Chris properly introduced us the year after you...” Annie trailed off and looked away. Sam sipped his drink and did the same. “I still can’t believe it,” she whispered.
“You’re not the only one,” he sighed.
“How long as it been? For you...in your...”
“Almost two years,” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I woke up in 2006, had six months of physio before I was discharged. It was another five before I became DCI again.”
“I’m sorry I never believed you.”
“Don’t be,” he smiled. “Really. I didn’t believe it myself some of the time.”
“But, things have been good for you? Since you’ve...been back,” she asked hopefully. Sam hesitated and prayed she didn’t notice.
“Yeah. Yeah, they’ve been great,” he lied. “It’s good to be back,” he adjusted his notebook. “But, back to Lizzie. Do you know who she was hanging out with? Any mates that could’ve pulled her into something deeper...”
*
Another twelve hours and finally the investigation was proceeding. Lizzie had recently taken up with a bad bloke by the name of Nicky Dexter, and Dexter had a record - three arrests for assault and one for possession of cocaine. Maya and the others were tracking him down.
Sam slipped his key in the lock and hope the suspect would be found by morning. This case was personal now, and he’d solve it for Annie’s sake, if nothing else. When he opened the door, he was surprised to find the lights already on. He closed the door just as Gladys emerged from the bedroom. She was wearing loose-fitting jeans and one of his old, Man United t-shirts, and she looked like she’d been crying.
“Hey,” he started.
“Hey,” she replied.
“How...how have you...”
“Alright. Okay. You?”
“Alright.”
“Good,” she smiled. “I, uhm, just came by for a few things. I’ll be gone in a minute.
Sam’s heart dropped.
“Oh...are you hungry? I went shopping yesterday. I could whip something up if you...”
“I already ate. With mum.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll, uhm, I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Gladys nodded and disappeared into the bedroom. Sam dropped his briefcase and keys on the couch and walked into the kitchen. Before getting any much needed food, he pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge and popped it open. Loosening his tie, he returned to the living room and switched on the telly. He’d have to wait until she was done in the bedroom before he could change.
Five minutes passed before Sam heard her footsteps pad into the living room. He expected a quick goodbye as the door opened and shut. Instead, the couch dipped as she sat down beside him.
“How’s work?” she asked, staring at the TV.
“Alright. Busy. Niece of an old colleague was killed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You might know her. Annie Cartwright. She was the first female detective in your dad’s team, here in Manchester.”
He felt Gladys stiffen. He was an idiot. He should never have mentioned it. He was an idiot.
“Vaguely,” she finally answered. “I remember his team from London better.”
Sam nodded. He had to learn to keep his mouth shut. They sat there in silence, letting the sounds of the television fill the space between them.
“Oh, you’ve dripped mustard on your tie again,” she sighed and pointed at his chest.
“Where?” he asked, looking down.
“There.”
“I don’t see it.”
She huffed and placed her finger on the blue silk tie.
“There. That’ll have to be dry cleaned.”
Sam waited for her to move her hand, but she didn’t. He waited. She still didn’t move. So, he slowly reached up and surrounded her hand with his, rubbing his thumb against her palm. Her skin was dry. He wondered if she’d stopped using with that Body Shop moisturizer she loved so much.
Gladys shifted her hand and soon their fingers were entwined. Sam didn’t want to take his eyes off those fingers. But, he did as he reached his other hand to her face and stroked her cheek. They leaned forward slowly, tentatively, and shared a kiss more hesitant than any they’d ever had before. Sam was finally relaxing, when Gladys suddenly pulled away.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered as she withdrew her hand from his. “I can’t...not yet.”
Sam let her go.
“Don’t be. It’s okay,” he assured her. “We don’t have to...”
Gladys sprung up from the couch and went to gather her things.
“I, uhm, mum’s expecting me. If she remembers who I am,” she added sourly. “I’ll...I’ll call you. Later. Maybe we could go out for dinner or, uhm, yeah. Dinner would be nice. Don’t you think?”
“Dinner sounds good,” Sam agreed.
“Great. Good. I’ll...I’ll call you then,” she repeated, carrying her bag to the door. “Good luck with your case,” she added, then disappeared out the door. Sam watched her leave, then turned back to the telly. At 3am, he finally fell asleep on the couch, still in his suit, with the beer turning warm and flat on the table beside him.
*
“Here. Before you fall onto keyboard,” Maya thrust a steaming paper cup of coffee into his hands.
“Huh? Oh, cheers,” Sam gratefully accepted the coffee.
