FIC: "Perchance to Dream" (1/1)
Weird! I THOUGHT I'd posted this back on August 1, but I just discovered I'd put it up 'private' (meaning nobody ever saw it but ME)... Anyway, here it is, finally! LOL.
Guess what? I started (and pretty much finished) this fic way back in March -- but never did anything with it! So now I've finally tweaked it -- had Jimbo jim_street beta it again -- and am ready to share...
If you're a "S.W.A.T." fan -- or lover of angsty, slashy fanfics -- read on...
Title: "Perchance to Dream" (1/1)
Author: Brian Gamble (brn_gamble)
Warnings: Heavy slashy overtones (male/male) and some major angst.
Dedication: To Mistress Marilyn mistressmarilyn -- with great admiration for the fanfic she writes and for her work on the Gamble/Street shipper manifesto. (With many thanks from both Jimbo and me!)
Title: "Perchance to Dream" (1/1)
Author: Brian Gamble (brn_gamble)
Email address: brn_gamble_at_yahoo.com (brn_gamble@yahoo.com)
Feedback: Appreciated.
Fandom: "S.W.A.T." (the 2003 movie)
Pairing: Brian Gamble/Jim Street (as portrayed by Jeremy Renner and Colin Farrell) -- kind of...
Date: completed on August 1, 2005 (originally started in March)
Archive: GAMBLE-STREET -- http://www.geocities.com/jim_and_brian/
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/brn_gamble/
Disclaimer: Whether RP (real people) or characters, this is totally based on my own daydreams and fantasies. I don't claim to own anything, nor do I profit from writing and sharing fanfic.
Beta: Jimbo jim_street. (Many, many, thanks, Honey!)
Summary: Set prior to Brian Gamble's encounter in a bar with Jim Street and Chris Sanchez. Brian's POV.
Warnings: Heavy slashy overtones (male/male) and some major angst.
Dedication: To Mistress Marilyn mistressmarilyn -- with great admiration for the fanfic she writes and for her work on the Gamble/Street shipper manifesto. (With many thanks from both Jimbo and me!)
Author notes: I originally started this way back in March, but never finished.
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Damn, my dreams are really starting to get me down. I'm not talking nightmares here, either. I'm talking dreams about the past. Dreams about those days when I smiled a lot and laughed a lot and felt a lot of good things. Dreams about my ex-partner and ex-friend, Jim Street. Hell, I've got to figure out what it is that makes me dream about him. You'd think that more than a year later I'd be over the guy! (A year gone by without a single word between us, good or bad.)
Over him. Wow, that makes it sound like we were lovers, rather than partners. Like we lived together, rather than worked together. Everybody knew that Jim Street and Brian Gamble were big-time S.W.A.T. -- the perfect team. And, hell, there's a reason they call partners 'married'! It's true that partners are actually closer than a husband and wife in so damned many ways.
Jimbo? I guess I know him better than just about anybody does. I was there to share both the big and small things. And I've dreamt about those things over and over again during this past long year...
I've seen Jim so worn out he was literally dragging his ass and leaning against walls to keep from falling flat on the floor. I've sweated beside him on the shooting range and in the gym. I know each curve and cut of every part of his body by heart. I've stood close to spot him while he pumped weights, slick with perspiration. I've even seen him vomit after a run that went a bit too long. I've held him up -- and he's done the same for me. In my dreams I can still feel his strong arms wrapped around me.
I can tell you the expression the man gets when he really needs to take a piss. I know the grunts he makes when he's sits down and takes a serious crap. I should! We spent five years as partners, standing at urinals and sitting side-by-side in bathroom stalls. We listened and looked while shooting the breeze about the latest basketball scores. You'd better believe that I know the smell of Jim's shit -- and not just the sounds he makes!
You'd better believe I also drank hard -- and fucking played hard -- with Jimbo. We never turned away a good time, as long as we could spend it together.
