Fic: Home Is Where The Heart Is by momentarylapse8, White Cortina
Title: Home Is Where The Heart Is
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count/Length: 1299
Pairing: Gene and Sam
Summary: Gene helps Sam find a place to live. Directly post 2.08
Just a silly little thing driven by my house hunting atm and the fact that it is all i have nightmares dream about.
Not beta'd so sorry in advance for any errors
The newspaper hit the desk with a loud crack that made Sam jump and resulted in him spilling half his mug of tea down his shirt front. He looked up to see who was disturbing him and saw Gene stood there. All folded arms and amused smirk. As Sam started to mop up his tea Gene chose to enlighten him as to the reason for the interruption.
'Rung all the ones I reckon you can afford.'
This appeared to be all the information he was willing to give at this time. So Sam settled his expression into bemused indifference and silently entered in to a battle of wills over who would speak next.
'Not gonna look at them then?' Gene remarked. Knowing that now Sam had to either ask what he was on about or actually pick up the paper.
Unwilling to forgive the fact that his favourite shirt was now ruined, Sam opted to pick up the paper. Rather than risk speaking and letting Gene know he had pissed him off.
The paper was folded in half and again, and on the quarter page showing were several red ink rings. All circling flats to rent within easy distance of the station.
Sam looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow at Gene. This was almost...thoughtful. Therefore nothing at all like his DCI.
'You need a new place, Sammy. Yours is a dump. I've seen whorehouses in better nick and junkies with better furniture. So you have to get somewhere else. Since you've decided to stay an' all...'
This last part was phrased so very nearly as a question that Sam couldn't help but respond.
'Yeah. Yes, yes I am staying. Thanks,Guv. I'll take a look at some this weekend.'
'No time like the present, Sammy. It's as deserted as the space between Chris's ears in here and as dead as Ray's love life out there. Come on, get yer jacket. We'll take a look at some now.
We? Sam spluttered out the last of the tea he hadn't poured down himself and just stared at Gene.
'Gladys, get up, now. The Gene Genie has decided to help you and bestow some of his worldly knowledge and considerable good taste on your quest for new lodgings. So get up and be grateful.'
Leaning down close to Sam's ear he added, in tones only Sam could hear.
'I'm bored. Don't make me find alternative entertainment, Sam. You tend to get dead precious about me teasing that little plonk of yours...'
He stood up straight, winked and headed for the door, confident his shadow would follow.
The journey round the suburbs of Manchester was uneventful, only in that they didn't die. Gene drove like he was being pursued by the hounds of hell and missed bins, parked cars and pedestrians by inches and luck alone.
At each address on the list Sam staggered out of the car and was thankful to be alive. Until, that was, he walked in to each flat and saw what being alive in each one would mean. Squalor did not even begin to describe most of them. And even Gene had to admit that with each flat he saw he began to like the pit Sam lived in just a little more.
Eventually they had seen every place within Sam's budget and they had both reached the end of their patience. As much as Sam had appreciated Gene's help initially, he now wished the grumpy old git had never bothered.
It was hot in the car and that wasn't helping the already frayed nerves.
'For God's sake, Guv - will you please stop whining about being bored. This was all your bloody idea. I was happy to do this at the weekend. On. My. Own.'
'Well excuse me for trying to help, Tyler. Shan't bother again. Leave you to rot in that cesspit you call a flat. You can sort yourself out you ungrateful beggar.'
'It's not that I don't appreciate...'
Gene held up and hand and cut in over him.
'Save it Tyler. I know when I'm not wanted.'
This petulance was accompanied by a pout that no 5 year old could match and Sam couldn't help but smile. He just made sure to do it out of the side window to avoid being hit.
It was while facing this way he saw a man putting up a sign on the inside of a terraced house window saying 'To Let'. (Gene at this point being momentarily stopped in his 'Rally Manchester' game by a gang of children in the road. Running kids over causing too much paperwork and all...)
'Stop!' yelled Sam.
'I'm nowhere near the bloody kids, Tyler. And they should be able to see this beauty coming and be stood in quiet appreciation of her golden magnificence. Not hollering about like hooligans.'
'It's not the kids, Guv. Look at that sign.'
