Assistance by claire [PG-13]
[Reviews - 10]

Summary: Narrated by Spencer. Fluff and humour.

Categories: Slash
Characters: Spencer
Genres: Humour
Warnings: None
Chapters: 1 [Table of Contents]
Series: None

Word count: 1598; Completed: Yes
Updated: 25 Sep 2004; Published: 25 Sep 2004

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Author's Notes: Valentines Day story of sorts... *g* Written last year as a gift / companion piece to a 'proper' Valentines Day story that had 'stalled'. No names, but the person knows who they are and knows that this is dedicated to them! *g* So, the premise wasn't mine, I merely borrowed and *distorted*. 'Tis well and truly not serious and all I can hope is that it *might* make you laugh... Oh! Some of you have already had the distinct *honour* (!) of having it inflicted on you, so, instead or re-reading it, go and write something better!!


There are times when I honestly donīt know what possesses me. Itīs as if being an adult -- and having to act so uniformly dull all the time -- suddenly gets overwhelmingly tedious and I find that I just *have* to break momentarily free from the restraints society places on us.

Yeah, *right*.

Iīm thinking complete bollocks and I know it.

It was the dimples that did it.

Itīs *always* the fucking dimples. If I had my way Iīd outlaw them in anyone over the age of twelve. Blasted things. Theyīre positively disconcerting.

// Yes, Chris, I think itīs a wonderful idea. Iīd be delighted to help. You tell me what you want done and Iīll do it. And, hey, while Iīm at it, why donīt you just smile at me some more and, to hell with it, Iīll be your slave for life. //

The truth always makes for such a lousy defence.

But, what else could I have done?

Heīd looked so miserable upon realising that heīd be deep undercover on Valentineīs Day that I just *had* to ask what was the matter.

Big mistake.

*Huge* mistaken even.

Then again -- if I really wanted to look on the bright side -- I could say that I didnīt need that particular delusion anyway. Finding out that my chances with him were roughly on par with that of the proverbial snowflake in hell was probably for the best.


It *was* for the best. I keep telling myself that. Whatīs more, Iīm finally beginning to believe it too.

Nah, I exaggerate a little. I always knew that, for me, he was as unattainable as the Holy Grail (or to modernise the myth, as unattainable as Malone being in a good mood for an *entire* day...).

And before you say that I shouldnīt be so down on myself, that Iīm a worthwhile person and Goddamn it, I could have Chris Keel if *I* wanted to, let me just add that itīs not really like that all.

I *fancied* him, (oh, even now the thought of that mouth sucking my... *Snap* out of it Spencer! Youīre still at work you moron!) like a love-sick teenager lusting over the no doubt talentless but exceptionally aesthetically pleasing creature that is selling the most poster-mags at the time. I never kidded myself that I stood a chance, and, truth be told, Iīm really more than content with this feeling. Having fallen prey to so many in my time, Iīm well and truly used to crushes being a harmless aspect of my life. If nothing else they give me something to fantasise about.

Anyway, although for some mind numbingly stupid reason Iīd never thought of it before, the minute he told me -- "I want Sam but, like one of those big birds with its head buried in the sand, he pretends that Iīm nothing but a partner to him." -- it all made perfect sense.


Too perfect.

They are fucking perfect for each other.

Fucking... Perfect...

Perfect... Fucking...

Er, letīs not go there right now. I have to keep reminding myself that Iīm still at work and that the rightful place for my hands to be is on the keyboard. *Not* gliding unconsciously towards my crotch.

Mind you, letīs look on the bright side again, (I swear Iīve got to stop drinking so much caffeine, my levels of chirpiness are beginning to piss even me off...) if I get caught having a surreptitious wank in the office then it would take the heat off Sam...

Poor Sam.

I donīt think Iīve seen him look so perma-stunned since the morning after his visit to that Karaoke bar with Chris.

Iīm also beginning to worry about the plush Pikachu wearing the love-heart t-shirt. If he squeezes it much harder then I swear the stuffing is going to pop right out of its head.