“Been getting enough sleep?” she asked, perching herself on the edge of the desk.
“Yes, mum,” he sighed sarcastically.
“I’m not your mum. Just your DI. Your actual mum, since we’re on the subject, has rang a few times looking for you. She says you haven’t called her in a week.”
“I’ve gone longer than that without calling.”
“Yes, but that was before you were hit by a car and put in a coma. Mums tend to worry a bit more after something like that.”
“I’ll call her later.”
“I’m sure she’ll pleased. So, what’s bothering you this morning?” she prodded, crossing his arms. Sam sighed. He knew it was useless attempting to lie to a woman who was a detective, his partner, and his ex-girlfriend.
“Gladys came over last night.”
“That’s good! Isn’t it?”
“She says she’s going to call me later so we can arrange a date.”
“Good for you,” she pat him on the shoulder.
“Yeah,” he replied with uncertainty.
“Don’t worry, Sam. Like everything else, this’ll all be behind you soon,” she smiled.
“I’m sick of having to ‘put things behind me,’” he snapped and reached for Elizabeth Thomas’ file. “We find that boyfriend yet?”
“Working on it, sir,” Maya stood. “I’ll go check what progress we’ve made.”
“Let me know what you find.”
“Will do,” she nodded and returned to her desk. Sam returned to the file and his notes, pretending he wasn’t waiting for the phone to ring.
*
He showered twice. And used that aftershave she liked - that Calvin Klein junk. He never used aftershave, but she said she liked the smell of that one and he decided it was a small sacrifice to make to win back the woman he loved. He knew she didn’t love getting flowers - didn’t see the point of them - but he’d bought her some yellow roses anyhow. She usually didn’t mind roses if they were yellow, and still had the thorns. He wondered if there was any psychological basis to that. He decided he should stop trying to psychoanalyze his girlfriend.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was nervous. More nervous than when he called her up for their second date. More nervous than when he tried to explain his relationship with Gene to her. Tonight, it wouldn’t be make or break. No grand pronouncements needed to be made. He just needed to show her that it could still work, that they could still work, even if she thought he was completely mental. He’d had plenty of healthy relationships with people who thought he was insane, hadn’t he?
Sam decided to not answer that question.
He needed to stop thinking, but he didn’t know how. So, he paced. He paced outside the small Italian restaurant they’d agreed to meet at. He paced and double-checked that his dress pants were suitably pressed and that his shirt was buttoned properly. He’d messed it up the first time he’d tried.
He was being foolish. There was no need to worry. Everything would be fine. As soon as she arrived, everything would fine.
Except, she never did.
*
“Come on, Nicky. We know you were there. We have witnesses. Plus, forensics confirmed it. It was your hair and your skin and the fibers from your jacket that were on Lizzie’s body.”
“She were me girl, man. Course my DNA’d be all over the bitch.”
Sam shoved the table across the room, letting it smack into the wall. Both Maya and the suspect were frozen in shock at his outburst. Sam rounded on Dexter, but didn’t touch him.
“Trapped under her fingernails? In her defensive wounds? Admit it. You were pissed she was turning you out! You had a nice, little thing going and she was ending it all because she knew you were shite.”
“Ain’t true,” Dexter shook his head, but his voice wavered.
“You followed her to the bar that night! You waited for her in that alley! You struck her down and you dumped her body! We don’t even need to be having this conversation, Nicky. I’m doing you a favor. You confess, the judge might be lenient. You make us take this to court - it’s automatic life.”
Sam was so close, his breath was ghosting over the pale man’s face. His brown eyes were dark and murderous. His hands were gripping the armrests of Dexter’s chair, turning his knuckles white.
“She...she were asking for it,” the man finally stuttered.
Sam’s lip curled into a snarl. He leaned in, then pushed himself back, kicking his chair against the wall. Maya took over the confession as Sam hurled himself from the room. He paced up and down the hall, tugging at his tie while he waited for Maya to finish the interview.
“That was one way to get a confession,” Maya remarked as she entered the hall and closed the door. She held out the paperwork and Sam grabbed it from her hand.
“It worked, didn’t it?” he hissed, the anger and adrenaline still coursing through him.
“Good to see the Seventies haven’t affected your interrogation style,” she remarked, crossing her arms.
“I never touched him, did I?”
“I have a feeling you were about to.”
“You going to report me for damaging company property?”
“Sam...”
“I knew I was in a bad situation, I took myself out of it, and you’re questioning my judgement?”