Gene looked over, saw the 'To Let' sign and pulled in to a space further up the road. Barking his usual threat to the playing kids he sauntered back down the road to join an overly exuberant Tyler.
By the time he reached the front door of the vacant property Sam was already talking to the man who put up the sign. It turned out he worked for one of the more reputable agencies and the previous tenants had just moved out the week before.
The house itself was like so many in Manchester, a perfect red-brick clone of every other in the street. Inside it was a tiny 2 up, 2 down and Sam was in love. It didn't matter that if he rented this place on his own he couldn't afford to eat. It was the house of his childhood (well not the exact one, but close enough not to matter) and he had to have it.
As it turned out the house was a lot cheaper than Sam had first thought. Gene being useful not for his worldly knowledge or considerable good taste, but his persuasive personality. It took very few barely concealed threats of arrest, harassment and general unpleasantness before the price came down to something Sam was quite capable of affording. (All conducted out of the range of prissy, picky, pain-in-the-arse, doesn't-know-what's-good-for-him ears, of course.)
So it was a done deal and Sam moved in that weekend. Leaving behind all of the crappy furniture and vomit inducing wallpaper he had landed in this time with was one of the biggest joys Sam had ever known. He had soon finished decorating and furnishing the new house and he had even started on improving his postage stamp garden.
The one thing Sam had taken extra care over was choosing the right sofa. He spent a long time trying to find one big enough for a full grown man of, say, 6'1" to stretch out on and it dominated his tiny living room. But it was important, as Sam rarely spent a night alone in his little castle.
After sitting down to a take away dinner of fish and chips, and relaxed by generous amounts of scotch Gene and Sam sprawled on the sofa and were watching Dr Who.
'I don't know that I ever thanked you for helping me find this place, Gene.'
'That is because you are an ungrateful little git, Sammy. Pass the bottle'
'Here. Well thanks, I love it here. Fells like home'
'Aye'
Pouring a generous measure for himself, and handing the bottle back, Gene leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. For the first time in such a long time he really did feel at home. With the smell of scotch and salt and vinegar and Sam in his nose, he breathed in deep and exhaled slowly.
'Aye. Feels like home.'
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count/Length: 1299
Pairing: Gene and Sam
Summary: Gene helps Sam find a place to live. Directly post 2.08
Just a silly little thing driven by my house hunting atm and the fact that it is all i have nightmares dream about.
Not beta'd so sorry in advance for any errors
The newspaper hit the desk with a loud crack that made Sam jump and resulted in him spilling half his mug of tea down his shirt front. He looked up to see who was disturbing him and saw Gene stood there. All folded arms and amused smirk. As Sam started to mop up his tea Gene chose to enlighten him as to the reason for the interruption.
'Rung all the ones I reckon you can afford.'
This appeared to be all the information he was willing to give at this time. So Sam settled his expression into bemused indifference and silently entered in to a battle of wills over who would speak next.
'Not gonna look at them then?' Gene remarked. Knowing that now Sam had to either ask what he was on about or actually pick up the paper.
Unwilling to forgive the fact that his favourite shirt was now ruined, Sam opted to pick up the paper. Rather than risk speaking and letting Gene know he had pissed him off.
The paper was folded in half and again, and on the quarter page showing were several red ink rings. All circling flats to rent within easy distance of the station.
Sam looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow at Gene. This was almost...thoughtful. Therefore nothing at all like his DCI.
'You need a new place, Sammy. Yours is a dump. I've seen whorehouses in better nick and junkies with better furniture. So you have to get somewhere else. Since you've decided to stay an' all...'
This last part was phrased so very nearly as a question that Sam couldn't help but respond.
'Yeah. Yes, yes I am staying. Thanks,Guv. I'll take a look at some this weekend.'
'No time like the present, Sammy. It's as deserted as the space between Chris's ears in here and as dead as Ray's love life out there. Come on, get yer jacket. We'll take a look at some now.
We? Sam spluttered out the last of the tea he hadn't poured down himself and just stared at Gene.
'Gladys, get up, now. The Gene Genie has decided to help you and bestow some of his worldly knowledge and considerable good taste on your quest for new lodgings. So get up and be grateful.'
