Fic: Wine Glasses for LittleCello
Title: Wine Glasses (How original)
Author: MasterPages
Recipient: Little_Cello
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count: 853
Prompt: in 1.2, we see Sam drinking wine out of a tea mug. Later on, he owns actual wineglasses. My prompt is: The tale of how Sam acquired said wine glasses!
Notes/Warnings: Decided not to try to fit this in 300 words. :p
Summary: The hardest step of any journey is the first.
Sam noticed that Annie kept looking around his flat as if she were trying to find something. He couldn’t imagine what was causing this behavior-he hadn’t changed a thing in the place since he arrived and unpacked his few belongings. Those few belongings didn’t even feel like his-the dozen shirts, the half-dozen pairs of trousers… they weren’t really his style, but at least they were comfortable.
Then she spoke and he realized that the lack of change was exactly what she was looking at. “Sam… have you not got anything new since you came here?”
“No. Should I have?”
She shrugged. “It’s just… usually when you go to someone’s flat, it looks like their flat, you know? This just looks like a flat, not Sam Tyler’s flat.”
Sam looked around, too. Sam Tyler’s ugly flat, he added silently. “Doesn’t really feel like it’s mine, I guess. Anyway, I… I’m never completely sure I’m staying. So, why get new things?”
“It’s not so bad, is it? You’ve only been here what-five weeks?”
“Was scarcely in town five minutes before Gene wanted me gone,” he muttered darkly into his cup.
“He doesn’t, though. Maybe he did, but not now. And anyway…” she looked around for the twentieth time. “You’re still drinkin’ wine out of mugs, for heaven’s sake,” she said at last, lifting her cup for emphasis. “Don’t you ever want to settle in properly?”
He sighed quietly. “I dunno. Maybe.”
As he washed up the cups later (I’d kill for an automatic dishwasher) he thought about the prospect of “settling in properly.” He knew Annie would have listened if he’d reminded her that he hoped to wake up from his coma any day now, but she wouldn’t have believed him. She never quite did.
“If I had to dream up a world like this where I don’t fit in,” he muttered to himself, “why couldn’t I at least dream up someone who would believe my story?”
And then there was that nagging doubt again-what if he hadn’t dreamed it up? What if he’d dreamed up the 2006 world? What if his life there with his mum and Maya and being a DCI had all been some strange fantasy and this was his real life? They said he’d been in an accident on the way in from Hyde… what if he’d only forgotten his life there? Maybe he had another family, other mates, a whole life?
Just thinking about it very much made him sick. This world looked real, felt real, tasted real… and he could certainly feel pain here-Gene had shown him that on his first day. And his second. And his third… wait, just about every day since he’d arrived.
Sam looked around his flat again. It did look pretty dismal, but fixing it up would be like admitting defeat-surrendering to being trapped here.
Well, he wasn’t going out that night, that was certain. He could think about sprucing the place up another time. And it wasn’t as if it were dirty or falling apart… it just wasn’t homey. He could survive that.
He tried to keep from thinking about it over the next couple of days as he buried himself in work as usual. He stayed late at the pub so he would be too tired to think about the drab wallpaper or mismatched dishes or frightful bedspread. But one night he had to wake up a little because there was a package waiting outside his door.
He noted that it was hand delivered, with only his name and room number in the place of his address. He pulled the rough string off and tugged away the brown paper. The cardboard box underneath sported the black outline of a wine glass and said “FRAGILE.” He set the box on the floor again so he could open the card.
Sam, Here’s a little flat-warming gift for you. Just say when and I’ll bring over some wine to christen them with. ~Annie
He stared at the elegant handwriting and then let his eyes go out of focus, looking through the note at nothing. It was rude to refuse a gift. This was very sweet of Annie. She was trying to make him feel welcome.
He picked up the box and its wrapping again, careful not to leave anything lying in the hall. He took the box to his little kitchen and opened the cabinet where he kept his mugs. The new glasses filled the other half of the shelf nicely. They looked like they belonged there. He wasn’t sure what to do with the card. It felt wrong to throw it away, so in the end he put it in a drawer.
Am I giving up, then? he wondered. Will I be here forever?
He thought about the row of glasses on the worn shelf and about having Annie back over to test them out. It still wasn’t home, but it wasn’t so bad.
