fic: Let Nothing Ye Dismay
Yay, new fandom! I know -- I'm a fandom-jumping whore. I can't help it, Life on Mars is some kind of wonderful. Srsly, you guys, why did no one tell me about it before? Slashy cop buddies getting in each other's faces and saving each other's lives -- I kind of have a type here, people!!!
Anyhoo. I wrote fic, mostly trying to get the voices. Time spent writing fic: 4 hours. Time spent reading dictionaries of British and/or 70's slang: more like 14 hours.
Title: Let Nothing Ye Dismay
Fandom: Life on Mars (UK)
Pairing: Sam/Gene, pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,000
Summary: Gene learns about the true meaning of Christmas … in some other story. In this one, he gets pissed and Sam drives him home.
Sam stood in the doorway of the CID watching the boys trickle out; Chris and Ray each had a bottle in one hand, clinging to each other as they tried to stay upright. They were singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman loudly and with much enthusiasm. Chris was still wearing the paper crown he'd got from a Christmas cracker.
“One of the CID's better parties, I'll give it that,” Gene said, coming to stand next to Sam in the doorway. He was over-enunciating in a way that suggested he was well and truly pissed.
“If the amount of holiday cheer is directly proportional to the amount of booze, then I'd have to agree,” Sam said, trailing after Gene as he started down the steps. The Guv was trying to get his coat on, but he seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble finding the correct sleeve. He stopped, frowning at the coat, and finally shrugged into it with grunt.
It had started misting again and the wet made the Cortina shimmer under the yellow light of the street lamp. Gene gave Sam one of his inscrutable stares, his lips pursed. “Come on, I'll give you a lift. It's cold as brass monkeys out here.”
“Guv, you can’t drive. Give us the keys.” Sam sighed and held out a hand, but Gene shoved it aside. “Look at you - you’re nearly paralytic.”
“M’not,” Gene said swayed gently from side to side, blinking blearily.
“Three sheets to the wind, I’m afraid,” Sam said, making a grab for the keys as Gene fumbled them out of his coat pocket. Gene tried to yank them out of range, but they slipped from his grasp, landing on the damp pavement with a clank.
“I am … mostly sober,” Gene said and set about retrieving the keys, using the same concentration and careful planning one might normally apply to rappelling down a cliff. He braced himself with one hand and descended, making great ungainly sweeps as though the keys were a moving target. Sam crossed his arms and watched as Gene over-balanced. Sam caught his elbow before he toppled and righted him, snatching the keys up before he could make another try. “Oi, give those here!”
“I don’t think so.” Sam easily sidestepped the resulting punch and caught the Guv’s wrist, slinging his arm around his neck to manhandle him around to the passenger side.
“Get off me, Tyler. This is your last warning before I…” Sam propped Gene up against the car while he opened the door.
“Before you what? Sick-up on my shoes?” Gene half sat, half fell into the seat and Sam checked to see if all hands and feet were clear before closing the door. He missed most of the following tirade as he rounded the car again, slipping behind the wheel in time for “guts for garters, you arrogant little ponce!”
“Right.” Sam started the car and pulled away from the kerb. “I’m taking you home.”
“Sammy-boy, if you wanted a tumble you only had to say so,” Gene said grinning toothily.
“Right,” Sam said again, this time through a clenched jaw. “I’m taking you to your home. Where I'm going to leave you to sleep it off and drive myself back to my flat. I'll bring the car back 'round in the morning.”
“My hairy arse, you will.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and drew a deep breath. “Guv, let me spell out your options for you. I can drive you home and return the damn car in the morning when you are in a condition to drive it. I can drive you home and kip on your couch. Or - and this is becoming more tempting by the minute - I leave you in the gutter to freeze to death. But you are not driving and you are not staying at my flat again. My back's not up to sleeping on the floor and my landlady despises you.”
“The old bag wants a bit of slap and tickle; mark my words, she's just hoping I'll slip her a length,” Gene said, grabbing his crotch and forever imprinting that unfortunate image on Sam's mind. He really didn't want to think of Mrs Doughty as a sexual being. Or the Guv either, for that matter.
