Saliva--Life on Mars, gen
Title: Saliva
Author: pink_bagels
Summary: Gene's bugging Sam.
NOTE: Just a silly little thing whipped up for this challenge:P.
SALIVA
DCI Gene Hunt, the self-proclaimed Sheriff of Manchester's 'A' Division, felt like crap. He coughed loudly into a handkerchief and wiped his nose noisily with it before stuffing the piece of germ ridden cotton back into his shirt pocket.
"Right, here's what we're doing. Sammy Boy and I will be in the back closet, while you lads hang about the front door and make like you're selling ties or some such. Just get them distracted long enough for Alice and I here to take 'em down." A massive coughing fit at this order had Gene bent double over Sam's desk, his red face tempered by all kinds of shades of unhealthy green thanks to his overall pallor.
"You're sick," Sam said.
"I see we have a doctor in the house," Gene replied. He crossed his arms and glared greenly down at Sam who was seated at his desk. Arranged on its surface were several bottles of cleaner and a tidy spray bottle that once held window cleaner and was now labelled 'water and bleach' with a piece of masking tape and red marker. Gene was about to comment on this, only to have his speech halted by the sudden sneeze that erupted from him and aimed itself directly at Sam and his desk.
With a sulk Sam shook out a piece of Kleenex from a nearby box and instead of offering it to his sick and in need DCI he picked up the spray bottle of water and bleach and liberally showered the surface of his desk. He used the Kleenex to wipe it up and then tossed its soggy remnants into his wastepaper bin.
"What the hell is all this?" Gene asked, his stuffy nose making his words sound more like: 'Wha du ell is all dis?"
"Infection control," Sam said. "You shouldn't be here, when you're sick you should stay home."
"Right. Makes sense, don't it--I'm sure the criminal element has the same set of rules you do. 'Oh dear, call off the heist we planned, ol' Roy's got a sniffle!'" Gene pointed at the accruement of cleaners on the edge of Sam's desk. "Since when did you become the happy housewife?"
"It's his best defence against disease," Ray said, grinning around his juicy fruit, only to falter at the glare Gene gave him. "It's *his* words, Gov, not mine."
"I got a fever you idiot, not a 'disease'," Gene shot at Sam. "Hardly something to get worked up about."
"You're contagious," Sam said, shrinking from Gene's form as the large man sat himself on the edge of Sam's desk. "I can't afford to get what you've got, my immune system's weakened."
Gene took his hankie out and loudly blew his nose. "My God, that's disgusting!" Sam said as he watched Gene put the viral cotton cloth back in his shirt pocket. "Do you have any idea the amount of germs you have floating around you thanks to that stupid hankie?"
"Good enough for my forefathers, it's good enough for me," Gene said. "My Missus bought me these special for me birthday." He took the hankie out and shook it in front of a horrified Sam. "This here's *my* battle against the flu bug. Generations before me have used hankies for decades to no ill effect."
"Would that be the generation that was wiped out with Spanish flu?"
Chris pressed his palms on Sam's desk, his expression earnest. "So...Boss...When exactly do we meet to sell these guys...ties?"
"Six am, on the morrow," Gene said.
"Where are we going to get the ties?"
"You don't really need them, Chris, it's just to get them to open the door." Chris moved away from the desk, and Sam frantically waved him back. "Here, hold out your hands, palms up," Sam said. He took a small bottle out of his desk drawer and soaked a cotton ball before rubbing said object over Chris's extended palms.
"Rubbing alcohol," Sam explained. "Don't have any antibacterial lotion, so this will have to do. Kills all germs on contact, 100% effective."
Chris wasn't impressed. A sickening waft of pure rubbing alcohol floated around him like a medicinal cloud. He left Sam and Gene to their discussion, his face pinched in a foul expression as he tested a sniff of his fingers.
"You know, I thought having the flu was making me sick enough," Gene said. "You don't need to prep the place for surgery, Sam, the only person sick in this room right now is me and the only person risking traction from acting like a right moron is you! Besides," Gene took a small, orange bottle out of his side pocket and opened the cap, taking a small pill out of it and downing it with a quick flick of his wrist. "Got me the antibiotics, don't I? I'm on the mend already."
"Antibiotics don't do anything," Sam sneered. "And that's the rest of the bottle you didn't take from the last time you got sick--You're supposed to take the entire prescription, all you've done is just make the virus more resistant to whatever flu bug it is that's hit you. Thanks to you, I have to live with the threat of methicillin-resistant staphylococcus and clostridium difficile. Antibiotics don't do a thing to get rid of colds and flu anyway, it's only for secondary infections caused by them."
"Dr. Kildare, I presume?" Gene said, popping another antibiotic for good measure.
"That reminds me," Sam said, and opened his desk drawer once again, this time taking out a plastic package with a Red Cross sticker on its surface. "I got some masks."
Gene coughed and didn't bother covering it up with his fist. "Do I dare ask why?"
"You need to wear one tomorrow morning. We'll be in close proximity to each other in that back closet and I don't want to have your microbes invading me."
"Are you honestly telling me you want me to wear a surgical mask on a takedown just so you don't risk getting a sniffle?"
"I'm asking you to wear it as a courtesy."
Gene stood up and braced his hands on either side of Sam's desk. He leaned towards his young DI and with one, saliva and phlegm meaty breath he coughed, loudly and long, directly into Sam's face.
"Well, how about that?" Gene said, grinning at a furious and now doomed to flu Sam. "I feel better already."
