Fic: Deja Vu
Title: Deja Vu
Author: Corona
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Some things are very easy to get used to.
AN: written for
varietypack100 prompt 'when'
When Sam reaches the station he comes to a fairly quick and certain conclusion.
Nothing of interest seems to have happened while he was gone.
The place doesn't seem to be a hive of activity, though granted Sam thinks the only way this place could be a hive of activity were if actual bees were chasing the inhabitants. It holds considerably more cigarette smoke than enthusiasm.
With no one dead or dying breaks could last anything up to...oh days, possibly even weeks, as long as you remembered to be engrossed in something whenever Gene stuck his head over the battlements. Anyone who didn't, well anyone who failed to see Gene coming was probably dead already, or deeply unconscious.
"Morning Sir," Annie appears holding a stack of folders, like some sort of office genie, all smiles and enthusiasm. The right sort of enthusiasm.
"Annie." She sweeps past him, collecting as she goes, the pile in her arms gradually getting bigger and bigger.
Which brings him to...Chris trying to fix the cassette recorder, or...no get a tape out of it.
Chris has obviously broken the tape trying to put it in the machine.
"I had it upside down." He explains and Sam watches as he tries to put the pieces back together, without much success. He reaches up, plucks it out of Chris fingers before he manages to tie them all together, and drops it in the bin.
Chris is still making forlorn sounds when Sam gets to his desk, and he slides into his chair, stretches his arms out in front of him.
Exactly seven second later Gene Hunt slams both hands down on the desk hard enough to make the phone let out a sharp half-ring.
It's not the only thing that rings. Sam is tempted to check and make sure his head is still attached.
Sam glares at him.
"Just checking you've not died of boredom Tyler," Gene says sharply. "I'm sure all this police work must be simply riveting for you."
Sam turns his head, pointedly to the left...where Chris is trying to mummify himself with the brown intestines of a tape.
"Riveting," he says carefully.
Gene glares, gives up and throws himself into the seat opposite. The chair protests, loudly, but doesn't collapse.
Sam lays his head back on the desk, not entirely sure if it's a smart move where hygiene is concerned because he's a few years away from health and safety yet.
The desk smells like someone has been living in it, no that's too generous. It smells like someone died in it, twice.
"Did anyone ever die at this desk?"
Gene raises an eyebrow at him.
"Not that I ever noticed why?"
"It smells like dead people." He feels compelled to say. He has to wonder if it's likely, if some frenzied gun battle ever ended with someone folded over the wood, coughing blood all over it.
"I'd remember someone keeling over on my watch." Gene says tartly, which Sam isn't entirely sure is true, he'd probably notice them eventually though.
"And nothing's ever happened in here? No frenzied gun battles?" The question has clearly been taken as an insult.
"The thing about frenzied gun battles, they seem to interfere with the smooth running of the place, they tend to upset people and as such, get reported as disturbances."
"You really do just take the sarcasm and run with it don't you."
"However the chances of someone being keeled over dead at that desk are rising sharply."
Sam lifts his head...and gets his own coat thrown in his face.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Some things are very easy to get used to.
AN: written for
varietypack100 prompt 'when'
When Sam reaches the station he comes to a fairly quick and certain conclusion.
Nothing of interest seems to have happened while he was gone.
The place doesn't seem to be a hive of activity, though granted Sam thinks the only way this place could be a hive of activity were if actual bees were chasing the inhabitants. It holds considerably more cigarette smoke than enthusiasm.
With no one dead or dying breaks could last anything up to...oh days, possibly even weeks, as long as you remembered to be engrossed in something whenever Gene stuck his head over the battlements. Anyone who didn't, well anyone who failed to see Gene coming was probably dead already, or deeply unconscious.
"Morning Sir," Annie appears holding a stack of folders, like some sort of office genie, all smiles and enthusiasm. The right sort of enthusiasm.
"Annie." She sweeps past him, collecting as she goes, the pile in her arms gradually getting bigger and bigger.
Which brings him to...Chris trying to fix the cassette recorder, or...no get a tape out of it.
Chris has obviously broken the tape trying to put it in the machine.
"I had it upside down." He explains and Sam watches as he tries to put the pieces back together, without much success. He reaches up, plucks it out of Chris fingers before he manages to tie them all together, and drops it in the bin.
Chris is still making forlorn sounds when Sam gets to his desk, and he slides into his chair, stretches his arms out in front of him.
Exactly seven second later Gene Hunt slams both hands down on the desk hard enough to make the phone let out a sharp half-ring.
It's not the only thing that rings. Sam is tempted to check and make sure his head is still attached.
Sam glares at him.
"Just checking you've not died of boredom Tyler," Gene says sharply. "I'm sure all this police work must be simply riveting for you."
Sam turns his head, pointedly to the left...where Chris is trying to mummify himself with the brown intestines of a tape.
"Riveting," he says carefully.
Gene glares, gives up and throws himself into the seat opposite. The chair protests, loudly, but doesn't collapse.
Sam lays his head back on the desk, not entirely sure if it's a smart move where hygiene is concerned because he's a few years away from health and safety yet.
The desk smells like someone has been living in it, no that's too generous. It smells like someone died in it, twice.
"Did anyone ever die at this desk?"
Gene raises an eyebrow at him.
"Not that I ever noticed why?"
"It smells like dead people." He feels compelled to say. He has to wonder if it's likely, if some frenzied gun battle ever ended with someone folded over the wood, coughing blood all over it.
"I'd remember someone keeling over on my watch." Gene says tartly, which Sam isn't entirely sure is true, he'd probably notice them eventually though.
"And nothing's ever happened in here? No frenzied gun battles?" The question has clearly been taken as an insult.
"The thing about frenzied gun battles, they seem to interfere with the smooth running of the place, they tend to upset people and as such, get reported as disturbances."
"You really do just take the sarcasm and run with it don't you."
"However the chances of someone being keeled over dead at that desk are rising sharply."
Sam lifts his head...and gets his own coat thrown in his face.