Iīll say one thing for Chris, knowing when to stop is not one of his strong points. The roses in the box and the gym locker (and I still donīt know how he knew the combination to the lock...) were classy. The chocolate? Well, that wasnīt too bad. The tiny teddy-bear? Again, almost acceptable but I do believe the Pikachu was taking things just a *little* too far.

Then again, even the Pikachu pales in comparison to the masses of helium-filled, brilliantly red balloons that are currently tied to the back of Samīs chair.

The office has never looked so bright. Sam has never looked so morose.

A voice suddenly breaks into my reverie. "Hey Spencer, are you going to answer that or do you *like* the sound of a phone ringing?"

Eh? What? Oh. Phone. Ringing.

Shit! My phone ringing.


"Spence! What took you so long?"

And hello to you too, Chris.

"Um... I was busy. Anyway, what are you doing on the phone? I thought you couldnīt call from where you are."

"Iīm in London. In Samīs apartment to be exact."

Uh-huh... No wonder he sounds so happy.

"What about the case?"

"The case is over."

"I thought you were told to stick it out another week."

"What are you? Malone Junior? The case is finalised and in the hopefully capable paws of DS Bumpkin. I discovered the cache of weapons and how they were importing them and that was that. Why hang around?"

"Okay. Fine. Does Malone know?"

"He soon will."

"Aw, come off it, you donīt want me to tell him, do you? Thatīs really stretching our friendship."

"Nah. Iīll tell him. I just want you to get Sam to go home, thatīs all. Oh, and make sure Sam doesnīt find out the case is finished... See ya!"

Get Sam to go home, thatīs all...

I think Iīm rather break into the Pentagon... Naked save for a collar round my neck complete with bell.

Thanks Chris. Youīve just managed to make buying and carefully hiding all those presents for you look positively easy in comparison to what you now want me to do. Well done.

Think Spencer, think!

Two pale, smooth naked bodies, glistening with sweat and entwined...

Aaaarrgh! Whilst that is a *more* than pleasant thought, now is neither the time nor the place... Nor is it helping.

For some reason I just donīt think tapping Sam on the shoulder and telling him that it is home-time will work overly well. In fact, I donīt think tapping him on the shoulder at all -- thus likely giving him the impression that yet another courier has arrived to deliver more *gifts* to him -- is a great idea because I suspect heīd be apt to punch me. He just has that look about him at the moment.

Oh look -- my mind deviates from its course ­ well I never, Maloneīs just wandered out of his office and taken his customary place in the middle of the office for when he wants to share something with us. Yep, there he goes, opening his mouth...

"Iīve just had a phone call from Mr Ke..."

Shit! Fuck!

I swear to God, Chris, you are going to owe me big time for this. Dimples or no fucking dimples, this is going above and beyond the call of duty.

Without pausing to think about what it is I think Iīm doing, I spin, too quickly on my chair and, throwing my arm out, knock my coffee all over the keyboard and desk.

Goodbye keyboard! Youīve served me well and I can but hope that your death furthers the cause!

The clutter of the cup hitting the floor and the sight of the coffee dripping over the desk and onto the floor momentarily shuts Malone up. If Iīm not mistaken he even graces me with his patented, 'now, remind me, which kindergarten did I have the misfortune to pick you up from?ī expression before sighing heavily.

Sam also sighs heavily.

From the look on his face, he has well and truly had enough of his working day.

"That is it! Anyone would think it was April Fools Day the way things are going on here. Iīve had it! Iīm going home," he declares tetchily.

Sam bounds up from his chair, grabs his jacket, stuffs the Pikachu into his pocket (*interesting*) and storms out.

I mentally offer a prayer of thanks to the great unknown.

Iīve done my bit, Chris. Itīs now entirely up to you.

Iīd wish you luck, but I know you donīt need it.

Youīll just have to smile at him and, the memory of his day, like his heart, will just melt.

The End


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