The words hung over Andy's shoulders as he trudged toward his , his uniform slung in its bag over his shoulder. It'd drizzled off and on most of the afternoon which, of course, he'd spent mostly inside. Every step he took landed in a puddle, soaking his socks and the legs of his jeans. Head down, eyes straight ahead, he should've easily avoided those puddles but the last thing on P.C. Andy Davidson's mind was the state of his clothes.
He felt a fool. No, he was a fool. Free hand stuffed in his pocket, cap pulled over his eyes, he passed a small group of his mates just off duty. He wished he'd taken another route.
"Andy! How'd it go then? Come have a pint with us--"
Without raising his head he waved the friendly overture aside. The last thing he wanted was commiseration for his most recent failure. After all, what could they say? This wasn't the first time he'd been passed over. Not even the second.
Oh no, surely he'd set a new record for most non-promotions one bloke could have. His third. Third! He hadn't known that was even possible, until he'd managed it himself. He didn't understand how it was possible though. He'd tried so hard to show them, to show everyone, that he wasn't going to be one of those tossers who never did more than hand out parking tickets.
And yet, here he was, a P.C. yesterday, a P.C. today, and now, a P.C. tomorrow as well.
Andy reached his car, yanking open the door. He slid inside, taking his cap off and putting it on the seat beside him, the brim facing front. He started the car, but didn't throw it in reverse. He didn't feel like moving. The front windshield, still splotched by the earlier rain, made the world outside a blurry mess. Much like he felt inside.
The words haunted him. Not the 'maybe next time' ones, but the others. His mind felt all jumbled--in frustration, he slammed his hands on the wheel, angrily flicked on the wipers to scour the windshield. The world jumped into focus, but not so easily in his mind. What was he, a failure? No. He did take his work seriously. He did care. He did want to do more with his life than get up every morning, pull on his uniform, walk around all day twirling his baton and walking through a district that seldom saw worse than an occasional theft, a minor bumper bender, the occasional lost kid or granny.
But it had been decided he wasn't ready for more. That P.C. Wilson, who'd been with the department only a year, had already proven that she was the more than ready to take the next step. It wasn't his fault she'd been the one to figure out who was the mastermind to the telly theft ring. It wasn't his fault that nothing ever happened on his beat that would let him prove himself.
The Inspector had told him to stop waiting, and make it happen. How, he wanted to know. A bloke didn't just get up in the mornings and decide he was just the man to save the world that day. Nevermind even Elen had done just that herself. Still rankled she hadn't listened to him.
Andy threw the car in reverse, backing out without really looking. He threw the car into gear and left the car park, passing a group of his fellow coppers. He watched them in the rearview mirror as he passed, shaking his head--one of them was Wilson.
"Congrats," he muttered, watching her. His anger resurfaced, but he immediately felt guilty about it. It wasn't her fault either. She was good, really. Like his former partner Gwen, always in the right place at the right time with always the right thing to say or do.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, frowning. "You're jealous, you stupid sod. Admit it." What to do about it though? That was the problem. He had no idea.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosecarmine
(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-12 08:22 pm (UTC)I'm sorry, Andy. Try again. Maybe next time…
The words hung over Andy's shoulders as he trudged toward his , his uniform slung in its bag over his shoulder. It'd drizzled off and on most of the afternoon which, of course, he'd spent mostly inside. Every step he took landed in a puddle, soaking his socks and the legs of his jeans. Head down, eyes straight ahead, he should've easily avoided those puddles but the last thing on P.C. Andy Davidson's mind was the state of his clothes.
He felt a fool. No, he was a fool. Free hand stuffed in his pocket, cap pulled over his eyes, he passed a small group of his mates just off duty. He wished he'd taken another route.
"Andy! How'd it go then? Come have a pint with us--"
Without raising his head he waved the friendly overture aside. The last thing he wanted was commiseration for his most recent failure. After all, what could they say? This wasn't the first time he'd been passed over. Not even the second.
Oh no, surely he'd set a new record for most non-promotions one bloke could have. His third. Third! He hadn't known that was even possible, until he'd managed it himself. He didn't understand how it was possible though. He'd tried so hard to show them, to show everyone, that he wasn't going to be one of those tossers who never did more than hand out parking tickets.
And yet, here he was, a P.C. yesterday, a P.C. today, and now, a P.C. tomorrow as well.
Andy reached his car, yanking open the door. He slid inside, taking his cap off and putting it on the seat beside him, the brim facing front. He started the car, but didn't throw it in reverse. He didn't feel like moving. The front windshield, still splotched by the earlier rain, made the world outside a blurry mess. Much like he felt inside.
The words haunted him. Not the 'maybe next time' ones, but the others. His mind felt all jumbled--in frustration, he slammed his hands on the wheel, angrily flicked on the wipers to scour the windshield. The world jumped into focus, but not so easily in his mind. What was he, a failure? No. He did take his work seriously. He did care. He did want to do more with his life than get up every morning, pull on his uniform, walk around all day twirling his baton and walking through a district that seldom saw worse than an occasional theft, a minor bumper bender, the occasional lost kid or granny.
But it had been decided he wasn't ready for more. That P.C. Wilson, who'd been with the department only a year, had already proven that she was the more than ready to take the next step. It wasn't his fault she'd been the one to figure out who was the mastermind to the telly theft ring. It wasn't his fault that nothing ever happened on his beat that would let him prove himself.
The Inspector had told him to stop waiting, and make it happen. How, he wanted to know. A bloke didn't just get up in the mornings and decide he was just the man to save the world that day. Nevermind even Elen had done just that herself. Still rankled she hadn't listened to him.
Andy threw the car in reverse, backing out without really looking. He threw the car into gear and left the car park, passing a group of his fellow coppers. He watched them in the rearview mirror as he passed, shaking his head--one of them was Wilson.
"Congrats," he muttered, watching her. His anger resurfaced, but he immediately felt guilty about it. It wasn't her fault either. She was good, really. Like his former partner Gwen, always in the right place at the right time with always the right thing to say or do.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, frowning. "You're jealous, you stupid sod. Admit it." What to do about it though? That was the problem. He had no idea.