END
Author: pink_bagels
Summary: Gene's bugging Sam.
NOTE: Just a silly little thing whipped up for this challenge:P.
SALIVA
DCI Gene Hunt, the self-proclaimed Sheriff of Manchester's 'A' Division, felt like crap. He coughed loudly into a handkerchief and wiped his nose noisily with it before stuffing the piece of germ ridden cotton back into his shirt pocket.
"Right, here's what we're doing. Sammy Boy and I will be in the back closet, while you lads hang about the front door and make like you're selling ties or some such. Just get them distracted long enough for Alice and I here to take 'em down." A massive coughing fit at this order had Gene bent double over Sam's desk, his red face tempered by all kinds of shades of unhealthy green thanks to his overall pallor.
"You're sick," Sam said.
"I see we have a doctor in the house," Gene replied. He crossed his arms and glared greenly down at Sam who was seated at his desk. Arranged on its surface were several bottles of cleaner and a tidy spray bottle that once held window cleaner and was now labelled 'water and bleach' with a piece of masking tape and red marker. Gene was about to comment on this, only to have his speech halted by the sudden sneeze that erupted from him and aimed itself directly at Sam and his desk.
With a sulk Sam shook out a piece of Kleenex from a nearby box and instead of offering it to his sick and in need DCI he picked up the spray bottle of water and bleach and liberally showered the surface of his desk. He used the Kleenex to wipe it up and then tossed its soggy remnants into his wastepaper bin.
"What the hell is all this?" Gene asked, his stuffy nose making his words sound more like: 'Wha du ell is all dis?"
"Infection control," Sam said. "You shouldn't be here, when you're sick you should stay home."
"Right. Makes sense, don't it--I'm sure the criminal element has the same set of rules you do. 'Oh dear, call off the heist we planned, ol' Roy's got a sniffle!'" Gene pointed at the accruement of cleaners on the edge of Sam's desk. "Since when did you become the happy housewife?"
"It's his best defence against disease," Ray said, grinning around his juicy fruit, only to falter at the glare Gene gave him. "It's *his* words, Gov, not mine."
"I got a fever you idiot, not a 'disease'," Gene shot at Sam. "Hardly something to get worked up about."
"You're contagious," Sam said, shrinking from Gene's form as the large man sat himself on the edge of Sam's desk. "I can't afford to get what you've got, my immune system's weakened."
Gene took his hankie out and loudly blew his nose. "My God, that's disgusting!" Sam said as he watched Gene put the viral cotton cloth back in his shirt pocket. "Do you have any idea the amount of germs you have floating around you thanks to that stupid hankie?"
"Good enough for my forefathers, it's good enough for me," Gene said. "My Missus bought me these special for me birthday." He took the hankie out and shook it in front of a horrified Sam. "This here's *my* battle against the flu bug. Generations before me have used hankies for decades to no ill effect."
"Would that be the generation that was wiped out with Spanish flu?"
Chris pressed his palms on Sam's desk, his expression earnest. "So...Boss...When exactly do we meet to sell these guys...ties?"
"Six am, on the morrow," Gene said.
"Where are we going to get the ties?"
"You don't really need them, Chris, it's just to get them to open the door." Chris moved away from the desk, and Sam frantically waved him back. "Here, hold out your hands, palms up," Sam said. He took a small bottle out of his desk drawer and soaked a cotton ball before rubbing said object over Chris's extended palms.
"Rubbing alcohol," Sam explained. "Don't have any antibacterial lotion, so this will have to do. Kills all germs on contact, 100% effective."
Chris wasn't impressed. A sickening waft of pure rubbing alcohol floated around him like a medicinal cloud. He left Sam and Gene to their discussion, his face pinched in a foul expression as he tested a sniff of his fingers.
"You know, I thought having the flu was making me sick enough," Gene said. "You don't need to prep the place for surgery, Sam, the only person sick in this room right now is me and the only person risking traction from acting like a right moron is you! Besides," Gene took a small, orange bottle out of his side pocket and opened the cap, taking a small pill out of it and downing it with a quick flick of his wrist. "Got me the antibiotics, don't I? I'm on the mend already."
"Antibiotics don't do anything," Sam sneered. "And that's the rest of the bottle you didn't take from the last time you got sick--You're supposed to take the entire prescription, all you've done is just make the virus more resistant to whatever flu bug it is that's hit you. Thanks to you, I have to live with the threat of methicillin-resistant staphylococcus and clostridium difficile. Antibiotics don't do a thing to get rid of colds and flu anyway, it's only for secondary infections caused by them."
"Dr. Kildare, I presume?" Gene said, popping another antibiotic for good measure.
"That reminds me," Sam said, and opened his desk drawer once again, this time taking out a plastic package with a Red Cross sticker on its surface. "I got some masks."
Gene coughed and didn't bother covering it up with his fist. "Do I dare ask why?"
"You need to wear one tomorrow morning. We'll be in close proximity to each other in that back closet and I don't want to have your microbes invading me."
"Are you honestly telling me you want me to wear a surgical mask on a takedown just so you don't risk getting a sniffle?"
"I'm asking you to wear it as a courtesy."
Gene stood up and braced his hands on either side of Sam's desk. He leaned towards his young DI and with one, saliva and phlegm meaty breath he coughed, loudly and long, directly into Sam's face.
"Well, how about that?" Gene said, grinning at a furious and now doomed to flu Sam. "I feel better already."
END