Mrs Tufty (fawsley) wrote in 1973flashfic,
Mrs Tufty
fawsley
1973flashfic

Heat challenge by fawsley

Title: One hundred and eighty
Author: fawsley
Characters: the team
Rating: white Cortina
Warning: all very silly
Word Count: 580
Disclaimer: all the property of the BBC and Kudos
Notes: I'm on a weird combination of painkillers and I'm afraid this was the result.


One hundred and eighty

Heat Sports & Games. One round of several in a competition, such as a race.


‘I didn’t mean to do it, Guv, honest. It were an accident, total accident…’

Chris’ voice tailed off into a terrified squeak as his DCI and team captain bore down upon him with murder very obviously in mind.

‘No Guv! Don’t do it!’

Ray was surprisingly quick on his feet for someone who’d just had their hand - their right hand, their throwing hand – crushed to a bloodied pulp in a door, managing to get between the two of them before Chris came to any harm.

‘Lad’s right, Guv. It were a genuine accident, an if yer beat ’im up then we’re gonna be two men down an’ then that really is the end.’

Gene was scarlet and heaving with anger. Why they couldn’t actually see the smoke issuing from his ears was beyond any of them. Sam guided him back towards his pint whilst Annie retrieved Ray and his gradually unravelling dressing cobbled together from Nelson’s tea-towel and ice-cube supplies.

‘From now on we’re only enterin’ tournaments for divness, cos with Christopher on board we’ll be sure-fire winners. Only wish I’d promoted yer when I ’ad the chance, Skelton.’

‘Really, Guv?’ Chris grinned like a bemused puppy. ‘Gosh! Thanks!’

‘Cos then I could ’ave the pleasure of demotin’ yer right now. In public. With menaces.’

The last thing they could afford was for the team to dissolve into a scrap, but even Sam couldn’t pull them out of trouble on this one.

‘Gene, this isn’t helping at all. We’ve got to think fast, time’s running out. You know I’d do it if I could, but…’

‘But you ain’t goin’ to go up against yer old mates from C Division, are yer? Well at least we know where yer loyalties lie, Boss.’

‘Sod off, Carling. Nothing to do with the fact we’re playing Hyde. I would if I could, but I can’t. I’m hopeless at it, believe me.’

Still Ray growled and scowled.

‘You’re handy enough with a shooter.’

‘Guns, yes. But this, no. Don’t ask me why, it’s just the way it is.’

Silence and despair was all that was left to them now. Even the Guv was too sick at heart to finish his pint.

A trio of rapid dull thuds brought all attentions to the practice board and all jaws to the floor.

‘Flamin’ Nora! Treble top!’

‘It’s Annie, Sir, not Nora. And there’s more where that came from. So am I in or not?’

‘You bet your own sweet double top you are! Come ’ere an’ give us a hug, Maid Marian! What other tricks you got hidden up yer knicker elastic?’

‘Nothing you’ll ever get to know about, with respect, Sir.’

‘Reckon we’ll leave the Boss to detect that one, eh Ray?’

But Ray could only mutter obscenities, doubled up in agony and clutching at his damaged hand where Chris’ over-enthusiastic nudge had landed.

‘Girl on me team. Never thought I’d live to see the day. Blame you for all this, Tyler. Women’s lib an’ whatever.’

‘Not sure it’s quite what the suffragettes were fighting for, the chance to play darts with Gene Hunt.’

‘Think we could get her to burn her bra for us afterwards?’

‘She’d probably rather burn yer underpants, with you still in ’em.’

‘Hmmm. Painful. Best not suggest it then. Right! Chop chop you bloody lazy morons! What yer doin’ lowtherin’ around when there’s a trophy to be won? Last heat of the tournament! An’ from now on, the 'A' in A Division stands for Arrows Annie! Gottit?’
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