Fic: The things we carried, for hobnailedboots
Title: The things we carried
Author: basaltgrrl
Pairing: Sam/Annie
Rating: white cortina
Word Count:
Summary: the prompt was Annie, motivations or colours... and I hope I sort of hit that goal! It became what it wanted to be! And it never had a title until this moment, when I stole one.
There are few people as infuriating as Sam Tyler, Annie reminds herself as she watches his retreat down the hall. Every line of his body expresses his loneliness, his disappointment. He's bloody well dragging his feet, chin on his chest like some little boy who just watched his dog die. "Oh, Sam," she wants to call after him, to bring him back so she can smooth the pout away, make him smile again, wipe those incipient tears from his eyes. And yet she has no idea how else she could have responded to him. How the bloody hell had she managed to wound him like that by giving him a Christmas present?
She sighs and leans back against the wall. She needs a moment. She needs a drink and it's only 10:30 in the morning, but that's what Sam Tyler does to her much valued self-control and her faith in her psychology degree. She thought she had some ability to understand how people work and how best to interact with them. He builds her up only to bring her crashing down! How a man can be simultaneously so unrealistically supportive and so unpredictably infuriating is beyond her. She looks at the crumpled wrapping paper in the bin, the paper she had so carefully taped the night before. Damn it. She's angry at him. She's not going to cry.
Well. She has places to go and things to do.
She goes back to her desk and does some paperwork, makes some phone calls and goes out on a call with Chris to investigate a missing necklace. It turns out that the necklace had merely fallen behind a wardrobe, a fact that she and Chris discover after a brief search and some heavy lifting. Chris pulls a muscle and she has to stop by the chemist's to pick up a hot water bottle for him to lie down on. It's all quite engaging and keeps her busy for the rest of the day, but there's a part of her mind that's still worrying over the Sam Tyler Affair, wondering what he's going to be like down the pub this evening. Has he taken one of his strange turns?
What with one thing and another they achieve five o'clock. And then six o'clock, and Sam bloody Tyler is still digging through old files, on his knees in the Collator's Den. She shouldn't even care, but she does. She should just waltz off to the pub and chat with Vince; he had told her he was heading there, over an hour ago, and she had promised to follow on his heels. It's just that all day long she has wanted a chance to put things right, to have the interaction go the way it was meant to in her imagination. Not to end in tears, either his or hers.
She leans against the doorframe, peering through the watery light at Sam's bowed head. He looks knackered.
"Oi," she calls softly.
"Huh?" He'd jump if he wasn't so tired, she can see it in the set of his shoulders. "Oh, hi. You, err, still here?"
"Aren't you done for the day?"
"Almost. Just following up on a hunch. Thought I'd finish it, but..." he gestures at a wad of files.
"Well come on. You need a pint."
He stares up at her, an echo of this morning's yearning in his shadowed eyes. It's as though he doesn't believe her invitation is real.
"I mean it, Sam! You need a break from this."
"I need a break from all of this," he answers softly. Now it's as if he isn't even talking to her. "I--sometimes I just want to go home and curl up in bed and have someone take care of me, you know? Have my mum stroke my forehead and tell me tomorrow's going to be better. It used to be so simple. She could fix anything."
She takes the few steps forward until her toes are touching his papers. This close, she can see the tremor in his hand as he fumbles with the thick folders. What's got him so worked up? He's so impossible to understand.
"I just always knew she was there for me, you know? And now I'm..." He sighs, frustrated, looks away from her and then at his hands, resting on paperwork. "I'm just so alone, Annie."
"But you're not."
"I am."
"I'm here for you." She crouches down to his level. She's still not sure what's going through his head, but simple loneliness she understands. She's certainly had her share of lonely days--and nights, too, for that matter.
He breathes deeply. "Thanks. It helps to have someone say it." There seems to be an unspoken "even if they don't mean it" that she can see writ across his face, that pained crease between his eyebrows speaking volumes.
