The stuff of life by fawsley, green Cortina with Sam and Gene
Title: The stuff of life
Author: fawsley
Rating: green Cortina with implied slash
Warnings: very slightly angsty
Characters: Sam 'n' Gene
Word Count: 830
Disclaimer: All the property of BBC and Kudos
Summary: the boys work out what's important in life
Notes: are to be found in notebooks
The stuff of life
Sam turned around slowly in the cramped remaining space between towering walls of dusty tea chests, crates, and boxes. It was always the case, he knew, that once everything was packed it seemed to take up far more room than when it wasn’t, but even so…
‘Gene? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining or anything…’
‘But what?’
‘But, well, there seems to be, sort of, a heck of a lot more stuff here than there was back at your old place…’
‘That’s cos there is. It was her life on show downstairs. Mine was all boxed up in the attic. That’s how she wanted it, that’s how it was.’
‘You could have brought it down, once she’d, when she…’
‘No. Couldn’t. It was still her house. Always was. Even after she’d left. Was never my home.’
‘Well, this is our home now. Yours and mine. We’ll find room for all of it. Somehow. D’you want a hand with sorting it out?’
‘Nope. My stuff. My problem.’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
He found Gene’s legs at the top of a ladder on the landing, the rest of him lost to view in the maw of a hole in the ceiling, torch beam flickering in the darkness.
‘Want a cuppa, love?’
‘S’no good up here…’
‘No good? What isn’t?’
‘No flooring. Anything we put up here will head straight back downstairs through the joists.’
‘No hidden treasure to be had then?’
‘Cold water tank, lot of dust. That’s about it.’
‘Is there a lid on it?’
‘A lid on what?’
‘The water tank?’
‘Why?’
‘Lived in a shitty place once where the water came out the tap looking disgusting and tasting even worse. Eventually someone went up into the loft and found there wasn’t a lid on the tank.’
‘So?’
‘So there was a great big sodding bat colony roosting right above it. We’d been drinking bat shit for weeks.’
‘Explains a lot. Obviously had a lasting effect.’
‘D’you want this cuppa or not?’
‘Erm, no thanks. Think I’ll have a beer…’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
Gene insisted that the small room at the back of the house be his office, somewhere to write his memoirs when he got around to it. He’d have to get around the piles of clutter first.
‘Dunno why the hell I kept all this stuff. Must have meant something at some point. Don’t think it does now.’
‘Don’t go rushing to chuck it out. You haven’t seen it in years, you need time to assess whether it’s important or not. We’ll get some boards for the attic so we can use the space but that doesn’t mean your stuff has to stay up there forever, just give you some breathing space. Moving around space, come to that…’
‘Boards? You mean, make a floor sort of thing?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Don’t go looking at me, sunshine!’
‘S’all right, I know what I’m doing. Worked in a DIY shop in my gap year. You can hand me the tools and make the tea.’
‘Think I’ll stick to me beer. But I’ll handle your weighty tool any time you like.’
‘Walked straight into that one, didn’t I?’
‘Blindly as a bat, Sammy-boy…’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
Gene was sat on the floor, propped up against a tea chest, reading an ancient battered notebook and muttering to himself. Sam carefully placed two brimming mugs in almost the only space left and eased himself down beside his man, picked up another notebook from an overflowing box and leafed through the pages. Columns of dates and places and numbers and names.
‘You were an anorak!’
‘Didn’t have an anorak. Had me school blazer or Stu’s hand-me-down raincoat.’
‘Learn something new about you every day… Got about a bit, didn’t you?’
‘It was the names, really, something about the names. Had to see them all, collect them all. Like ships and race horses and jazz tunes, all beautiful puzzles.’
‘You romantic, you!’
‘Shut it! I was twelve!’
‘They’re all here, aren’t they? Lancashire Witch, Coronation Scot, Mallard… Ha! Here’s one for you! Cock o’ The North!’
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. She was a fine bit of engineering. A Gresley P2 Passenger 2-8-2 Mikado. And here’s one for you. Spearmint.’
‘Why Spearmint?’
‘Dunno. Just seems right.’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
‘Sam…’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks.’
‘For what? You didn’t drink your tea.’
‘For helping me sort it all out, work out what was important and what wasn’t, get me life back on the rails.’
‘S’okay. You kept the notebooks, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. Wasn’t worth facing your wrath if I chucked ‘em.’
‘You’re learning, Gene, you’re learning!’
‘And Sammy…?’
‘What?’
‘Well… We’ve sorted out all my stuff…’
‘Yeah? And?’
‘And, well… Where’s yours?’
Sam looked around, thought about a minimalist chrome-and-white luxury apartment that would one day sit where a man had died at Crester’s Textiles, thought about a foul and fetid flat at the even less desirable end of Oldham Street, and smiled to himself.
‘Gene, you are my stuff.’
###
AN: The water tank episode is based on what happened to my friend Jon who is a bat inspector. He was called out by an elderly lady who lived in a falling-down cottage in Derbyshire. She gave him rather a lot of totally revolting tea before he went up to the attic and saw where the bats were roosting...
Some of you know about my love of steam locos (and Thomas the Tank Engine slash) and threat to make Gene into a childhood train-spotter. This was the result. Although Cock o' The North was scrapped in the 1960s, there are plans for her to be rebuilt by the A1 trust. Spearmint also existed. Here they both are in their prime:
Cock o' The North
Spearmint
chuff chuff!