“You options, Guv. Pick one,” Sam reminded him.
“Fine, have it your way - but I'll have your ball-bag for a coin purse if you so much as dent the fender.” Gene gave him a final glare, leant against the window, and began to snore softy.
Sam decided it was a marked improvement, especially when he took the wrong cross-street and had to double back.
“We're here. Get out so I can go home,” he said when he finally pulled in across from the Guv's house. “...Hey!”
Gene stirred, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “What are you on about?”
Sam rolled his eyes and got out of the car. The mist had become actual rain and it ran down the back of his neck and dripped from the ends of his hair.
“Come on, up you go,” he said, opening the car door again. He was beginning to feel like a chauffeur; all he needed was the hat. With a great heave, Gene emerged from the car, immediately seizing Sam's lapels for support. “Easy. We're almost there.”
They crossed the street and made it up to the house with a great deal of jostling and at least one intentional elbow to the ribs.
“Ah!” Sam grunted hard and retaliated before stepping out of range. He got the door open before hostilities could escalate, but was nearly bowled over as Gene tackled him with a roar.
Even drunk, Gene handily managed to get Sam into a headlock. Sam struggled, but it was like wrestling with a drunk, ill-tempered bear trap.
“Stop it!” Same hissed, muffled by the crook of Gene's elbow. “We'll wake your Missus!”
Gene abruptly released him and Sam staggered until he recovered. “She's gone to visit her sister.” He shut the door and leant against it. “Left three months ago. Haven’t seen her since.”
“Oh.” Sam said and then offered, “I'm sorry.” Gene gave a little shrug, not quite looking at him. Sam tried to find something to more to offer. “Gene-”
“I've got to piss,” Gene said and staggered off to the toilet.
Sam slung his coat over the back of a kitchen chair and put the kettle on. He rummaged through the cupboard, turning up nothing but a jar of mustard, an assortment of empty tins and a half-eaten box of pink wafers. He tried one; it was stale.
“Please, help yourself,” Gene said, coming up behind him.
“There's no point. The only thing well-stocked in this house is the liquor cabinet,” Sam said.
“You're damn right it is. Do you think I'd waste me time mincing about the greengrocer's, squeezing the melons?”
“What have you been living on? Pink wafers and whiskey?” Sam said. The kettle began to whistle and set the tea to steep and found two cleanish teacups to set out. “Tell me, is an early grave your actual goal or merely an acceptable by-product?”
“Don't you start. The one person allowed to badger me about my bleeding health has fucked off to Leeds.”
“Leeds?” Sam repeated. “She must have been desperate to be rid of you, if Leeds seemed like an improvement.” At first he thought he'd miscalculated but then the corner of Gene's mouth quirked upward.
“Yeah, well, I've been told that I can, at times, be quite trying.”
Sam snorted and took a seat across from Gene at the table. He poured the tea and took out a wafer and dunked it, but the wafer seemed impervious to the tea and he wondered if they'd used sealant instead of sugar.
“So you'll be visiting your family?” Gene asked.
“Ah, no. ” Sam imagined his mother's expression if he showed up on the doorstep with presents for his four-year-old self. “Seeing me would be a rather unpleasant surprise, I think.” To say the least.
Gene nodded. “Mine never could stand me. Lucky for me they've all kicked it.” There was a thickness to his voice that couldn't be ascribed to the alcohol.
“You're not going to cry on me, Guv, are you?” Sam set down the cake. “I mean, if you wanted to--”
“DI Tyler, the day I start blubbering into me hankie like some bird what's broke a nail is the day you take me out in the alley and shoot me. You understand?”
Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Got it.”
“Good,” Gene said, satisfied. “Any road, I prefer my Christmases alone.”
“I could see how peace on Earth and goodwill toward men might not be your cup of tea,” Sam said wryly. “You should come over.” He regretted it as soon as he said it, but it was too late to take the words back. He forged on. “You know, rather than sitting around in your pants, watching the Christmas special on the telly and drinking your dinner.”
