At the End of the Day, lozenger8. White Cortina.
Title: At the End of the Day
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count: 1200+ words.
Notes: I’ve decided, with the aid of my beautiful Life on Mars calendar, that July should be Annie month. So I’m going to try an Annie-centric fic/ficlet a week - because you know what? Annie is made of awesome. And I think we sometimes forget that, what with the shiny cars and the shiny boys. I wholeheartedly encourage others to take on board Annie month. Just think of it - a happy outpouring of Annie centred fiction! Annie/Sam. Annie/Gene. Annie/Ray. Annie/Chris. Annie/Phyllis. Annie/Litton if you so wish! Or just Annie, kicking armed bastards to the ground.
This particular piece has hints of Sam/Annie. Thank you to my brilliant beta reader blancafic.
The pot plant in the corner of the room was wilting. She’d noticed that a couple of days before and meant to water it, refill the saucer she’d placed underneath. But she’d been called up, Phyllis all tense on the line, and she’d forgotten. She couldn’t help but think it was just as well she’d not got that cat she’d contemplated, even though she still thought Huffenpuff was a good name. Well, one day, she’d have kids…
Annie stretched her fingers out, tips pointing far away from the trunk of her body. She brought her shoulders back and rolled her arms with the movement, pressing and pushing muscles that were slowly growing used to exertion. On went the kettle, out came the milk. It was time to make tea for one who deserved it. A cursory glance of the inside of her refrigerator helped her decide upon a meal that required two slices of bread and a hunk of cheese. She’d meant to go shopping too, after watering the plant - what plant was it again? - but that had also been pushed to the side.
The chair was stiff and hard against her legs, or perhaps her legs were soft and sore. She arched back and settled for two seconds. The kettle whistled. Annie sighed and stood again, pouring and preparing, adding more sugar than was necessary and certainly more than she usually had, but she’d been told at some point that sugar gave you a quick burst of energy and she wanted to remain awake for the nine o’clock news. She wondered what they’d say. If they’d say anything at all. They usually didn’t. It seemed like Manchester was at the end of the universe, the way it was ignored by the rest of the country. And she didn’t usually mind, but she was feeling particularly like acknowledgement would be welcome for a change - not just for her, but for them, for all of them, who’d put their lives on the line, who’d seen and dealt with things most people would shiver and shake over.
Halfway through a sandwich and the familiar shrill chime of the telephone jarred her nerves. She didn’t stare at it in resignation. No, Annie loved what she did - that wasn’t a resigned melancholy in her eyes - it was bone aching weariness. Unlike some, she didn’t use scotch as fuel, nor did she run on adrenaline sourced from proper police procedure. She reached over and clutched the receiver to her ear, despite this, confirming she was home with a low, soft, questioning ‘hello’, although she’d a keen idea who was on the other side.
“Hi,” Sam’s voice said, quietly muted. “I was wondering how you were.”
“Sleepy,” Annie returned, stifling a yawn. She waited for a response. There was a pause, and Annie could tell that Sam was trying to figure out if there was more to her statement than she was letting on. She could picture the machinations in his brain, the way he’d try to pierce her with a stare, maybe take hold of her hand, definitely suck in his cheeks, get all serious and Sam. “I’ve been up since four in the morning,” Annie continued.
“It was pretty crazy today.”
“Yeah, it was. Almost didn’t know where to put meself.”
“You did a good job. Did Gene say that? To you?”
Annie smiled. She knew exactly Sam’s expression during that question, too. All raised eyebrow and protective assurance. “Oh, the Guv was well impressed. Called me Annie and everything. You know, you never think you’ll get sick of your own last name, until you hear it three hundred times a day.”
“Oh, next you’ll be Arnold, or Andy, or Adam. Just you wait.”
Annie laughed at that, coiling the telephone cord around her forearm, bringing her head to her shoulder to trap the receiver, and taking another sip of warm, milky tea. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I know you’re okay.”
“Your concern’s so sweet,” Annie said, teasingly. There was truth in the words, but she felt he deserved to be mocked anyway.
“Well, you know, I try,” Sam replied, taking it in good humour. There was another pause. Annie took the time to slice off some of her cheddar and pop it in her mouth. “I could come round?” Sam said eventually, a moment’s hesitation in the sentence.