Hell, yes, we've even shared women. There were times we'd take two women to a motel and share one room so we could watch and listen to one another while we fucked. Or other times we'd settled on one woman and pass her back and forth -- which is probably as close as two straight cops can come to actually fucking each other. Shit, is it any wonder I miss the guy? Is it any wonder I still dream about him?
Sure, I make a big show of how I hate him when I'm with my new 'friends.' Or when I run into some random cop who knew the two of us as a team. But it's not true I hate him. Or if it is true, it's not nearly true enough, I guess...
It would be a lot easier if I really could out-and-out hate him. It would be easier if the thought of him didn't make me start in wondering 'where is he right now -- and what is he up to?'
I suppose I could just pick up the phone and call him. Or I could drop by his place at the beach. Maybe I could make a point of being at some spot he still frequents. I bet they're all those same places Jim and I used to go to together. But what the hell is the point? We'd probably just make 'pretty' and play the game of being civil -- a game that would be bound to turn ugly.
I know that sooner or later I'd lose my temper and say something to zing him. And, hell, I've always known exactly how to get under Jim's skin!
Let's face it -- the two of us had a bad breakup. A damned sad breakup. It was hard and it was nasty -- and I said things I can't un-say. I made accusations I can never reclaim.
I've heard through the grapevine that Jim's back on the team. Hell, you know what they say, 'You're either S.W.A.T., or you're not.'
And everyone knows that I'm not...
But there was a time when I used to be another clean-cut cop -- just like Jim. That was way back before I started to spike my hair and had both my ears pierced -- and started wearing hoops. Back before I got more tattoos and changed the way I dress. There's something not so 'nice' about me now. Something that warns people I'm not the guy they used to know -- the guy who used to be a cop.
I'm not Jim Street's partner anymore. Naw. It's hard to believe I ever was...
But I was always a rebel in my own way. Even the fucking brass admits you have to be a bit of a maverick to be good at S.W.A.T.! It's a fact.
But I'm really pushing things these days. I've taken rebellion a lot further than I used to. I guess I've gone the way of the other 'bad boys' of the world -- those fuckers that used to pissed me off so much! Now I'm the kind of guy that drives cops nuts.
Naw -- there's no point in me trying to meet up with Jim. What's done is done. But I'll wake up after one of my dreams and I just can't help thinking about him. I can't help thinking about the way we used to be -- not all that long ago.
Or was it actually eons ago?
Yeah, there are times when a dream will come back to me in the middle of the day. Then I'll go off and sit somewhere and brood, while I down shots and beer. There used to be a time when Jim and I would have enjoyed those shots together; when we used to clink the necks of our bottles while we sipped our beers. Those were good times!
I know it's stupid. It's ridiculous. It's downright corny, too -- but it hurts to remember those times. It hurts a lot. It makes me want to slam my fist through a wall and try to forget how great it was to be Jim's friend. I guess sometimes I end up drinking too much. Then the buzz will become a blur that helps me forget the pain -- and the loss.
You know, all in all life is just one big party these days. You'd probably think that would be a great life, but the truth is it sucks. I'm hanging out with guys who seem to like me, but I'm smart enough to know they're not really my friends. I suppose it's my own fault, though. I like running with a rough crowd and seeing just how far I can push things. These tough men never try to cross me! It gives me a sense of pride that they're afraid of me. Maybe they see something in my eyes that warns them. After all, I've crossed so many lines I don't really give a shit these days. Which means I'd as soon kill these fuckers as look at them.
Women? I run around with wildest ones I can find. The type who like it when I fuck them hard. I'm not out looking to fall in love. I don't need any baggage or bother... Give me a chick in scanty clothes and spiked heels that will egg me on when I slap her around!
But the days -- and nights -- are just too damned long. I play and laugh and drink and screw. I lie and I cheat my days away. Then I fall asleep (or pass out) and wake up the next day so I can do the same thing over again. There's a terrible sameness to my life. That sameness would probably scare the shit out of me if I spent too much time considering it.