"Sam." Her tone is maternal and chastising. "Is it really so bad here?" It frustrates her to have to take that approach with him; it's not what she wants their relationship to be, but he always seems to be pushing her. What's she supposed to do, let him wallow in his pain? Urge him on? "You need to get out of this office! Come on, we're going to the pub." She grabs his hand.
He pulls back, and now he looks almost petulant. "Beer won't fix anything!"
"It works for the rest of CID," she snaps back.
"Well bugger them all to hell!"
"Damn it, Sam, I'm trying to help!"
"Why can't you just leave me alone! Can't you see I don't want you here? I don't want your presents--your--" his voice catches, he turns away, angrily scrubbing at his eyes.
She feels empty, all of a sudden, an open pit in her stomach. What is this about? "I thought you'd like it," she says softly. "I saw the way you looked at the one at your--at Vic Tyler's house. I thought it had special meaning for you."
He pulls his knees up in front of him, hands pressing furiously at his head. "Just--go, Annie."
"No." She settles to the floor and puts a hand on his knee, testing the waters. "I want to understand, Sam. Why didn't you like it?"
He rolls his head in his hands. "It's--it reminded me... But you're going to think I'm crazy."
"That never stopped you before!"
He shoots her a tiny smile, eyes still brimming. "My mum had one of those. It just. She had that very music box."
Annie sighs. She had tried so hard to pick something that meant something to him, something that none of the blokes would have chosen. And it had all gone wrong. Still, she does have the second gift... She opens her satchel and pulls out the oblong box. "Well, second time's the charm. Go on, Sam. Open it."
He takes it hesitantly, as if it might bite, and then peels back the tape with meticulous care. She wonders if he's taking his time because he doesn't want the eventual disappointment, but finally he folds back the wrap and stares for a moment at the box before tipping back his head and laughing. It starts as a manic giggle and works it's way up to a helpless belly laugh. "Oh god, Annie!" He fumbles with the box, opens it and pulls out the fully articulated Action Man figure.
"I saw you liked that one," she says, grinning.
"Yes," he giggles, and there are still tears in his eyes. "I liked that one a lot."
Author: basaltgrrl
Pairing: Sam/Annie
Rating: white cortina
Word Count:
Summary: the prompt was Annie, motivations or colours... and I hope I sort of hit that goal! It became what it wanted to be! And it never had a title until this moment, when I stole one.
There are few people as infuriating as Sam Tyler, Annie reminds herself as she watches his retreat down the hall. Every line of his body expresses his loneliness, his disappointment. He's bloody well dragging his feet, chin on his chest like some little boy who just watched his dog die. "Oh, Sam," she wants to call after him, to bring him back so she can smooth the pout away, make him smile again, wipe those incipient tears from his eyes. And yet she has no idea how else she could have responded to him. How the bloody hell had she managed to wound him like that by giving him a Christmas present?
She sighs and leans back against the wall. She needs a moment. She needs a drink and it's only 10:30 in the morning, but that's what Sam Tyler does to her much valued self-control and her faith in her psychology degree. She thought she had some ability to understand how people work and how best to interact with them. He builds her up only to bring her crashing down! How a man can be simultaneously so unrealistically supportive and so unpredictably infuriating is beyond her. She looks at the crumpled wrapping paper in the bin, the paper she had so carefully taped the night before. Damn it. She's angry at him. She's not going to cry.
Well. She has places to go and things to do.
She goes back to her desk and does some paperwork, makes some phone calls and goes out on a call with Chris to investigate a missing necklace. It turns out that the necklace had merely fallen behind a wardrobe, a fact that she and Chris discover after a brief search and some heavy lifting. Chris pulls a muscle and she has to stop by the chemist's to pick up a hot water bottle for him to lie down on. It's all quite engaging and keeps her busy for the rest of the day, but there's a part of her mind that's still worrying over the Sam Tyler Affair, wondering what he's going to be like down the pub this evening. Has he taken one of his strange turns?