“You’d be watching me shower and going to bed.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’m sure you would, cheeky monkey. But we’ve another long day tomorrow and I think you need your own rest.”
“You really, really handled yourself well today, Annie.”
She suppressed a sigh and glanced up at the ceiling in a sort of perplexed wonder. “You too, Sam. I’m proud of you.”
“I was just gonna say that.”
“Thought so. Beat you to it, though, didn’t I?”
Sam’s tone took on an edge of urgency. “I don’t mean to come across as condescending.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Annie cut off some more cheddar. “And you don’t, not really. I know it’s just you being mindful. You’re like this with Chris too.”
“Not quite. I don’t think I’d be offering to go see Chris shower.”
“Ray might.”
There was a choked off yelp and then low, throaty laughter. “You’re a wicked woman, Annie Cartwright.”
Annie raised her mug to her lips and spoke above the rim. “I learn from the best. Now, if you don’t mind, the news is on in a minute and I wanna watch, is that okay by you?”
“I suppose you expect me to leave you in peace, then.”
“Only for the night, mind. I’ll be seeing you bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t know you were doing Tufty for the kids again!”
“Oh, shush, you.”
Annie could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “Night, Annie.”
“Goodnight, Sam.”
The phone went back to its usual spot and Annie took a deep breath before settling down in front of her black and white TV. She made a mental note to pour a cup or two of water into the pot of the poor, neglected plant, and another to buy something with more sustenance the next day. But she knew she’d most likely not keep to her reminders. Her life involved more than a household chore here or there. It concerned chasing after armed robbers and almost getting shot. It meant that she had to talk people into giving witness accounts when they’d rather turn a blind eye. It encompassed a whole range of tea making and file finding skills. Sometimes, just sometimes, smuggled machine guns were involved, and she’d have to cope with the devastation - more than she’d care to think about.
And she did this so others wouldn’t have to. She was good at it. She had colleagues she trusted. And work that kept her occupied. So it didn’t really matter if, at the end of the day, the pot plant in the corner died, or the cheese in the fridge had mould. Because she’d saved a person’s life instead. She’d saved several lives, by the end.
Annie fell asleep before the news started, so she didn’t hear the report. But she didn’t need to. Nothing they could say on the telly could match the words of gratitude others had said in person.
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count: 1200+ words.
Notes: I’ve decided, with the aid of my beautiful Life on Mars calendar, that July should be Annie month. So I’m going to try an Annie-centric fic/ficlet a week - because you know what? Annie is made of awesome. And I think we sometimes forget that, what with the shiny cars and the shiny boys. I wholeheartedly encourage others to take on board Annie month. Just think of it - a happy outpouring of Annie centred fiction! Annie/Sam. Annie/Gene. Annie/Ray. Annie/Chris. Annie/Phyllis. Annie/Litton if you so wish! Or just Annie, kicking armed bastards to the ground.
This particular piece has hints of Sam/Annie. Thank you to my brilliant beta reader blancafic.
The pot plant in the corner of the room was wilting. She’d noticed that a couple of days before and meant to water it, refill the saucer she’d placed underneath. But she’d been called up, Phyllis all tense on the line, and she’d forgotten. She couldn’t help but think it was just as well she’d not got that cat she’d contemplated, even though she still thought Huffenpuff was a good name. Well, one day, she’d have kids…
Annie stretched her fingers out, tips pointing far away from the trunk of her body. She brought her shoulders back and rolled her arms with the movement, pressing and pushing muscles that were slowly growing used to exertion. On went the kettle, out came the milk. It was time to make tea for one who deserved it. A cursory glance of the inside of her refrigerator helped her decide upon a meal that required two slices of bread and a hunk of cheese. She’d meant to go shopping too, after watering the plant - what plant was it again? - but that had also been pushed to the side.
The chair was stiff and hard against her legs, or perhaps her legs were soft and sore. She arched back and settled for two seconds. The kettle whistled. Annie sighed and stood again, pouring and preparing, adding more sugar than was necessary and certainly more than she usually had, but she’d been told at some point that sugar gave you a quick burst of energy and she wanted to remain awake for the nine o’clock news. She wondered what they’d say. If they’d say anything at all. They usually didn’t. It seemed like Manchester was at the end of the universe, the way it was ignored by the rest of the country. And she didn’t usually mind, but she was feeling particularly like acknowledgement would be welcome for a change - not just for her, but for them, for all of them, who’d put their lives on the line, who’d seen and dealt with things most people would shiver and shake over.
