Fic: It Ain't Easy (Sam/Chris, Green Cortina)
My first "Life on Mars" contribution!
Title: It Ain't Easy (ah, David Bowie...)
Author: Gigi Sinclair
Rating: Green Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Chris, canon pairings
Summary: A short snippet, set after Episode 1. Sam is still dealing with culture shock.
Sam didn't mean for it to happen.
Just like he hadn't meant to push Maya into running off on her own, he hadn't meant to be hit by a car, he hadn't meant to end up here. He used to be in control of his life, he thought drunkenly. He wasn't sure when that had stopped, but it had been before he ended up here.
"I'll get it," Chris offered, but Sam couldn't let a junior officer pay for his drinks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of cash he still didn't quite remember, shillings and old sixpence and other relics from his childhood pocket money days. Decimalization had taken place two years earlier, according to a newspaper article he'd recently read, and from what he could tell, people still missed their thrupenny bits. Personally, Sam would have given his eyeteeth for a debit card.
They stumbled out onto the street. It had started as a party, a celebration for catching what the tabloid press were already dubbing the "Rock and Roll Killer." It was good to know some things hadn't changed.
"Which way, boss?" Chris looked at him and, whether it was the drink or something else, suddenly the words took on a far more significant meaning for Sam.
"I don't know, Chris." He stopped, sagging against a nearby brick wall. "I don't know anything anymore."
Chris looked at him, his eyes unfocused. "Then let's get you home."
The room wasn't any more appealing now than it had been when Annie had first shown it to him. Sam collapsed on the hideous---and hideously uncomfortable---bed. He didn't realize Chris was still there until he said: "Annie told me she had to talk you down off some roof yesterday."
Sam's eyes flew open. "It's OK," Chris continued, "I didn't tell the DCI. I didn't tell anybody else."
"I'm seriously fucked up," Sam said. There was no other explanation for it. "But I'm not from around here." He was sure of that, always had been, no matter what anyone else tried to tell him.
"I believe you." He said it simply and honestly, and Sam was almost overwhelmed by gratitude just to hear those words.
"Thanks."
Chris shrugged. "I reckon I got enough secrets of my own, I can keep a few of yours, too."
Chris hadn't struck Sam as particularly deep, but looking at his troubled expression and his furrowed eyebrows, he knew there was something else there.
He sat up and, without taking his eyes off Sam's, Chris inched closer.
***
Maya was the love of Sam's life. She wasn't an easy love, because nothing with Maya was ever easy, but when he was with her, he felt happier than he ever had. Before Maya, though, there had been others, and not all of them were women.
Chris clearly hadn't confined himself to the opposite sex, either. A few moments later, he was unbuttoning Sam's shirt as Sam slid a hand over his arse and asked: "Have you got a condom?"
Chris looked at him like he was mad. "What for? You're not going to get me up the duff."
Right, Sam sighed. He moved his hand up to Chris's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Let's do something else."
Chris smiled, and Sam could tell he would have no trouble thinking of an alternative activity.
It was good. Sam had almost forgotten how good it could be. Afterwards, he lay beside Chris in the ridiculously narrow bed, dozing.
"I only do it when me and Sharon are on the outs," Chris said, after a moment of silence, although Sam hadn't asked for any explanation. "And there's no other girls handy. I prefer girls, really."
"I understand," he said, but Chris continued:
"If any of the blokes at work ever found out..."
"You'd be in for a hell of a rough time," Sam filled in. That much hadn't changed, no matter how many "diversity and sensitivity" training sessions they'd had to endure in Sam's time. The only difference was that people had the backup to do something about it in the twenty-first century.
"I'd be dead," Chris corrected him.
He opened his eyes. Chris looked dishevelled, his hair disarranged and his shirt hanging open. Sam could feel himself sliding from the pleasant, fuzzy stage of drunkenness into the guilty stage, and he felt suddenly sorry for Chris.
"You need to be careful," he said, although he was sure Chris already knew it. "And you need to use condoms. There's some really scary shit out there."
Chris stood up and got dressed, swaying only slightly as he pulled on his trousers. He smiled at Sam before he left and said: "See you tomorrow."
"Yeah." He didn't need to say anything else. Sam knew they'd never mention this again.
It was probably the drink. Still, when Chris had gone Sam felt strangely comforted that he might be lost, but at least he wasn't alone.
