Fic: Moonlight, Blue Cortina, Sam/Gene, by talkingtothesky
Title: Moonlight
Rating: Blue Cortina (for the violence and torture of a supernatural change)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 1,814
Summary: The absurdity of living in 1973 with a Neanderthal boss who Sam now knows is not only gorgeous but an actual werewolf - it's just too much.
Notes: Happy Birthday, xysabridde! See also fern_tree's Nightshift and little_cello's Wolfsbane, from which stunning pieces of artwork this fic's inspiration originates.
Gene suddenly turns in the middle of a team briefing and stalks away into his office. The band of detectives glance at each other, confused.
Sam smoothly takes over from the Guv, finishes outlining the plan, assigning actions, dividing everyone into pairs. Once he's dismissed them all to set up their positions for tonight, Sam squares his shoulders and opens the door to Gene's lair, ready for a punch-up, or whatever's necessary to get Gene's mind back on the job.
Gene's standing facing away from Sam, and he's staring up at his Gary Cooper poster, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The stance pulls the material of his trousers taut over his arse, and Sam can't help admiring it as he draws closer.
Then he sees the blood. It's not much, just three distinct little blotches on Gene's left trouser leg, slowly spreading down his thigh. Sam reaches for Gene's left wrist, to gently tug his hand out of his pocket, and Gene takes a swipe at him. Sam's backed against the filing cabinet between one breath and the next, absurdly long, pointed nails gathering at his throat.
"Gene," Sam gasps out, not pleading but almost. It does the trick. Gene releases him. Suddenly he's looking right at Sam instead of straight through him. His eyes are horrified, ashamed. He goes to tuck his hand away out of sight, but Sam grabs it, inspects the weapons protruding out from the tips of his fingers. There's blood on the ends, and the skin around where Gene's normal nail beds should be is broken, sliced through, sore. These aren't fakes.
Sam cradles Gene's hand in his. "You've...you've got claws," he points out, in a small, wondering voice. Through the little rectangular windows at the top of CID's walls, a faint trace of moonlight trickles its way in, and Sam sees the sweat on Gene's face, the way he's not speaking because if he does he might growl.
Sam ought to laugh. The absurdity of living in 1973 with a Neanderthal boss who Sam now knows is not only gorgeous but an actual werewolf - it's just too much. But Sam knows Gene would think he was laughing at him instead of his own messed-up brain, so he squashes that impulse fast.
"How long have you been hiding this?" He asks instead.
"Since I were a kid," Gene grits out. "You should go, Sam, please. I don't want to hurt you. The team needs you."
Sam just smiles. All those times Gene had turned Sam down when he'd wanted to go for a pint, or invited Gene back to his place - Sam had feared he was being too clingy, too demanding. But it was this. He'd needed to be alone because of this. Well, not anymore.
"Where do you go, to be safe?"
"Lost and Found."
Sam squeezes Gene's shoulder once, then hurries to the coat rack and back again, draping the camel coat over his head and shoulders, to protect him from the light. Gene shivers and wraps it tighter around himself, and Sam rubs subtle circles with his palm in the centre of his back as they hurry out of the office and down the hall.
Once there, Gene seems to gather strength from the familiar and takes charge. He locates a bunch of keys from a shelf and unlocks a padlock on the locker closest to the table where they conduct their interviews. Sam notices, for the first time, that at the top of the green metal structure there's something written in black pen: CAGE 1.
"We need to take out all the shelves," Gene says, already hard at work. He's quaking with the effort of staying in control, and Sam rushes to help him. Once they've cleared out the space, a truly enormous amount of assorted items strewn over the floor, there's room inside for a man, almost to stand, but not quite.
"The vents," Gene gasps, gesturing to the far wall. Sam notices that his claws have retracted, but his fingers are still bloody and torn. Sam looks at the large rectangular grating halfway up the wall behind the table - they're leaking moonlight into the room. "Left hand wall, bottom shelf." Gene groans and Sam stares at him, helpless, as he curls into himself in pain. Gene snarls which gets Sam moving. He turns his back on him, although he probably shouldn't. He looks on the shelf Gene indicated and finds two big thick planks of wood, which he lifts up one by one and balances carefully on the ledges set in the wall. They cover the holes perfectly.
He turns to check if Gene's coping better now without the moon shining on him, only to see that he's shut himself into the cage. The sight is so fundamentally wrong that Sam swears under his breath, takes two steps towards him, wants to drag him out and fold him into his arms.
Gene holds out the keys, dangles them through a square gap in the grating. "Lock me in," he orders.
There's a hard lump in Sam's throat. "Gene..."