Halfway through a sandwich and the familiar shrill chime of the telephone jarred her nerves. She didn’t stare at it in resignation. No, Annie loved what she did - that wasn’t a resigned melancholy in her eyes - it was bone aching weariness. Unlike some, she didn’t use scotch as fuel, nor did she run on adrenaline sourced from proper police procedure. She reached over and clutched the receiver to her ear, despite this, confirming she was home with a low, soft, questioning ‘hello’, although she’d a keen idea who was on the other side.
“Hi,” Sam’s voice said, quietly muted. “I was wondering how you were.”
“Sleepy,” Annie returned, stifling a yawn. She waited for a response. There was a pause, and Annie could tell that Sam was trying to figure out if there was more to her statement than she was letting on. She could picture the machinations in his brain, the way he’d try to pierce her with a stare, maybe take hold of her hand, definitely suck in his cheeks, get all serious and Sam. “I’ve been up since four in the morning,” Annie continued.
“It was pretty crazy today.”
“Yeah, it was. Almost didn’t know where to put meself.”
“You did a good job. Did Gene say that? To you?”
Annie smiled. She knew exactly Sam’s expression during that question, too. All raised eyebrow and protective assurance. “Oh, the Guv was well impressed. Called me Annie and everything. You know, you never think you’ll get sick of your own last name, until you hear it three hundred times a day.”
“Oh, next you’ll be Arnold, or Andy, or Adam. Just you wait.”
Annie laughed at that, coiling the telephone cord around her forearm, bringing her head to her shoulder to trap the receiver, and taking another sip of warm, milky tea. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I know you’re okay.”
“Your concern’s so sweet,” Annie said, teasingly. There was truth in the words, but she felt he deserved to be mocked anyway.
“Well, you know, I try,” Sam replied, taking it in good humour. There was another pause. Annie took the time to slice off some of her cheddar and pop it in her mouth. “I could come round?” Sam said eventually, a moment’s hesitation in the sentence.
“You’d be watching me shower and going to bed.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’m sure you would, cheeky monkey. But we’ve another long day tomorrow and I think you need your own rest.”
“You really, really handled yourself well today, Annie.”
She suppressed a sigh and glanced up at the ceiling in a sort of perplexed wonder. “You too, Sam. I’m proud of you.”
“I was just gonna say that.”
“Thought so. Beat you to it, though, didn’t I?”
Sam’s tone took on an edge of urgency. “I don’t mean to come across as condescending.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Annie cut off some more cheddar. “And you don’t, not really. I know it’s just you being mindful. You’re like this with Chris too.”
“Not quite. I don’t think I’d be offering to go see Chris shower.”
“Ray might.”
There was a choked off yelp and then low, throaty laughter. “You’re a wicked woman, Annie Cartwright.”
Annie raised her mug to her lips and spoke above the rim. “I learn from the best. Now, if you don’t mind, the news is on in a minute and I wanna watch, is that okay by you?”
“I suppose you expect me to leave you in peace, then.”
“Only for the night, mind. I’ll be seeing you bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow morning.”
“I didn’t know you were doing Tufty for the kids again!”
“Oh, shush, you.”
Annie could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “Night, Annie.”
“Goodnight, Sam.”
The phone went back to its usual spot and Annie took a deep breath before settling down in front of her black and white TV. She made a mental note to pour a cup or two of water into the pot of the poor, neglected plant, and another to buy something with more sustenance the next day. But she knew she’d most likely not keep to her reminders. Her life involved more than a household chore here or there. It concerned chasing after armed robbers and almost getting shot. It meant that she had to talk people into giving witness accounts when they’d rather turn a blind eye. It encompassed a whole range of tea making and file finding skills. Sometimes, just sometimes, smuggled machine guns were involved, and she’d have to cope with the devastation - more than she’d care to think about.
And she did this so others wouldn’t have to. She was good at it. She had colleagues she trusted. And work that kept her occupied. So it didn’t really matter if, at the end of the day, the pot plant in the corner died, or the cheese in the fridge had mould. Because she’d saved a person’s life instead. She’d saved several lives, by the end.
Annie fell asleep before the news started, so she didn’t hear the report. But she didn’t need to. Nothing they could say on the telly could match the words of gratitude others had said in person.