Title: It Ain't Easy (ah, David Bowie...)
Author: Gigi Sinclair
Rating: Green Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Chris, canon pairings
Summary: A short snippet, set after Episode 1. Sam is still dealing with culture shock.
Sam didn't mean for it to happen.
Just like he hadn't meant to push Maya into running off on her own, he hadn't meant to be hit by a car, he hadn't meant to end up here. He used to be in control of his life, he thought drunkenly. He wasn't sure when that had stopped, but it had been before he ended up here.
"I'll get it," Chris offered, but Sam couldn't let a junior officer pay for his drinks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of cash he still didn't quite remember, shillings and old sixpence and other relics from his childhood pocket money days. Decimalization had taken place two years earlier, according to a newspaper article he'd recently read, and from what he could tell, people still missed their thrupenny bits. Personally, Sam would have given his eyeteeth for a debit card.
They stumbled out onto the street. It had started as a party, a celebration for catching what the tabloid press were already dubbing the "Rock and Roll Killer." It was good to know some things hadn't changed.
"Which way, boss?" Chris looked at him and, whether it was the drink or something else, suddenly the words took on a far more significant meaning for Sam.
"I don't know, Chris." He stopped, sagging against a nearby brick wall. "I don't know anything anymore."
Chris looked at him, his eyes unfocused. "Then let's get you home."
The room wasn't any more appealing now than it had been when Annie had first shown it to him. Sam collapsed on the hideous---and hideously uncomfortable---bed. He didn't realize Chris was still there until he said: "Annie told me she had to talk you down off some roof yesterday."
Sam's eyes flew open. "It's OK," Chris continued, "I didn't tell the DCI. I didn't tell anybody else."
"I'm seriously fucked up," Sam said. There was no other explanation for it. "But I'm not from around here." He was sure of that, always had been, no matter what anyone else tried to tell him.
"I believe you." He said it simply and honestly, and Sam was almost overwhelmed by gratitude just to hear those words.
"Thanks."
Chris shrugged. "I reckon I got enough secrets of my own, I can keep a few of yours, too."
Chris hadn't struck Sam as particularly deep, but looking at his troubled expression and his furrowed eyebrows, he knew there was something else there.
He sat up and, without taking his eyes off Sam's, Chris inched closer.
***
Maya was the love of Sam's life. She wasn't an easy love, because nothing with Maya was ever easy, but when he was with her, he felt happier than he ever had. Before Maya, though, there had been others, and not all of them were women.
Chris clearly hadn't confined himself to the opposite sex, either. A few moments later, he was unbuttoning Sam's shirt as Sam slid a hand over his arse and asked: "Have you got a condom?"
Chris looked at him like he was mad. "What for? You're not going to get me up the duff."
Right, Sam sighed. He moved his hand up to Chris's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Let's do something else."
Chris smiled, and Sam could tell he would have no trouble thinking of an alternative activity.
It was good. Sam had almost forgotten how good it could be. Afterwards, he lay beside Chris in the ridiculously narrow bed, dozing.
"I only do it when me and Sharon are on the outs," Chris said, after a moment of silence, although Sam hadn't asked for any explanation. "And there's no other girls handy. I prefer girls, really."
"I understand," he said, but Chris continued:
"If any of the blokes at work ever found out..."
"You'd be in for a hell of a rough time," Sam filled in. That much hadn't changed, no matter how many "diversity and sensitivity" training sessions they'd had to endure in Sam's time. The only difference was that people had the backup to do something about it in the twenty-first century.
"I'd be dead," Chris corrected him.
He opened his eyes. Chris looked dishevelled, his hair disarranged and his shirt hanging open. Sam could feel himself sliding from the pleasant, fuzzy stage of drunkenness into the guilty stage, and he felt suddenly sorry for Chris.
"You need to be careful," he said, although he was sure Chris already knew it. "And you need to use condoms. There's some really scary shit out there."
Chris stood up and got dressed, swaying only slightly as he pulled on his trousers. He smiled at Sam before he left and said: "See you tomorrow."
"Yeah." He didn't need to say anything else. Sam knew they'd never mention this again.
It was probably the drink. Still, when Chris had gone Sam felt strangely comforted that he might be lost, but at least he wasn't alone.