"If you don't, I will kill everyone."
Sam takes the keys and securely closes the heavy padlock.
Gene's wolf claws are out again, hooked loosely through the side of the cage. Sam folds his hand over Gene's as best he can, gives it what he hopes is a reassuring stroke.
"Can you hold on for me, Gene? I'm just going to go out in the corridor, ring Annie. I'll tell her you've been taken ill and I'm gonna baby-sit you, and to carry on as planned. Everyone knows what they're doing, there's no reason the operation can't go ahead without us."
Gene ignores this. His mind is entirely focused on holding back the change, everything else falling by the wayside. "Lock the door to this room too."
Sam blinks. "I'm not leaving you to go through this alone. I'll be back after I make the call."
Gene looks stricken. "Christ, Sam, no. Shut me in and get yourself out of the station."
---
Sam returns once he's finished on the phone. He locks the door to Lost and Found after him, with himself on the inside. Gene's taken off all his clothes, presumably so he doesn't tear them, and he's curled up shivering on the floor of the cage.
There's only one light source now, the harsh overhead bulb above the interview table makes him look washed out. He has apparently lost the power of speech, or he'd be cursing Sam black and blue for coming back in here. He sits up at the sound of Sam's footsteps, tracks his movement across the room with a sharp sniff, a stiff turn of the head.
Sam, reckless and fearless as ever when it comes to Gene, approaches the cage. He meets Gene's bloodshot gaze steadily, trying to convey the message that he's here for support, not judgement. Gene gives a low growl, evidently in a lot of pain. He drags his body around to face away from Sam.
Sam backs off, sits at the table to wait. Looks at the stuff on the floor. They really do keep a lot of random crap in here. Some of it is even in evidence bags - no such thing as a rigorous chain of custody in this time - but the rest might as well have been brought direct from a hundred car boot sales. Sam's trying to distract himself from this bizarre situation by focusing on the minutiae of the mundane, but it's hard to ignore the increasing volume of Gene's agonised whimpers. The sound severs Sam's heartstrings.
The metaphor seems particularly trite when Gene's body ripples and bucks and begins to tear itself apart.
Moments later the screaming starts.
Sam can't suppress his automatic flight response. He topples off the chair, upends the table between them like a shield, falls onto the floor behind it, hands clamped over his ears. But he refuses to shut his eyes. He promised to be with Gene through this and so he watches, every single horrifying second of it. Fur sprouts through ever pore, a tail appears, his long skinny legs get stockier, more muscled. His very skull cracks and expands to at least triple its human size, his human ears shrink to nothing and are replaced with wolf ears, his snout keeps growing and growing.
It takes an age for the transformation to be complete. By the time it's over, Sam's cheeks are streaked with tears, ears sore, head ringing. He gingerly lowers his hands, can hear more clearly the deep, sonorous, rumbling breaths of a creature with a much larger chest capacity than a human.
Sam stares, breath held, as the wolf paces the perimeter of its cage several times before stopping and slumping down in the middle.
Sam slides his sweaty palms over his trousers to his knees, which he tucks in close to his chest, hugging them like a child.
He still can't let himself look away. Perhaps the wolf - Gene, must think of him as Gene, it's still him, he's still in there - senses this, because he gets up again, comes over to the side of the cage, sizing Sam up. Although set in an unfamiliar face, there's something recognisable about the eyes.
Gene raises one large paw and places it against the mesh, slowly hooks his claws through, just as he had done before Sam left the room. He looks....immeasurably sad.
Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath, rolls sideways until he's crouching on his knees, then crawls across the floor. He all but collapses next to Gene when he gets there. Sam doesn't speak, because they're communicating on a level beyond words. He lifts his palm, rests it on the metal, so they're hand-to-paw. Up close, and having lost his fear, Sam can now appreciate the beautiful shades of gold in Gene's fur.
Gradually Gene lets his paw drop. His head dips too, snout resting on the floor, exhausted. His eyes squeeze shut like a cat's. He doesn't open them again.
Immediately bereft of their connection, Sam panics. "Hey, no. Gene, I'm still here." He fumbles for the keys. He pauses halfway through undoing the padlock, remembering - I will kill everyone - but looking at Gene now, he's too tired to move, let alone attack anyone, least of all Sam.
So he shuts himself up in the cage with Gene. Strokes a hand back between his ears, amazed at the softness of his fur. He sits and breathes with Gene for awhile, before he curls up on his side, displaying all the trust he possesses.
Resting on Gene's back, Sam's head rises and falls several inches with each intake and exhale. Gene gives a tired but lengthy wolf purr, and flicks his tail up around Sam's waist.
