Secret Santa

[smallhobbit]

Title: Secret Santa
Rating: White cortina
Word Count: 870 words.
Notes:  With thanks to phyllisdobbs01 for the prompts and for checking it.  Any further mistakes are mine.

 

DI Sam Tyler was not happy.  Of all the people he could have picked for secret Santa he had to go and choose DS Ray Carling.  He’d have liked to buy something for Annie, he wouldn’t have minded finding something for Chris, he could have managed Gene or even Phyllis, (chocolates would have been suitable, maybe a chocolate orange), but Ray; he had no idea what to get him.  And he had avoided even looking for anything for so long that he would now have to buy something on the way into work, thus making himself late, which would mean that Gene would shout at him for setting a bad example.  (And after the bruising his ribs had received last time for telling the Guv that this was a case of “the pot calling the kettle black”, he didn’t feel he could make a suitable reply).

So, when DI Tyler stepped out of the front door, he was far too busy thinking how unreasonable life was and how in 2006 he could have absented himself from most of the festive celebrations of the station, to notice the state of the pavements.  There had been a slight covering of snow the night before and then the temperature had dropped which meant that everywhere was slippery.  Therefore, when a kitten shot across in front of Sam’s foot, in trying to avoid it his foot slipped and he kicked the kitten.  In trying to regain his balance, his other foot slipped and he fell heavily to the ground, banging his head on the door step.

Fortunately for Sam, his DCI had noticed the condition of the pavements and in a rare moment of generosity (possibly the only one there was going to be, the mood he was in) had driven round to give him a lift. 

He arrived shortly after Sam’s fall and opening the car door said loudly, “Get up Dorothy, you’ve got more important things to do than lie there waiting for Christmas.”

When Sam failed to move, Gene reluctantly got out of the car to go and investigate.  Meanwhile Sam had struggled into a sitting position and was rubbing his head.

“Let me see,” Gene roughly moved Sam’s hands out of the way.  “There’s no blood, but I reckon you’ve got a bit of a lump there.  ‘Ere, I’ll help you up.”

Sam refused to move.  “There was a kitten.  I may have hurt it.  We’ve got to find it.”

“You are not allowed to be concussed.  There’s too much to do.” 

“Please Gene.”

“I have a spate of robberies to deal with; my wife has left me a week before Christmas and now my DI has concussion and is crying over a hurt kitty.  I cannot take much more.”

Sam slowly got to his feet, “Oh, I’m so sorry Gene.  It’s okay, I’m not concussed, it was just a bit of a shock.  I’ll be alright now.” 

Gene, meanwhile, had spotted the kitten cowering behind a dustbin.  Taking a chance he made a grab for it and picked it up before it had had time to run off.  He turned round just in time to see Sam’s knees buckle.  Stuffing the kitten in his coat pocket, he made a lunge and caught the younger man before he hit the ground.

“Your impression of someone who hasn’t got concussion isn’t very convincing,” he muttered, as he lifted Sam into the passenger seat of the Cortina.  Then opening the boot he took out a cardboard box that he remembered he’d left in there, punched a few holes in the lid with a screwdriver, put the kitten in the box and put the box back in the boot.

Several hours later, Gene collected Sam from the hospital.  “Right Tyler, I’ve ‘ad to promise the ‘ospital that someone will be with you tonight, and since I am not staying in your pitiful excuse for a flat you’ll have to come ‘ome with me.”

After they had got into the car, Sam tried to thank Gene, who cut him off saying that he didn’t mind having some company as he was finding the house very quiet now he was on his own.

They continued the journey in silence until Sam suddenly said, “Oh no, secret Santa.”

“’S alright, we got it sorted.  Chris had got you a present so he gave it to Ray instead.”

“What was it?”

“One of those novelty mugs.”

“They’re awful.”

“Ray liked it.”

When they reached the house Gene let them in.  “Right, I’m going to fix myself a hot toddy.  It’s been a long day and I deserve it.”

Sam looked hopeful. 

“No alcohol for you for 24 hours.  I’ll make you a cup of tea.  Go into the sitting room, it should be warm in there.”

A few minutes later, Gene carried the two drinks through to find Sam sitting on the settee stroking the kitten which was on his knee.

“Poor little thing was clearly a stray,” Gene explained.   “I couldn’t leave it there in case some dopey sod fell over it again.  So I brought it home to look after it.  And then I brought the dopey sod home to look after it as well!”

 The sequel can be found here: Naming the Cat