He stepped into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror. “Guess I really should get a new one,” he murmured.
Author: MasterPages
Recipient: Little_Cello
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count: 853
Prompt: in 1.2, we see Sam drinking wine out of a tea mug. Later on, he owns actual wineglasses. My prompt is: The tale of how Sam acquired said wine glasses!
Notes/Warnings: Decided not to try to fit this in 300 words. :p
Summary: The hardest step of any journey is the first.
Sam noticed that Annie kept looking around his flat as if she were trying to find something. He couldn’t imagine what was causing this behavior-he hadn’t changed a thing in the place since he arrived and unpacked his few belongings. Those few belongings didn’t even feel like his-the dozen shirts, the half-dozen pairs of trousers… they weren’t really his style, but at least they were comfortable.
Then she spoke and he realized that the lack of change was exactly what she was looking at. “Sam… have you not got anything new since you came here?”
“No. Should I have?”
She shrugged. “It’s just… usually when you go to someone’s flat, it looks like their flat, you know? This just looks like a flat, not Sam Tyler’s flat.”
Sam looked around, too. Sam Tyler’s ugly flat, he added silently. “Doesn’t really feel like it’s mine, I guess. Anyway, I… I’m never completely sure I’m staying. So, why get new things?”
“It’s not so bad, is it? You’ve only been here what-five weeks?”
“Was scarcely in town five minutes before Gene wanted me gone,” he muttered darkly into his cup.
“He doesn’t, though. Maybe he did, but not now. And anyway…” she looked around for the twentieth time. “You’re still drinkin’ wine out of mugs, for heaven’s sake,” she said at last, lifting her cup for emphasis. “Don’t you ever want to settle in properly?”
He sighed quietly. “I dunno. Maybe.”
As he washed up the cups later (I’d kill for an automatic dishwasher) he thought about the prospect of “settling in properly.” He knew Annie would have listened if he’d reminded her that he hoped to wake up from his coma any day now, but she wouldn’t have believed him. She never quite did.
“If I had to dream up a world like this where I don’t fit in,” he muttered to himself, “why couldn’t I at least dream up someone who would believe my story?”
And then there was that nagging doubt again-what if he hadn’t dreamed it up? What if he’d dreamed up the 2006 world? What if his life there with his mum and Maya and being a DCI had all been some strange fantasy and this was his real life? They said he’d been in an accident on the way in from Hyde… what if he’d only forgotten his life there? Maybe he had another family, other mates, a whole life?
Just thinking about it very much made him sick. This world looked real, felt real, tasted real… and he could certainly feel pain here-Gene had shown him that on his first day. And his second. And his third… wait, just about every day since he’d arrived.
Sam looked around his flat again. It did look pretty dismal, but fixing it up would be like admitting defeat-surrendering to being trapped here.
Well, he wasn’t going out that night, that was certain. He could think about sprucing the place up another time. And it wasn’t as if it were dirty or falling apart… it just wasn’t homey. He could survive that.
He tried to keep from thinking about it over the next couple of days as he buried himself in work as usual. He stayed late at the pub so he would be too tired to think about the drab wallpaper or mismatched dishes or frightful bedspread. But one night he had to wake up a little because there was a package waiting outside his door.
He noted that it was hand delivered, with only his name and room number in the place of his address. He pulled the rough string off and tugged away the brown paper. The cardboard box underneath sported the black outline of a wine glass and said “FRAGILE.” He set the box on the floor again so he could open the card.
Sam, Here’s a little flat-warming gift for you. Just say when and I’ll bring over some wine to christen them with. ~Annie
He stared at the elegant handwriting and then let his eyes go out of focus, looking through the note at nothing. It was rude to refuse a gift. This was very sweet of Annie. She was trying to make him feel welcome.
He picked up the box and its wrapping again, careful not to leave anything lying in the hall. He took the box to his little kitchen and opened the cabinet where he kept his mugs. The new glasses filled the other half of the shelf nicely. They looked like they belonged there. He wasn’t sure what to do with the card. It felt wrong to throw it away, so in the end he put it in a drawer.
Am I giving up, then? he wondered. Will I be here forever?
He thought about the row of glasses on the worn shelf and about having Annie back over to test them out. It still wasn’t home, but it wasn’t so bad.
He stepped into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror. “Guess I really should get a new one,” he murmured.