Rating: Blue Cortina (for the violence and torture of a supernatural change)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 1,814
Summary: The absurdity of living in 1973 with a Neanderthal boss who Sam now knows is not only gorgeous but an actual werewolf - it's just too much.
Notes: Happy Birthday, xysabridde! See also fern_tree's Nightshift and little_cello's Wolfsbane, from which stunning pieces of artwork this fic's inspiration originates.
Gene suddenly turns in the middle of a team briefing and stalks away into his office. The band of detectives glance at each other, confused.
Sam smoothly takes over from the Guv, finishes outlining the plan, assigning actions, dividing everyone into pairs. Once he's dismissed them all to set up their positions for tonight, Sam squares his shoulders and opens the door to Gene's lair, ready for a punch-up, or whatever's necessary to get Gene's mind back on the job.
Gene's standing facing away from Sam, and he's staring up at his Gary Cooper poster, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The stance pulls the material of his trousers taut over his arse, and Sam can't help admiring it as he draws closer.
Then he sees the blood. It's not much, just three distinct little blotches on Gene's left trouser leg, slowly spreading down his thigh. Sam reaches for Gene's left wrist, to gently tug his hand out of his pocket, and Gene takes a swipe at him. Sam's backed against the filing cabinet between one breath and the next, absurdly long, pointed nails gathering at his throat.
"Gene," Sam gasps out, not pleading but almost. It does the trick. Gene releases him. Suddenly he's looking right at Sam instead of straight through him. His eyes are horrified, ashamed. He goes to tuck his hand away out of sight, but Sam grabs it, inspects the weapons protruding out from the tips of his fingers. There's blood on the ends, and the skin around where Gene's normal nail beds should be is broken, sliced through, sore. These aren't fakes.
Sam cradles Gene's hand in his. "You've...you've got claws," he points out, in a small, wondering voice. Through the little rectangular windows at the top of CID's walls, a faint trace of moonlight trickles its way in, and Sam sees the sweat on Gene's face, the way he's not speaking because if he does he might growl.
Sam ought to laugh. The absurdity of living in 1973 with a Neanderthal boss who Sam now knows is not only gorgeous but an actual werewolf - it's just too much. But Sam knows Gene would think he was laughing at him instead of his own messed-up brain, so he squashes that impulse fast.
"How long have you been hiding this?" He asks instead.
"Since I were a kid," Gene grits out. "You should go, Sam, please. I don't want to hurt you. The team needs you."
Sam just smiles. All those times Gene had turned Sam down when he'd wanted to go for a pint, or invited Gene back to his place - Sam had feared he was being too clingy, too demanding. But it was this. He'd needed to be alone because of this. Well, not anymore.
"Where do you go, to be safe?"
"Lost and Found."
Sam squeezes Gene's shoulder once, then hurries to the coat rack and back again, draping the camel coat over his head and shoulders, to protect him from the light. Gene shivers and wraps it tighter around himself, and Sam rubs subtle circles with his palm in the centre of his back as they hurry out of the office and down the hall.
Once there, Gene seems to gather strength from the familiar and takes charge. He locates a bunch of keys from a shelf and unlocks a padlock on the locker closest to the table where they conduct their interviews. Sam notices, for the first time, that at the top of the green metal structure there's something written in black pen: CAGE 1.
"We need to take out all the shelves," Gene says, already hard at work. He's quaking with the effort of staying in control, and Sam rushes to help him. Once they've cleared out the space, a truly enormous amount of assorted items strewn over the floor, there's room inside for a man, almost to stand, but not quite.
"The vents," Gene gasps, gesturing to the far wall. Sam notices that his claws have retracted, but his fingers are still bloody and torn. Sam looks at the large rectangular grating halfway up the wall behind the table - they're leaking moonlight into the room. "Left hand wall, bottom shelf." Gene groans and Sam stares at him, helpless, as he curls into himself in pain. Gene snarls which gets Sam moving. He turns his back on him, although he probably shouldn't. He looks on the shelf Gene indicated and finds two big thick planks of wood, which he lifts up one by one and balances carefully on the ledges set in the wall. They cover the holes perfectly.
He turns to check if Gene's coping better now without the moon shining on him, only to see that he's shut himself into the cage. The sight is so fundamentally wrong that Sam swears under his breath, takes two steps towards him, wants to drag him out and fold him into his arms.
Gene holds out the keys, dangles them through a square gap in the grating. "Lock me in," he orders.
There's a hard lump in Sam's throat. "Gene..."
"If you don't, I will kill everyone."
