Inspired by this adorable little illustration of Sally Sparrow, drawn by pi_sparrow (Link is prooobably considered NSFW.)

{{This is also for pi_sparrow. I hope I didn't butcher Sally too badly, bb.}}



“You're not wearing that,” Sally said.

Alex's mouth hung open, and she looked down at her top. It was a lovely red blouse, she thought, with little white polka dots. She'd even undone the top few buttons. Her trousers were slick and black, hugging all the right bits in all the right places, and Sally had certainly never complained about them before.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

“What's the problem with this?” Alex shot back, but even as the words came out, she knew the answer. Sally crossed her arms, glaring at her playfully, and it was a ridiculous glare that clashed with her khaki trousers and top. A camera hung around her neck and a goofy tan hat nearly the colour of her hair was perched on her head.

“The problem is that you wore it to work today. This is Luigi's Halloween party, not a casual night at the pub.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “And what, exactly, are you supposed to be?”

With an indignant lift of her chin, Sally replied, slowly, as if she were explaining something very complex to a very small child, “I am on safari.”

“Safari through the 20th century. How apt.”

Sally leaned against the door frame, her face serious, as if she was not going to allow Alex to pass without a proper costume. Which, as it seemed, she wouldn't. “Alex, please.”

She was doing That Thing. That Thing involved a small twist of her lips, like she was half-pouting, although her eyes were filled with a domineering expectation that only Sally Sparrow could pull off. Begging without really begging. It drove Alex nuts in ways she never, ever would admit.

“Fine, okay,” Alex held up her hands. “But I assure you, it's not going to be anything impressive.”

* * *

“Well, tha's bloody impressive.”

Alex turned around from the bar, her second glass of Merlot grasped tightly in her hand. Gene Hunt looked her over as if he were checking for dents in the Quattro.

“Not so bad yourself, Guv.”

In fact, Gene did look rather handsome, even if his idea of fancy dress was always the same bloody poncho matched with the same bloody cowboy hat. Alex was suddenly glad to have worn a costume; after all, if even Gene did, she would have looked silly having not.

“Could've done with a bit more cleavage, though, Bols. Keep morale up.”

Alex looked down at her chest. She certainly thought she'd had cleavage enough, what with how tight she'd laced up her damn corset. To boot, even one glass of wine in, she still couldn't shrug off the irritation caused by the floppy hat that kept sliding over her eyes.

Chris bopped up to them, a black flowing cape spiraling behind him. He was dressed in an ill-fitting black suit, a pint of lager in his hand. “Oh, Boss, that's a great costume!” he chirped.

“Costume?” Gene mumbled. “As far as I know, she's a witch seven days ou' of the week, Chris.”

Clearing her throat, Alex turned her attention back to Chris. He smiled, augmenting a giant red smear that looked like ketchup on his face. “Um, Chris,” Alex said, gesturing to her own chin.

“What?”

“You've got something on your face.”

Eye alight with concern and embarrassment, Chris lifted his hand. Then a dull understanding hit his eyes. “Oh, that's blood.”

Alex gaped.

“Well, not blood, ketchup. But it's supposed to be blood. You know, Dracula,” he explained. “It were Shaz's idea. I wanted to do Clark Kent and Superman again, but she said this would be better.”

“Of course,” Alex said.

Sally, her timing always impeccable, chose that moment to wander up to the bar. She perched in a seat, eying Chris. Chris eyed her back thoughtfully.

“Oh,” she said after a moment. “Dracula.”

“Yeah,” Chris said.

Sally sipped her wine and studied Alex. “What are you supposed to be?”

“A witch.”

“No, I mean for Halloween.”

“Wha'd I tell ya?” Gene broke in, with a smile that Alex was tempted to punch off his face.

* * *

Much later, after all the wine had been drunk and the candles in the Jack-O-Lanterns had burned away, Sally and Alex curled up on the couch in the flat. Sally fingered the sleeve of the red blouse that had been abandoned on the arm of the sofa, zebra stripes clashing painfully with polka dots.

Alex, meanwhile, absentmindedly ran her fingers through the silky strands of Sally's hair, the repetitive motion calming to her swirling, drink-addled mind.

“I think the boys suspect,” Sally said simply, after a long moment of silence.

“Suspect what?” Alex asked lazily. “That we don't fit in properly because we're both from the future and trapped in a dystopia of my own twisted making?”

“No, I think they suspect we're shagging.”

“Well,” Alex muttered. “They would be right on either count, wouldn't they?”

“That's not exactly my point.” Sally adjusted herself, her warm her cheek rubbing gently against Alex's bare arm. “I heard Ray and the Guv making a bet in the break room yesterday, and our names were mentioned.”

Alex frowned. “Any idea who bet on which side?”

“Once again, missing the point.”

With a heavy sigh, Alex pulled her hand away from Sally's hair. Sally sat up and leaned her elbow against the back of the couch, propping her head up so she could look at Alex.

“You want to talk about it?” Alex asked her gently.

Sally bit her lip, her eyes brushing over Alex like a caress. It sent shivers down Alex's spine, the type of shivers one didn't usually associate with Old Hallows Eve.

Sally sat up and reached out, her fingers tickling gently across the skin that still remained exposed over the top of Alex's corset. Alex sucked in a breath of air, her whole body turning to gooseflesh, as if a cool draft had drifted through an open window.

Leaning forward, Sally placed a soft, wet kiss between Alex's breasts, and the world seemed to swim around her just a bit more than usual.

“Not particularly,” Sally replied, although, at that point, Alex couldn't even remember the question she had asked. “I'd rather just live up to their expectations.”

Alex twined her fingers through that mane of blonde hair again, and she stared down at Sally. “I imagine I can live with that,” she said.

Sally pressed Alex against the couch, nuzzling her face against Alex's neck as she trailed kisses along her skin. For a moment, Alex was a bit too quiet, and Sally pulled away and looked into her eyes.

“What's wrong?”

Alex grimaced. “I'm not really that much of a witch, am I?”

Sally rolled her eyes dramatically, and in answer, pressed her lips softly against Alex's.

* * *

After both the Detective Inspector and the so-called crime scene photographer failed to show up at CID the next morning, Gene Hunt decided he would grace them with his presence by bringing them a personalized wake-up call.

That wake up call was, of course, him beating soundly on the door of the flat over Luigi's with his fist. “Drake! Sparrow! If one of you doesn' get your pretty li'tle arses to answerin' this door, so 'elp me I'll come in there -”

The door swung open, and Sally Sparrow leaned against the door frame. Her blonde hair was tousled dramatically around her face, and long, pale legs almost glowed in contrast to the bright red and white-polka dot blouse that had been hastily buttoned unevenly. Gene could have sworn that blouse most certainly belonged to Alex Drake.

“Something the matter, Guv?” Sally asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

Gene crossed his arms, his face set with his usual heavy frown. “Bloody 'ell,” he said. “Ray owes me five quid.”

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Cut for length and adult situations.
Minor spoilers for Ashes to Ashes.
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Muse: Alex Drake
Prompt: [ONE WORD] Cleavage
Verse: Crack/Time Will Crawl
Word Count: 1347