TITLE:            Siamese Lament
AUTHOR:           Claire
RATING:           PG-13 HH (Hopefully Humorous)
SUMMARY/SPOILERS: Set after the episode "Dancer".  You know
                  the one. Tea Dance, Reg the magician,
                  Spartacus the rabbit, Mooney the spliff
                  smoking guitarist???  All in all a good
                  episode with the notable exception
                  of no Loxton.  Oh well.  This is a stream
                  of consciousness thing set at the
                  end of the day.
DISCLAIMERS:      Nope, don't own any of the characters
                  mentioned here.  Thames does.

Gratitude in bucket loads goes to Kel for helping me correct
this (any remaining errors are my fault entirely!).  Any
feedback is also welcome!  Find me at Charlton@cobweb.com.au

SIAMESE LAMENT

What a day.

Today has been positively horrible and I had had such high
hopes for it.  Catering and socialising at a Tea Dance while
not exactly front line police work had its own bonuses.  Or
so I had hoped.  In my mind everything was going to be
perfect.  A whole shift of being able to watch him, mingling
and dancing.  Dancing.  I'd really been looking forward to
that.

I think it was DS Boulton who last told me that it does not
pay me to think.  I think.  I could be wrong.  A lot of
people seem to tell me that.

Anyway, today was a complete failure.  I may as well have
been on school crossing duty.  I probably would have enjoyed
it more.

Bloody Brownlow.  I don't for the life of me know why he had
to choose him to pick up his pet Geoffrey Allerton.  He could
have picked anyone.  I'm sure Mike Jarvis would have loved to
have spent more time with Allerton. They seemed to get on so
well.  Now, what was it that Allerton called Jarvis?, that's
right, "A gormless waste of space." Ha.  I doubt Mike would
even know the meaning of the word gormless.  I'm being
sarcastic but fuck it, I don't care.  I'm still bitter about
Brownlow ruining my day.

I'm not so foolish to think that it is love.  Obsession?  No.
Not even lust.  Desire? Maybe.

I can't define how I feel about him.  Nor can I pinpoint when
I started to feel this way.  When being pals shifted to
something other.  Well, for me, anyway.  I've convinced
myself that he is oblivious to the change.  I'm also
convinced that no-one is aware of how I feel.  Perhaps with
the exception of Reg Hollis.  I'm not sure, but I sometimes
have my doubts.  Hollis always seems so all-knowing and all-
seeing.  Reg the omniscient.  I'd laugh at this if I didn't
have the fear that it may be true.  I sigh instead.

Where is he?

It feels as if I have been in the locker room for an
eternity.  An eternity of waiting.  It was all right at first
as there were others in here with me.  Changing, banging
locker doors and whinging.  I regret though that I
was subjected to a viewing of George Garfield's naked torso
as he pawed through his locker looking for a top.  It's one
of life's mysteries how a man can lose the hair on his head
and yet resemble a yeti under his shirt.

I try not to think of my own receding hair.

Finally they all prepare to leave.

"You coming down the pub?"

"Later.  I've just got something to finish here."  I
emphasise this by rustling purposefully through my locker.
Then they are all gone and I am left in silence.

I've always liked my men, partners, whatever, on the large
size.  Call it tubby, rotund, cuddly, I don't particularly
care as long as there is something to hold on to.  I have
never understood the fascination for thin people.  Take Steve
Loxton for example.  The man is a stick.  Not a spare
ounce of flesh on him and yet I have seen people, male,
female, old, young, you name it literally drool as he walks
past.  I don't get it myself and believe me I have tried.
I've attempted to picture him naked and whilst
I'll eagerly agree that it paints a better image than
Garfield, it still doesn't do it for me.  Somehow I don't
think Steve would lose any sleep about this if he knew.

Let's face it.  Why have a Siamese when you could have a
Persian.  There is more to pet, pat and stroke and they offer
a more substantial weight in your lap.  Suddenly I am
powerless to stop what is perhaps the most ludicrous thought
to ever enter my head (which in itself is no mean feat).
A couple of weeks back I got stuck baby-sitting two young
children.  There's  never a WPC around when you want one.
After they had blunted all the colour pencils with their
scribblings (one of which turned out to be me.  I was less
than impressed with this artistic rendering because the
blue coloured blob had almost no hair) I resorted to a video.
The video being Disney's Lady and the Tramp.  And.......I
can't believe I'm even capable of thinking of this........but
the two Siamese in it I suddenly picture as Loxton and
Hollis.  Pointy ears, whiskers, tails and singing and
wriggling their backsides in unison:

"We are Sia-mese if you please
We are Sia-mese if you don't please"

As if that wasn't bad enough I then move on to the next
logical step and imagine myself as Lady and him as Tramp.

God I need help.

I lean my head as far as possible into my locker and breathe
deeply as I attempt to quash this deranged vision once and
for all.  I only pull my head back out when I'm calm enough
to continue the mental diatribe about my day.

Bloody Brownlow.  The arrogance of that man could sink the
QE2.  I couldn't believe it when I heard what he told that
bride.  He'd just ruined her wedding by arresting her
grandfather and then he tells her something along
the lines of, "Well, my day hasn't gone exactly to plan
either."  His day?  Hosting a Pensioners and Widow's Tea
Dance for a complaining bunch of geriatrics hardly compares
to a wedding day.  I feel sorry for the bride.

I'm so engrossed in feeling sorry for myself and the bride
that I don't notice the locker room door opening.

 Both he and Loxton walk in.  I hurriedly turn my attention
to my locker, my heart beating wildly.

At last.

I need not have bothered as they ignore me and continue their
conversation.

"So Tone, I hear that you got to drive Brownlow's car today.
Rover isn't it?"

"Yeah.  A Rover 820 but after the day I've had I hope never
to see it or him again."

"The man must be a cheapskate, if I was on his salary I'd
have a Merc or a Jag."

"Have you seen the new Jags?  The XK8.  Now there is a nice
car."

I open my mouth to say something.  To fit seamlessly into
their everyday mundane conversation.  However before I can
work out what to say as I suddenly wouldn't know a Jaguar XK8
if it run me over, they shut their lockers and leave.

And to think that I had foolishly thought that my day
couldn't get any worse. Again I am proved wrong.

This is getting to be a bad habit.

I slam my locker shut just as Hollis enters the room.  He
looks briefly concerned at my behavior but wisely doesn't say
anything for a moment.  I just glare at my locker.

"Hey Dave, coming to the pub?"

I'm about to say no as I've had just about enough
disappointment for one day but change my mind when I realise
that he'll be there.  Maybe if I'm lucky I can still salvage
the day.

"Sure Reg.  Let's go."

End.