Author: fawsley
Rating: green Cortina with implied slash
Warnings: very slightly angsty
Characters: Sam 'n' Gene
Word Count: 830
Disclaimer: All the property of BBC and Kudos
Summary: the boys work out what's important in life
Notes: are to be found in notebooks
The stuff of life
Sam turned around slowly in the cramped remaining space between towering walls of dusty tea chests, crates, and boxes. It was always the case, he knew, that once everything was packed it seemed to take up far more room than when it wasn’t, but even so…
‘Gene? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining or anything…’
‘But what?’
‘But, well, there seems to be, sort of, a heck of a lot more stuff here than there was back at your old place…’
‘That’s cos there is. It was her life on show downstairs. Mine was all boxed up in the attic. That’s how she wanted it, that’s how it was.’
‘You could have brought it down, once she’d, when she…’
‘No. Couldn’t. It was still her house. Always was. Even after she’d left. Was never my home.’
‘Well, this is our home now. Yours and mine. We’ll find room for all of it. Somehow. D’you want a hand with sorting it out?’
‘Nope. My stuff. My problem.’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
He found Gene’s legs at the top of a ladder on the landing, the rest of him lost to view in the maw of a hole in the ceiling, torch beam flickering in the darkness.
‘Want a cuppa, love?’
‘S’no good up here…’
‘No good? What isn’t?’
‘No flooring. Anything we put up here will head straight back downstairs through the joists.’
‘No hidden treasure to be had then?’
‘Cold water tank, lot of dust. That’s about it.’
‘Is there a lid on it?’
‘A lid on what?’
‘The water tank?’
‘Why?’
‘Lived in a shitty place once where the water came out the tap looking disgusting and tasting even worse. Eventually someone went up into the loft and found there wasn’t a lid on the tank.’
‘So?’
‘So there was a great big sodding bat colony roosting right above it. We’d been drinking bat shit for weeks.’
‘Explains a lot. Obviously had a lasting effect.’
‘D’you want this cuppa or not?’
‘Erm, no thanks. Think I’ll have a beer…’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
Gene insisted that the small room at the back of the house be his office, somewhere to write his memoirs when he got around to it. He’d have to get around the piles of clutter first.
‘Dunno why the hell I kept all this stuff. Must have meant something at some point. Don’t think it does now.’
‘Don’t go rushing to chuck it out. You haven’t seen it in years, you need time to assess whether it’s important or not. We’ll get some boards for the attic so we can use the space but that doesn’t mean your stuff has to stay up there forever, just give you some breathing space. Moving around space, come to that…’
‘Boards? You mean, make a floor sort of thing?’
‘Yeah!’
‘Don’t go looking at me, sunshine!’
‘S’all right, I know what I’m doing. Worked in a DIY shop in my gap year. You can hand me the tools and make the tea.’
‘Think I’ll stick to me beer. But I’ll handle your weighty tool any time you like.’
‘Walked straight into that one, didn’t I?’
‘Blindly as a bat, Sammy-boy…’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
Gene was sat on the floor, propped up against a tea chest, reading an ancient battered notebook and muttering to himself. Sam carefully placed two brimming mugs in almost the only space left and eased himself down beside his man, picked up another notebook from an overflowing box and leafed through the pages. Columns of dates and places and numbers and names.
‘You were an anorak!’
‘Didn’t have an anorak. Had me school blazer or Stu’s hand-me-down raincoat.’
‘Learn something new about you every day… Got about a bit, didn’t you?’
‘It was the names, really, something about the names. Had to see them all, collect them all. Like ships and race horses and jazz tunes, all beautiful puzzles.’
‘You romantic, you!’
‘Shut it! I was twelve!’
‘They’re all here, aren’t they? Lancashire Witch, Coronation Scot, Mallard… Ha! Here’s one for you! Cock o’ The North!’
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. She was a fine bit of engineering. A Gresley P2 Passenger 2-8-2 Mikado. And here’s one for you. Spearmint.’
‘Why Spearmint?’
‘Dunno. Just seems right.’
*´¨)
¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´
‘Sam…’
‘Yeah?’
‘Thanks.’
‘For what? You didn’t drink your tea.’
‘For helping me sort it all out, work out what was important and what wasn’t, get me life back on the rails.’
‘S’okay. You kept the notebooks, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. Wasn’t worth facing your wrath if I chucked ‘em.’
‘You’re learning, Gene, you’re learning!’
‘And Sammy…?’
‘What?’
‘Well… We’ve sorted out all my stuff…’
‘Yeah? And?’
‘And, well… Where’s yours?’
Sam looked around, thought about a minimalist chrome-and-white luxury apartment that would one day sit where a man had died at Crester’s Textiles, thought about a foul and fetid flat at the even less desirable end of Oldham Street, and smiled to himself.
‘Gene, you are my stuff.’
###
AN: The water tank episode is based on what happened to my friend Jon who is a bat inspector. He was called out by an elderly lady who lived in a falling-down cottage in Derbyshire. She gave him rather a lot of totally revolting tea before he went up to the attic and saw where the bats were roosting...
Some of you know about my love of steam locos (and Thomas the Tank Engine slash) and threat to make Gene into a childhood train-spotter. This was the result. Although Cock o' The North was scrapped in the 1960s, there are plans for her to be rebuilt by the A1 trust. Spearmint also existed. Here they both are in their prime:
Cock o' The North
Spearmint
chuff chuff!