“I know this case is personal for you--”
“My personal life is none of your business, Inspector,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Just close it out, finish the paperwork, and get that piece of scum behind bars.”
“Yes, sir,” she took the confession back and stormed off down the hall.
Sam took a few minutes to calm himself down, then returned to CID. The case would be officially closed by this evening and then he would be able to inform Annie and her family of the results.
*
He needed a coffee. He’d go for a coffee and then he’d call her. Something must have happened. Something must have happened with Margaret or work or maybe she’d been ill. What if she’d been ill? He needed a coffee. He’d go for a coffee and calm down and then he’d call her.
Sam parked his Jeep perfectly parallel to the pavement and walked to his favorite coffee shop. It hadn’t existed in 1973. Even though he’d been home for so long now, it still felt good to have little things like lattes back. He pushed open the glass door, stepped inside, and heard a laugh he’d recognize anywhere. He turned.
Behind him sat Gladys, her hand being stroked on top the table by some bloke he’d never seen before. He didn’t know what to say. Was he supposed to say anything? All he’d wanted was a coffee, not have his heart torn to bits. What was he supposed to say?
“Sam.”
She noticed him first and immediately wrenched back her hand.
“Sam...what are you...”
She grabbed her jacket and walked over to him, leaving her confused companion behind.
“I came for a coffee,” he pointed to the counter. “You didn’t...where were you?”
She bit her lip and looked away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and that was her only explanation. Sam was fine with that. He didn’t know if he could handle any lies today.
“Right,” he nodded. “Okay, well, I’ll just get what I came for and leave you and your boyfriend in peace.”
“He’s not...I’m...he,” she started to panic, cover her tracks. Sam recognized all the signs. He was a police officer, after all. Not wanting to make a scene in public, he stepped closer so he could whisper.
“You don’t want to be with me because you think I’m mad, fine. Just tell me. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. I’ve handled it before. But don’t think you can string me along while you try out other bits on the side.”
Then, she punched him in the stomach. Gene had taught her well.
“You really are thick, aren’t you?” she hissed and stormed out of the cafe. The bewildered bloke she’d left behind wasn’t sure if he should follow or not, but quickly decided he shouldn’t be in the same room with Sam.
Sam left without his coffee. Suddenly, he wasn’t in the mood for non-alcoholic beverages.
*
“I’m sorry, Annie.”
“Why?” she smiled as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You did what you promised, Sam. You solved the case.”
“Lizzie was planning on leaving him. Fixing her life up. That’s why Nicky became so angry with her, if it’s any consolation.”
“You know what? It is. It’s good to know we hadn’t lost her before she...”
Annie could control her tears no longer, and let them flow down her face.
“Hey, hey,” Sam soothed, moving from his chair to sit next to her on the sofa. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, whispering words of comfort. “It’s over now.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and he placed a kiss on the top of her head. They held each other until Annie’s tears stopped and Sam’s began.
“Now, what’s gotten into you?” she smiled and tilted back his head.
“Nothing, sorry. Nothing. It’s...I guess I didn’t realize how much I missed you,” he shook his head and wiped the tears from his face. “Annie, if I had stayed...if all that hadn’t happened...if I hadn’t woken up...”
Annie took him by the chin and made him stare her in the eye.
“It did, Sam. It all happened like it was supposed to. And there’s nothing we can do to change that. It wasn’t meant to be, you and me.”
“But...”
“But, nothing, you silly bugger,” she laughed. “I’ve had a long time to think about it. Longer than you, I guess,” Annie took both his hands in hers. “I’ve led a good life Sam. Bloody hell, I’m not even sixty! I’m still leading a good life. I have a husband who loves me, wonderful children, and an Airedale Terrier, to boot. After you left, I had to learn how to be happy again, Sam. We all of us did - Chris, the Guv, even Ray. And you will, too. Takes time is all. This life business is hard!”
Sam withdrew his hands and dropped his head.
“I’ve tried Annie. I’ve tried so hard, and I don’t know what else to do. It feels like everything’s slipping away, again, and I don’t know how to hold on to what I have.”
“Same in every decade, you are,” she sighed, rubbing soothing circles over his back. “Always looking for big answers when just little ones’ll do.”
He took a deep breath and finally raised his head.
“What should I do, Annie?”
Her hand stilled on his back.
“Don’t go jumping off any roofs, to start with,” she warned. “And trust those around you. You have friends here, Sam. They’ll help you, if you let them. You have to fight, but you don’t need to do it on your own.”
