Fic: 20th Century Boy
Disclaimer: I don't own, nor claim to own, anything to do with Life on Mars. That honour goes to the people at Kudos and The BBC. Oh and I don't own the song, either - "20th Century Boy" by T-Rex.
Rating: No swearing, no violence, actually nothing offensive in the slightest. PG :)
Pairing: Sam and Gene, but very, very mildly. Like, use your imagination mild. More implied, then anything.
Summary: Sam has a moment of realisation, helped along by T-Rex :D.
Other stuff: This isn't the other song-fic I mentioned in 'Dimming of the Day', this is something that just randomly hi t me when I was driving around in my car today with the sun shining down and this song turned up damn loud. I LOVE this song, it's SUCH a fantastic song to dance to lol.
Sam Tyler woke up happy. Happy! it was a feeling he’d almost forgotten existed. He rolled over onto his back and yawned as he stretched his toes out as far as he could. A grin plastered itself across his face as he looked out his window and saw the sun shining bright and strong in the sky. Sam shook his head slightly to clear away the last little bit of fuzziness and sat up, still smiling. He didn’t know why he felt so good.
‘Maybe’ he thought as he stood up, noticing the lack of half-empty whisky bottles at his bedside ‘maybe this is what it feels like to wake up minus a hangover’ - it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, but the lack of alcohol pulsing through his bloodstream didn’t seem sufficient enough to warrant such warmth and vitality he felt at that moment. He stretched his arms above his head and then rolled his head side to side, hearing the familiar clicking of his shoulders and his neck as he did so. ‘Maybe they’ve given me anti-depressants in 2007’ he chuckled to himself… again, it wasn't an entirely impossible explanation, but he’d not heard any familiar machines beeping, or had any signs that they’d changed his medication to include some happy pills like the last time they'd cocked up and overdosed him.
'And anyway' he mused as he knelt on the floor to start doing some press ups ‘why would they give someone in a coma anti depressants? Surely that comes after I wake up’ he was half way through his twelfth press up when he realised that he was actually rather likely to need them when he woke up having left this now familiar madness behind him. He shook his head and did an extra fifteen press ups to clear his head again.
Walking over to the radio, Sam turned it on and listened to some inane chatter as he walked into the bathroom to have a wash. He walked with a spring in his step and that same grin on his face. Today was going to be good, he could just feel it. The sink was half full and Sam had shaving foam all over his face when the DJ introduced the next song.
“And now, a new track by those rocking dinosaurs T-Rex… here’s 20th Century Boy”
Sam looked at himself in the mirror and laughed.
“Oh YES” he shouted loudly, throwing his razor back into the sink. He’d always loved this song and as the familiar dirty-sounding beat kicked in, he couldn’t resist the urge to dance to it. So he did. Clad only in his underpants and with shaving foam spitting from his face, Sam Tyler, usually so uptight and straight-laced, jumped back into his front room and started moving his hips side to side and nodding his head and singing along like a mad man. Which, he considered randomly, was rather apt given the current 'is he here, is he there, is he actually anywhere?!' situation.
“Friends say it's fine
Friends say it's good
Everybody says it's just like rock and roll”
He danced around the living room, shaking his hips, waving his arms and singing loudly, generally feeling damn good about everything. He remembered dancing to this song before in some horrible little club on Canal Street whilst he was working undercover there. This song, and the resulting arrest of a dangerous drug-dealing homicidal maniac, was the only good thing about the entire operation. That and possibly the hot guy he’d ended up dancing with he smirked and shook his head.
“I move like a cat
Charge like a ram
Sting like a bee
Babe I want to be your man”
He grabbed a hairbrush that was lying on his side table near the kitchen and sang into it as though he was on stage singing to Wembley stadium. He danced his way over to the radio and turned it up a couple of notches, the sound blaring out of the little set like it’s life depended on it.
“Well it's plain to see
You were meant for me
Yea I'm your toy
Your 20th century boy”
Sam laughed, the irony of the song catching him completely unaware until then. Technically, he was a 21st century boy, but still. He’d go along with it. He realised then, that the feeling of happiness he was feeling was simply the joy of being here, being alive. He could’ve flat out died on the spot when that car ran into him, he could have just ended up lying dead on the concrete but instead he’d been given whatever mad-cap second chance at living that this was. He had a real chance to make a change and he decided then and there, as he spun around on the spot, that he was going to grab it and enjoy this…thing for as long as it lasted.
“Fly like a plane
Drive like a car
Ball like a hound
Babe I want to be your man”
Marc Bolan’s singing was matched word for word by Sam and he was so engrossed that he didn’t even hear the repeated knocking on his door. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the words, pointing randomly at things in front of him, imaging he was singing to someone. ‘Definitely NOT Gene Hunt, oh no. Definitely not’ his brain tried to protest, but to no avail.
“20th century boy
I want to be your toy
20th century boy
I want to be your toy”
The very same aforementioned DCI Gene Hunt leant against Sam’s doorframe, having just shouldered the door open. He had a smirk and a half plastered on his face. Inside the room, turned so his back was to him, standing only in his underpants and dancing wildly was his Detective Inspector. Gene watched him with growing amusement and then laughed until he nearly fell over when Sam spun back around and shouted so loudly in shock that he actually jumped about five feet backwards. Gene howled with laughter as Sam stood trying to re start his heart and get his breath back. The track helpfully faded out at that moment to be replaced by the same toffee-voice of the DJ.
“well wasn’t that just rockin’ - I think that’s going to be a smashing hit in the charts”
Gene was slumped over, gripping his stomach as he tried to get his breath back whilst he clung to the doorframe to keep his balance. Sam could feel himself getting red, which was a nice contrast to the white of the shaving foam, still mostly splattered over his face. He looked at his DCI and then laughed himself, unable to stop the feeling of complete humiliation, but at the same time, caring surprisingly little about it. They stood like that for a good five minutes, until Gene eventually stood up straight again, breathing deeply, tears running down his face.
“Oh, Sammy boy you’ve made my day” he spluttered then, dragging his hand across his face
“Well, Gene, you know sometimes it’s just good to dance” Sam replied, deliberately camping up his voice and cocking his leg at the last word.
Gene laughed again as Sam made his way across the room to get himself cleaned up and finish getting ready.
“Always knew you were a bit of a fairy” Gene called out to him as he disappeared into the bathroom
“not a fairy, Gene” Sam poked his head back round the door, a towel draped over his shoulder “a 20th century boy” he smiled, going back to face the mirror again. Gene laughed and walked into the room more, and ended up watching Sam shaving as he leant against the bathroom door.
“is that so?” he asked, watching Sam in the mirror
“yeah” Sam replied carefully, running the blade across his cheek. Gene waited a beat before he carried on
“Does that mean you wanna be my toy then, Sammy-boy?” he smirked as Sam spluttered and swore loudly as blood appeared from where he’d just cut himself. Gene laughed and tipped his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. Sam didn’t answer just then, he splashed water across his now clean shaven face and dabbed a bit of tissue onto the nick on his cheek. He dried his face and made to walk past Gene, throwing the towel into his chest as he did
“In your dreams, DCI Hunt” he whispered into his ear as he passed him and carried on getting ready.
“Aren't you always” Gene muttered, inaudible to Sam as he turned, definitely not to watch him finish getting dressed. oh no, definitely not.
Today was going to be good.
The End