Leaning down close to Sam's ear he added, in tones only Sam could hear.
'I'm bored. Don't make me find alternative entertainment, Sam. You tend to get dead precious about me teasing that little plonk of yours...'
He stood up straight, winked and headed for the door, confident his shadow would follow.
The journey round the suburbs of Manchester was uneventful, only in that they didn't die. Gene drove like he was being pursued by the hounds of hell and missed bins, parked cars and pedestrians by inches and luck alone.
At each address on the list Sam staggered out of the car and was thankful to be alive. Until, that was, he walked in to each flat and saw what being alive in each one would mean. Squalor did not even begin to describe most of them. And even Gene had to admit that with each flat he saw he began to like the pit Sam lived in just a little more.
Eventually they had seen every place within Sam's budget and they had both reached the end of their patience. As much as Sam had appreciated Gene's help initially, he now wished the grumpy old git had never bothered.
It was hot in the car and that wasn't helping the already frayed nerves.
'For God's sake, Guv - will you please stop whining about being bored. This was all your bloody idea. I was happy to do this at the weekend. On. My. Own.'
'Well excuse me for trying to help, Tyler. Shan't bother again. Leave you to rot in that cesspit you call a flat. You can sort yourself out you ungrateful beggar.'
'It's not that I don't appreciate...'
Gene held up and hand and cut in over him.
'Save it Tyler. I know when I'm not wanted.'
This petulance was accompanied by a pout that no 5 year old could match and Sam couldn't help but smile. He just made sure to do it out of the side window to avoid being hit.
It was while facing this way he saw a man putting up a sign on the inside of a terraced house window saying 'To Let'. (Gene at this point being momentarily stopped in his 'Rally Manchester' game by a gang of children in the road. Running kids over causing too much paperwork and all...)
'Stop!' yelled Sam.
'I'm nowhere near the bloody kids, Tyler. And they should be able to see this beauty coming and be stood in quiet appreciation of her golden magnificence. Not hollering about like hooligans.'
'It's not the kids, Guv. Look at that sign.'
Gene looked over, saw the 'To Let' sign and pulled in to a space further up the road. Barking his usual threat to the playing kids he sauntered back down the road to join an overly exuberant Tyler.
By the time he reached the front door of the vacant property Sam was already talking to the man who put up the sign. It turned out he worked for one of the more reputable agencies and the previous tenants had just moved out the week before.
The house itself was like so many in Manchester, a perfect red-brick clone of every other in the street. Inside it was a tiny 2 up, 2 down and Sam was in love. It didn't matter that if he rented this place on his own he couldn't afford to eat. It was the house of his childhood (well not the exact one, but close enough not to matter) and he had to have it.
As it turned out the house was a lot cheaper than Sam had first thought. Gene being useful not for his worldly knowledge or considerable good taste, but his persuasive personality. It took very few barely concealed threats of arrest, harassment and general unpleasantness before the price came down to something Sam was quite capable of affording. (All conducted out of the range of prissy, picky, pain-in-the-arse, doesn't-know-what's-good-for-him ears, of course.)
So it was a done deal and Sam moved in that weekend. Leaving behind all of the crappy furniture and vomit inducing wallpaper he had landed in this time with was one of the biggest joys Sam had ever known. He had soon finished decorating and furnishing the new house and he had even started on improving his postage stamp garden.
The one thing Sam had taken extra care over was choosing the right sofa. He spent a long time trying to find one big enough for a full grown man of, say, 6'1" to stretch out on and it dominated his tiny living room. But it was important, as Sam rarely spent a night alone in his little castle.
After sitting down to a take away dinner of fish and chips, and relaxed by generous amounts of scotch Gene and Sam sprawled on the sofa and were watching Dr Who.
'I don't know that I ever thanked you for helping me find this place, Gene.'
'That is because you are an ungrateful little git, Sammy. Pass the bottle'
'Here. Well thanks, I love it here. Fells like home'
'Aye'
Pouring a generous measure for himself, and handing the bottle back, Gene leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. For the first time in such a long time he really did feel at home. With the smell of scotch and salt and vinegar and Sam in his nose, he breathed in deep and exhaled slowly.
'Aye. Feels like home.'