Sam nodded and rose from the couch. Annie had a family to get back to. He had a report to file.
“And Sam?”
“Yeah?” he turned and was warmed by her smile.
“So you know, I’m going to be a really good friend to you.”
*
Right now, all he wanted was a drink. Tomorrow, he’d work on be happy. He unlocked his door and was surprised to find, for the second time that week, that someone was already there.
“Gladys! How d’you work this bloody thing? Oof. Bloody hell. It’s got more buttons than...”
“Dad! I told you to wait. Now put it down before you break it!”
It took Sam a moment to realize the voices were coming from the telly. It took him another minute to realize they weren’t speaking directly to him. Frozen by his front door, Gladys rushed out of the kitchen and pressed pause on the VCR.
“You’re back early,” she commented as she set her drink down on the coffee table, not using a coaster. Sam imagined the ring he’d have to scrub off in the morning.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Back for more of your things?” he set his briefcase down by the door and removed his suit jacket.
“Not that I should explain myself to you, seeing’s how you’re acting a complete and utter twat, but I’m here to finish our conversation from the coffee shop.”
“So what’s his name then? Derrick? Lance? Maybe Edward?” Sam struggled to undo his tie.
“Do you want me to hit you again?” she shouted in frustration.
“I’m still recovering from the last blow.”
“Then shut up and listen to me instead of gabbing away like a granny at her bridge game! You said I don’t want to be with you cos I think you’re mad, yeah?”
“Sounds about right,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Well, I am confused, Sam. You and Uncle Ray put me through the wringer with your time-travel, coma, crazy cop stories. Excuse me if it’s been a bit hard to swallow. But, I’ve not been avoiding you because I think you’re a nutter. I’ve been avoiding you because I know it’s the truth.”
“That I’m insane?”
“That you were my father’s DI in 1973.” From the coffee table, Gladys grabbed a yellow file and walked it to Sam. “I found this in the cellar, the night after you and Ray told me. It’s about your kidnapping. And there’s these photos...” she handed it over to him, but Sam didn’t open it.
“I’ve seen it before,” he whispered, willing the horrible memories to the back of his mind.
“It’s you. Not your father. Not some doppelganger. It’s really you and I didn’t know how to deal with that.”
“So you went on a date,” he answered for her.
“Well...yeah. Not the best way of handling things, but...but I needed to see if I could be happy without you.”
“Thanks,” he nodded and finally left his spot by the door, heading for the kitchen. She followed.
“I’ve had to deal with a lot of shit in my life, too, Sam. I don’t handle stress well. I was a wreck when you met me, I’m still a wreck now. I thought, if I’m going to have a serious relationship, it needs to be with someone stable. Someone normal. Someone who hasn’t been through Hell and back with the scars to prove it.”
Sam didn’t bother with beer. He went straight for the top shelf whisky.
“So that’s it then?” he asked her, waiting for it to finally be over.
“I take after my dad, but I’ve bits of my mother as well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he poured himself a healthy glass, ready to down it.
“I can admit when I’m wrong.”
Sam set the glass down before it reached his lips. He heard her come up behind him. Saw her hands shaking as she wrapped her arms around her waist. Felt her heart beating too fast as she pressed her chest against his back.
“I’m at my most stable when I’m with a psych-job like you. You don’t try to change me. You don’t pity me. You understand me because you understand my family. You understand my father.”
“What would Freud say about that?”
“Long as am I happy, why do I give a shit what Freud thinks?”
Sam turned in her arms, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.
“So, what do we do now?” he asked when he pulled back for air.
“First, you pour me a glass of that fine smelling single malt.”
“Done.”
“Then, we sit on the couch and watch these home movies I found, and you tell me what Gene Hunt was like in the Seventies.”
“You really want to know?”
“I’m a big girl. I can handle it,” she smirked.
“Fine. Done.”
“Then, maybe next week, if you’ve been good, I’ll see how I feel about spending the night. That work for you?”
“That works for me.”
Five minutes later, they were nestled together on the couch as they watched a larger than life man shrunk down to fit a television screen.
“Because it’s your birthday, Dad.”
“Exactly. It’s my bloody birthday and I don’t want it to be filmed for all and sundry to see. You promised quiet drinks at the pub.”
“When have you ever had a quiet drink at the pub?”
“...Fair point. Fine. You can film your little film, Gladys, long as it don’t impair your drink ordering abilities. Pint of bitter and a large whisky chaser, there’s a good girl. And don’t forget one for yourself. Bloody video cameras. Who’d want to watch this shite anyhow?”