What with one thing and another they achieve five o'clock. And then six o'clock, and Sam bloody Tyler is still digging through old files, on his knees in the Collator's Den. She shouldn't even care, but she does. She should just waltz off to the pub and chat with Vince; he had told her he was heading there, over an hour ago, and she had promised to follow on his heels. It's just that all day long she has wanted a chance to put things right, to have the interaction go the way it was meant to in her imagination. Not to end in tears, either his or hers.
She leans against the doorframe, peering through the watery light at Sam's bowed head. He looks knackered.
"Oi," she calls softly.
"Huh?" He'd jump if he wasn't so tired, she can see it in the set of his shoulders. "Oh, hi. You, err, still here?"
"Aren't you done for the day?"
"Almost. Just following up on a hunch. Thought I'd finish it, but..." he gestures at a wad of files.
"Well come on. You need a pint."
He stares up at her, an echo of this morning's yearning in his shadowed eyes. It's as though he doesn't believe her invitation is real.
"I mean it, Sam! You need a break from this."
"I need a break from all of this," he answers softly. Now it's as if he isn't even talking to her. "I--sometimes I just want to go home and curl up in bed and have someone take care of me, you know? Have my mum stroke my forehead and tell me tomorrow's going to be better. It used to be so simple. She could fix anything."
She takes the few steps forward until her toes are touching his papers. This close, she can see the tremor in his hand as he fumbles with the thick folders. What's got him so worked up? He's so impossible to understand.
"I just always knew she was there for me, you know? And now I'm..." He sighs, frustrated, looks away from her and then at his hands, resting on paperwork. "I'm just so alone, Annie."
"But you're not."
"I am."
"I'm here for you." She crouches down to his level. She's still not sure what's going through his head, but simple loneliness she understands. She's certainly had her share of lonely days--and nights, too, for that matter.
He breathes deeply. "Thanks. It helps to have someone say it." There seems to be an unspoken "even if they don't mean it" that she can see writ across his face, that pained crease between his eyebrows speaking volumes.
"Sam." Her tone is maternal and chastising. "Is it really so bad here?" It frustrates her to have to take that approach with him; it's not what she wants their relationship to be, but he always seems to be pushing her. What's she supposed to do, let him wallow in his pain? Urge him on? "You need to get out of this office! Come on, we're going to the pub." She grabs his hand.
He pulls back, and now he looks almost petulant. "Beer won't fix anything!"
"It works for the rest of CID," she snaps back.
"Well bugger them all to hell!"
"Damn it, Sam, I'm trying to help!"
"Why can't you just leave me alone! Can't you see I don't want you here? I don't want your presents--your--" his voice catches, he turns away, angrily scrubbing at his eyes.
She feels empty, all of a sudden, an open pit in her stomach. What is this about? "I thought you'd like it," she says softly. "I saw the way you looked at the one at your--at Vic Tyler's house. I thought it had special meaning for you."
He pulls his knees up in front of him, hands pressing furiously at his head. "Just--go, Annie."
"No." She settles to the floor and puts a hand on his knee, testing the waters. "I want to understand, Sam. Why didn't you like it?"
He rolls his head in his hands. "It's--it reminded me... But you're going to think I'm crazy."
"That never stopped you before!"
He shoots her a tiny smile, eyes still brimming. "My mum had one of those. It just. She had that very music box."
Annie sighs. She had tried so hard to pick something that meant something to him, something that none of the blokes would have chosen. And it had all gone wrong. Still, she does have the second gift... She opens her satchel and pulls out the oblong box. "Well, second time's the charm. Go on, Sam. Open it."
He takes it hesitantly, as if it might bite, and then peels back the tape with meticulous care. She wonders if he's taking his time because he doesn't want the eventual disappointment, but finally he folds back the wrap and stares for a moment at the box before tipping back his head and laughing. It starts as a manic giggle and works it's way up to a helpless belly laugh. "Oh god, Annie!" He fumbles with the box, opens it and pulls out the fully articulated Action Man figure.
"I saw you liked that one," she says, grinning.
"Yes," he giggles, and there are still tears in his eyes. "I liked that one a lot."