Just thinking about it right now makes me realize I've got a damned good reason to avoid sobriety. I'm all for clinging to the fuzzy edges of this new existence. Reality is a bitch I really don't want live with!
So what about Jimbo?
Yeah, I think about him in spite of myself. Dream about him and ponder him in the deep, sorry hours of the night.
After lots of serious meditation, I have to be honest and say he did the right thing, after all. Jim hung in there and ate a lot of crow and kissed a lot of butts and finally got back in the game. Just like he told me he would. So what about Brian Gamble? Well, the part of me that was a hero just up and disappeared one day.
Or maybe, if I'm being honest, I was never really a hero to begin with. Maybe I wasn't even really a good cop. It could be I was never cut out for S.W.A.T. in the first place.
I used to think I was a good cop, once. But these days I look back and find it harder and harder to remember a time when I actually felt good about myself -- or felt good about the work I did. A lot of people won't believe it, but I never cared that much about any of the glory of the job. Of course I can't deny I always loved the rush! It used to be great to be able to do something worthwhile while still getting the action I've always craved. Sort of a two-for-one deal that seemed perfect.
But now a paycheck is a paycheck. Hell, who am I shitting? I can't even keep a job for more than a few weeks -- and I don't really care if I do. There's always some easy touch around who'll keep me in bucks. I mean, fuck working! I've found a lot easier ways to get by. And what the shit do I who pays, as long as I'm along for a free ride? So what if I don't hold up my end? Who the hell cares anymore?
Goals are for pussies. Just like daydreams. All a waste of time and effort. I figure there's got to be a way to grab some big time money -- and maybe even get a rush while you're doing it. I've always been creative, so I have a feeling that sooner or later I'll find a way to really hit it big.
In the meantime, I'm still a fun guy -- just like always. Probably even more than I used to be, if you think about it! Now I don't shy off trying drugs or those not-quite-legal games people like to play. Fuck, it makes me smile just to think about it. If I had a beer or two -- or something to snort -- I'd probably start in laughing right now.
Jimbo will just keep on keeping on. The truth is that he really cares about the work he does. And I'll bet he cares about his new team, too. And for all I know he's thinking about marrying some girl. Then he and she and his dog, Chopper, can start in making and raising a big family.
And I'm damned well sure Jim doesn't waste his time thinking and dreaming about me.
I've got to quit somehow. Thinking about Jim just makes things worse. Next thing you know I start to see those eyes of his, so dark and intense. Then I remember those full lips, turned up in a small smile. I'll even start to hear his voice. All of it gets too damn close to real. And I've found out that real hurts -- it hurts bad.
Fuck Jim Street -- and fuck S.W.A.T.!
One of these days I'll find a way to get over how I feel. One day I'll find a way to let Jim and S.W.A.T. and Captain Fuller -- and the whole fucking Los Angeles Police Force -- remember my name. I'll make them all sorry I ever walked in the door of a police station house -- much less walked the hell out.
So why can't I stop dreaming about those times Jim held my head when I puked my guts out? Why do I dream about the days when we moved back-against-back through a dangerous area, dressed in S.W.A.T. gear? Why do I have to keep dreaming about him, period? And why didn't I just pick up a phone and call him? Why didn't I try to patch things up? (I guess I'll wonder that 'til the day I die.)
I want to hate Jim Street, I really do. Some days my gut burns and my hands ball up in fists and I really wish I could just beat his face in. But there are other days when I wish I had a decent excuse to just sit and cry.
Naw, I'm not enough of a pussy to start busting out in tears. That's not ever going to happen. Like I said before, fuck Jim Street. I'll make him sorry. Don't ask me how, but I'll make him pay. Sure, the thought of seeing Jim's face turn sour as he stares at me makes my chest ache. And, yeah, I think I'll finally feel better when I've heaped on enough punishment...
...but it's going to take a lot of effort to finally punish myself enough.
-the end-
I'm glad I finally shared...
Brian