Rating: Angsty blue Cortina
Word Count: 670
Disclaimer: all the property of BBC and Kudos
Notes: Brave angsty Annie, sad implied Sam/Gene slash but nothing explicit. Not really happy with this but the deadline is fast approaching, so...
What the eye doesn't see
Annie bangs on the shitty door of the shitty flat where the absolutely gorgeous Sam Tyler lives, hopping up and down and willing him to open up quickly, otherwise there’s going to be an accident and it won’t be pretty. Sam appears without shirt or shoes, hair still mussed from the night, smilingly bemused by bouncing Annie.
‘Sam! Blag going down in Oldham Street. Guv’s outside, got a right cob on, so get movin’ and get yerself dressed. And please can I use your loo cos I had three cups of tea at the station this morning and the Guv wouldn’t let me go before we left and I’m desperate!’
Annie doesn’t wait - can’t wait - for an answer, pushes past Sam whose who laughs, reaches for his shirt, then freezes in horror as realisation dawns.
'Annie! Hold on!'
But it’s too late to stop her.
Annie slams the bathroom door and sits herself down in sweet relief. She’s not been in here before, never needed to, and she’s not surprised that it’s as shitty as the rest of the flat, though possibly a somewhat cleaner shitty. She takes a look around.
She’s a good little CID girl is Annie.
God is in the detail Sam always says, and he’s right. Her senses are tingling, sparking, brain working overtime, stacking up the evidence. She takes in it all in a flash, finds the connections, makes the breakthrough. Doesn’t want any of it.
There’s the detail of two toothbrushes in the mug, two types of toothpaste. Leaning over she examines both tubes, is sure she recognises the especially scrunched up one, rubs a fingertip over the crusted nozzle to taste and yes, it’s the smokers’ stuff her dad uses.
The detail of two razors, totally different kinds. Her hand shakes as she touches one, then the other. One with a few brown bristles caught at the edge of the blade, one with too many blond.
Deep breaths Annie, deep breaths. She staggers up, leans against the sink, runs cold water, bathes a scarlet face.
‘Erm, Annie… We should get going… ’
‘Just coming! You should know better than to rush a lady, Boss!’
She hears the tremor in her voice.
It’s the final give-away, the detail of a shirt hanging out of the wash basket. A green shirt that smells of Brut. A green shirt she’s seen before and smelt before, many a time, yesterday most recently.
Even from here she can sense the lumbering anger of the Guv as he explodes into Sam’s flat.
‘Cartwright! Where the bloody ‘ell are yer?’
Hears Sam’s panicky ‘She’s in the bathroom’ and Gene’s fearful ‘Shit. Oh shit.’
She’s a good little CID girl is Annie.
Lately she’s learned to use acting skills she never knew she possessed. All Sam’s fault really, making her a WDC like that.
Deep breath, Annie.
When she returns they’re both cloaked in silence and anxiety, looking anywhere and everywhere but at her or each other.
‘Sorry Sam, sorry Guv. Women’s stuff, yer know.’
The Guv flinches and swallows hard, Sam just looks at the floor.
She waves a random copy of the NME.
‘And Boss, I started reading this in there and I’d really like to finish the article, could hardly tear me eyes away from it. Can I borrow it, Sir? You’ll get it back, promise.’
She’s bright, smiling, confident, convincing. She almost believes herself.
Sam does his confused head-shake then nods glumly. The Guv harrumphs as only he can do.
‘Come on then, you two! Don’t we have a crime to stop?’
Sliding around in the back seat of the Cortina, Annie takes out her feelings and examines them. There’s sadness for herself, true, but also for the two men, and an unexpected mingling of pity and pride.
Secrets are safe with Annie. None of them will ever acknowledge what’s happened, not that she ever noticed anything anyway. And if they all ignore it long enough, it might just end up buried and forgotten in Lost and Found.