Sam takes the keys and securely closes the heavy padlock.
Gene's wolf claws are out again, hooked loosely through the side of the cage. Sam folds his hand over Gene's as best he can, gives it what he hopes is a reassuring stroke.
"Can you hold on for me, Gene? I'm just going to go out in the corridor, ring Annie. I'll tell her you've been taken ill and I'm gonna baby-sit you, and to carry on as planned. Everyone knows what they're doing, there's no reason the operation can't go ahead without us."
Gene ignores this. His mind is entirely focused on holding back the change, everything else falling by the wayside. "Lock the door to this room too."
Sam blinks. "I'm not leaving you to go through this alone. I'll be back after I make the call."
Gene looks stricken. "Christ, Sam, no. Shut me in and get yourself out of the station."
---
Sam returns once he's finished on the phone. He locks the door to Lost and Found after him, with himself on the inside. Gene's taken off all his clothes, presumably so he doesn't tear them, and he's curled up shivering on the floor of the cage.
There's only one light source now, the harsh overhead bulb above the interview table makes him look washed out. He has apparently lost the power of speech, or he'd be cursing Sam black and blue for coming back in here. He sits up at the sound of Sam's footsteps, tracks his movement across the room with a sharp sniff, a stiff turn of the head.
Sam, reckless and fearless as ever when it comes to Gene, approaches the cage. He meets Gene's bloodshot gaze steadily, trying to convey the message that he's here for support, not judgement. Gene gives a low growl, evidently in a lot of pain. He drags his body around to face away from Sam.
Sam backs off, sits at the table to wait. Looks at the stuff on the floor. They really do keep a lot of random crap in here. Some of it is even in evidence bags - no such thing as a rigorous chain of custody in this time - but the rest might as well have been brought direct from a hundred car boot sales. Sam's trying to distract himself from this bizarre situation by focusing on the minutiae of the mundane, but it's hard to ignore the increasing volume of Gene's agonised whimpers. The sound severs Sam's heartstrings.
The metaphor seems particularly trite when Gene's body ripples and bucks and begins to tear itself apart.
Moments later the screaming starts.
Sam can't suppress his automatic flight response. He topples off the chair, upends the table between them like a shield, falls onto the floor behind it, hands clamped over his ears. But he refuses to shut his eyes. He promised to be with Gene through this and so he watches, every single horrifying second of it. Fur sprouts through ever pore, a tail appears, his long skinny legs get stockier, more muscled. His very skull cracks and expands to at least triple its human size, his human ears shrink to nothing and are replaced with wolf ears, his snout keeps growing and growing.
It takes an age for the transformation to be complete. By the time it's over, Sam's cheeks are streaked with tears, ears sore, head ringing. He gingerly lowers his hands, can hear more clearly the deep, sonorous, rumbling breaths of a creature with a much larger chest capacity than a human.
Sam stares, breath held, as the wolf paces the perimeter of its cage several times before stopping and slumping down in the middle.
Sam slides his sweaty palms over his trousers to his knees, which he tucks in close to his chest, hugging them like a child.
He still can't let himself look away. Perhaps the wolf - Gene, must think of him as Gene, it's still him, he's still in there - senses this, because he gets up again, comes over to the side of the cage, sizing Sam up. Although set in an unfamiliar face, there's something recognisable about the eyes.
Gene raises one large paw and places it against the mesh, slowly hooks his claws through, just as he had done before Sam left the room. He looks....immeasurably sad.
Sam takes a deep, shuddering breath, rolls sideways until he's crouching on his knees, then crawls across the floor. He all but collapses next to Gene when he gets there. Sam doesn't speak, because they're communicating on a level beyond words. He lifts his palm, rests it on the metal, so they're hand-to-paw. Up close, and having lost his fear, Sam can now appreciate the beautiful shades of gold in Gene's fur.
Gradually Gene lets his paw drop. His head dips too, snout resting on the floor, exhausted. His eyes squeeze shut like a cat's. He doesn't open them again.
Immediately bereft of their connection, Sam panics. "Hey, no. Gene, I'm still here." He fumbles for the keys. He pauses halfway through undoing the padlock, remembering - I will kill everyone - but looking at Gene now, he's too tired to move, let alone attack anyone, least of all Sam.
So he shuts himself up in the cage with Gene. Strokes a hand back between his ears, amazed at the softness of his fur. He sits and breathes with Gene for awhile, before he curls up on his side, displaying all the trust he possesses.
Resting on Gene's back, Sam's head rises and falls several inches with each intake and exhale. Gene gives a tired but lengthy wolf purr, and flicks his tail up around Sam's waist.