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Christ On A Bike, Sidney!

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"What in Gods name did you think you were doing?"

Geordie runs to crouch beside his friend. Sidney shakes his head, moving to sit up while untangling, his legs from the fallen bicycle.

"Geordie, language," Sidney chastises, dragging himself to his feet, carefully, ignoring Geordie's offered hand.

"I'll stop insulting your god when you stop chucking ya-self off sodding bicycles," Geordie retorts, picking the offending transport off the ground and wheeling it to lean on a nearby postbox, "ya coulda killed yourself, Sidney.'

"I did not chuck myself off it. I just- I lost my balance, that's all," Sidney mutters, holding his left arm against his chest protectively, Geordie glares at him accusingly, "I'm fine!'

"What happened to thou shalt not tell lies an' all that rubbish?" Geordie demands, nodding to his friend's cradled arm, "let me see-"

"No, I'm fine, Geordie," Sidney insists, moving to take hold of his bicycle's handle.

"Oh no, you don't," Geordie snaps, guiding his friend away from the bicycle, "car, now. It's safer."

Sidney looks like he's contemplating whether to listen to his own stubbornness or the warning of his friend. In the end, the vicar shakes his head, moving away from his friend's hand.

"I can ride a bike, Geordie. I don't need to be- ah Christ our savour," Sidney curses, the last words are said through gritted teeth against the pain that shoots through his left arm.

Geordie rolls his eyes, looking at Sidney with concern. His arm is clearly hurting him and there's blood marrying a gash on the side of his forehead.

"Sidney, come on, enough with the theatrics. Give it 'ere," Geordie commands, holding out his hand for Sidney's arm.

"You're as bad as Mrs M, always fussing," Sidney complains but does as he's asked, trying to hide the wince at the contact.

Geordie nods to himself when he gets hold of his wrist, "Sprain. You're lucky it's just that from the way you hit the ground."

"Don't feel very lucky right now, but I'm more embarrassed than anything," Sidney replies, brushing the dust from his shirt and checking his collar, carefully.

Geordie smiles at him, "A bit of damaged pride is better than a broke neck, Sidney."

Sidney nods, touching the cut on his head tentatively. He lets out a sigh when his fingers come back stained red and pulls his handkerchief from his pocket to dab it.

"I'll live, I'm sure," Sidney says, glancing at his bicycle, "You're not going to let me ride the rest of the way, are you?"

Geordie glared at him and doesn't answer. Sidney almost laughs, grinning at his friend's stony face.

"Can we at least delay going back, I don't think I can stand Mrs M's version of bedside manner?" Sidney relents, moving to walk to the car, wincing when pain shoots up his leg. Geordie eyes him concerned, "that being said, she's got a similar face to you when you're worried."

Geordie bitelessly glares at him, "isn't she out with Jack all day? That's what you said before."

Sidney nods, the memory coming back to him, "Fine. Escort me home, doctor."

"Don't push it or you'll be walking home," Geordie threatens, shaking his head at Sidney's grin.




"Sit down, I'll make us some tea then we can look at that cut," Geordie instructs, filling the kettle with water.

Sidney rolls his eyes, smiling, "Yes, dad."

"You make a joke about my age again and you'll be wearing this," Geordie threatens, motioning to the boiling water.

"No, it's good. You can tell you're a father," Sidney insists, watching Geordie navigate his way round the kitchen, "and a good one at that."

Geordie places the two cups on the table and pulls a chair in front of Sidney, "where does Mrs M keep the medical supplies in this house? I presume you have some with the amount of scrapes you find yourself in."

Sidney sighs, "upstairs. Bathroom cabinet."


Geordie nods, leaving to find them. Sidney leans back on the dining chair, closing his eyes. They'd been coming back from a case they'd separately arrived at, which meant he had his bike with him, and his wheel must have caught in a crack in the road, sending him flying. It didn't help that his mind was elsewhere anyway making the resulting crash a major shock to his system.

He can hear Geordie searching the cupboards upstairs making him smile. It's funny seeing Geordie like this, caring and concerned. A massive difference to his usual biting remarks and grumpy personality. It's times like these he sees the father in him, the one that Cathy and the kids have seen way more than him for obvious reasons. His father had never been around much before the war, died during it. Even when he was around, he was far from a loving father. Geordie's kids are far luckier then they know.


"You're not asleep, are you?" Geordie asks, a tinge of panic in his voice, "you shouldn't sleep after-"

"I'm fine, Geordie. Just thinking," Sidney answer, opening his eyes to look at his friend.

"There's a time and a place for thinking, Sidney, and this is not one of them," Geordie grumbles, dabbing an antiseptic soaked piece of cotton wool on the cut, ignoring the hiss of pain from his friend, "don't be a baby."

"Don't treat me like one," Sidney quips back, wincing as the alcohol soaks into the open wound, "I usually do this stuff myself, alone."

"Well you're not alone now, are you?"

"Not what I meant but thanks," Sidney watches Geordie wrap his arm carefully with a bandage, "is this really necessary? I only came off my bike."

Geordie fixes the bandage in place then looks up to meet Sidney's gaze.

"I don't think you've quite grasped the gravity of how hard you hit the ground," Geordie snaps, closing the box and moving to get up, but Sidney grabs his arm, "Sidney, just-"

"I'm sorry," Sidney apologises with a genuine honesty that only he can convey, "I truly am, Geordie. I scared you and I'm sorry."

Geordie is silent for a moment, before he nods, "pay attention when you're cycling next time, okay?"

Sidney smiles in agreement, fiddling with his arm bandage causing Geordie to swot his hand away with a sharp look before getting up and washing his hands.

"Right, take your shirt off," Geordie says, turning back around, shaking his head at Sidney's laugh, "oh grow up, Sidney."

"I don't need to take it off. I'm fine. I landed on my arm and leg and hit my head that's all," Sidney answers, folding his arms stubbornly, "and I'm not taking my trousers off before you get any ideas."

Geordie laughs, drying his hands, "but your leg is fine?"

"Yes, I can even walk on it. Anything below the belt I can deal with myself, thank you very much," Sidney answers, grinning at his friend, "on the contrary to popular belief."

Geordie huffs out a laugh, "I get the picture, Sidney. I'll put this lot away, you take it easy." He points a finger at his friend warningly.

Sidney nods, watching him leave. He inspects the bandage on his arm, for something to do. With a sigh, Sidney picks up his cup and sips his tea wondering briefly whether Geordie will be opposed to opening a bottle of whiskey. It is classed as a pain reliever after all.