Rating: White Cortina
Pairing: some implied Vince/Geoff and Sam/Annie
Summary: There's been a bit of a mix-up in CID. Crack.
“Hello, Nelson. What are you doing here?”
“I work here, Sam,” said Nelson, in that serene, laid-back way of his.
Sam laughed nervously. “Not on the front desk, you don’t. What about the pub?”
“The pub? I know nothing about running a pub.”
“…Okay,” Sam said very slowly and deliberately.
“Erm, Guv, do you mind? You’re sitting at my desk.”
“No, this is my desk. What the hell do I have to do to get you people to believe me? Look, it’s all set out neatly, just how I like it.”
Sam shook his head in disbelief. He pointed at Gene’s office, the one littered with darts trophies and cigarette butts. “That’s your desk, in there. You’ve never expressed an interest in having anything clean and tidy in your life!”
“Think you know me so well, do you? Fine, have the damn desk. I’m off to have a cry in the gents.” Gene sauntered off, looking forlorn, muttering about how misunderstood he was.
Confused beyond belief, Sam rounded on Chris. “Can someone please explain to me what’s going on here?”
“How should I know, boss?” Chris retorted, angrily. Then he added, slightly quieter but still loud enough so Sam could hear. “Twonk.”
Sam looked round at Ray (who incidentally was carrying a plate of biscuits and some files under his arm), wondering how he’d managed to throw his voice like that, but Ray then promptly tripped over his shoelace and landed face first in a wastepaper basket. A muffled “Ow, that really hurt,” issued from within.
(Meanwhile, at the Railway Arms…)
Vince and Geoff had snuck off to the pub together, since there wasn’t much to do down the station. They didn’t expect to find Phyllis already sitting on the wrong side of the bar, holding a tankard aloft and singing sea-shanties at the top of her lungs.
“Hello?” Vince enquired.
Phyllis broke out of her alcohol-induced reverie with a hiccup. “What do you want? We’re closed!”
Geoff nervously tried to stand up for Vince. “We were just wondering…”
“Whatever it is, piss off. Can’t you see I’m working here?”
With a shrug and two pairs of raised eyebrows, Vince and Geoff disappeared off back down the street, whispering into each other’s ears and walking far too close together.
Hoping to return to some sanity, Sam went to find Annie. He found her in the Collator’s, shifting piles around and creating dust clouds in her wake. Sam watched her for a little while, a small smile on his face, before he made his presence known. “Annie?”
As she looked up, a scowl descended over her face. “Tyler, you’re late,” she said, curtly, in a voice far deeper than her own.
“Oh Annie, not you, too!”
“Have you done any work yet, hmm? Or are you wasting my time chin-wagging when there’s a city full of scum to be collared?”
“Why on earth are you talking like Gene? Is this some kind of practical joke you’re all playing on me?”
“Don’t be such a self-centred prick, Sam. And there’s nothing wrong with how I’m speaking. If you want to pick a fight, go talk to someone else, because I’ve had it up to here!” She pointed her fingers at her temple in a brusque and violent manner. Sam decided it was best not to argue, and carefully let himself out, feeling slightly traumatised.
In the corridor, Sam ran into Litton. This was rapidly turning into Sam’s worst nightmare. It soon got a whole lot worse when Litton reached out to clasp Sam’s hands and said “Sam, where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you! The Guv said someone’d spiked your drink with another load of hallucinogenic drugs, but you’re alright now, aren’t you?” When Annie-Litton moved to pull Sam into a hug he wrenched himself away and legged it as fast as he could.
As Sam reached the bottom of the steps, the Cortina was waiting for him. Sam walked past it, shaking his head at the madness of this whole day, when suddenly the car beeped its horn and stopped in front of him, blocking his way.
“Oh, god.” Sam pressed his fingers over his eyes, willing it all to go away. He needed a lie-down. He needed to start today over again and make sure to get out of the normal side of the bed, well, whatever passed for normal in 1973. When Sam dared peek out from behind his hands again, the Cortina was still waiting for him, engine running and driver’s side door left open invitingly. Sam paused. He had always wanted to drive Gene’s car.
“Ah, what the heck,” Sam decided, getting into the driving seat and putting on Gene’s leather gloves. “Might as well make the most of it.”
And he drove off at top speed, ready to fight crime and play pinball with people’s dustbins.