“Don't forget masturbating,” Gene said.
“Come on, Gene,” Sam said. He'd made the offer off the cuff, but found he really didn't want to spend Christmas alone. It was foolish, really. He wasn't a devout man, and he liked being along. To be reluctant to spend Christmas alone was uncharacteristically sentimental. “I'm a good cook.”
“Yeah, and I'll bet you knit a fine jumper, but how are you at sucking cock?”
“Fine,” Sam said, pushing his tea away and standing. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He grabbed his coat and slipped into it.
Gene caught him at the door, grabbing the front of his shirt. “Aw, Sammy-boy. Don't get your knickers in a twist.” His grip on Sam was rather tighter than it needed to be. He poked Sam hard in the chest with his free hand; he was close enough for Sam to smell the whiskey on his breath and the faint spice of his aftershave. “So, what time should I show up to this circle jerk?”
“With the two of us, it won't be much of a circle. More of a line jerk - never mind,” he amended quickly as confusion clouded over Gene's face. “Ah, seven o'clock?”
Gene pursed his lips and then nodded. “Right-o.” He released Sam and attempted to smooth the wrinkles he'd just made on Sam's shirtfront. “See you then.”
“Sure, Guv.” Sam hesitated for a long, strange moment. They stood on the doorway, the cold light of the street throwing the crags of Gene's face into sharp relief, his features more strong than handsome. The doorway was narrow and Sam realised how close they were standing, practically chest to chest. His throat had gone quite dry and he swallowed, trying to wet it. “Um, I'd better go.”
“Yeah, piss off and get your beauty sleep.” The door started to slam in Sam's face but it stopped so Gene could say, “But the car had better be back by the time I'm awake tomorrow.”
“So sometime after three, then?”
The door really did slam in Sam's face this time, nearly catching his foot. He smiled inwardly and crossed the street to the Cortina, twirling the keys around his finger.
Anyhoo. I wrote fic, mostly trying to get the voices. Time spent writing fic: 4 hours. Time spent reading dictionaries of British and/or 70's slang: more like 14 hours.
Title: Let Nothing Ye Dismay
Fandom: Life on Mars (UK)
Pairing: Sam/Gene, pre-slash
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,000
Summary: Gene learns about the true meaning of Christmas … in some other story. In this one, he gets pissed and Sam drives him home.
Sam stood in the doorway of the CID watching the boys trickle out; Chris and Ray each had a bottle in one hand, clinging to each other as they tried to stay upright. They were singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman loudly and with much enthusiasm. Chris was still wearing the paper crown he'd got from a Christmas cracker.
“One of the CID's better parties, I'll give it that,” Gene said, coming to stand next to Sam in the doorway. He was over-enunciating in a way that suggested he was well and truly pissed.
“If the amount of holiday cheer is directly proportional to the amount of booze, then I'd have to agree,” Sam said, trailing after Gene as he started down the steps. The Guv was trying to get his coat on, but he seemed to be having quite a bit of trouble finding the correct sleeve. He stopped, frowning at the coat, and finally shrugged into it with grunt.
It had started misting again and the wet made the Cortina shimmer under the yellow light of the street lamp. Gene gave Sam one of his inscrutable stares, his lips pursed. “Come on, I'll give you a lift. It's cold as brass monkeys out here.”
“Guv, you can’t drive. Give us the keys.” Sam sighed and held out a hand, but Gene shoved it aside. “Look at you - you’re nearly paralytic.”
“M’not,” Gene said swayed gently from side to side, blinking blearily.
“Three sheets to the wind, I’m afraid,” Sam said, making a grab for the keys as Gene fumbled them out of his coat pocket. Gene tried to yank them out of range, but they slipped from his grasp, landing on the damp pavement with a clank.
“I am … mostly sober,” Gene said and set about retrieving the keys, using the same concentration and careful planning one might normally apply to rappelling down a cliff. He braced himself with one hand and descended, making great ungainly sweeps as though the keys were a moving target. Sam crossed his arms and watched as Gene over-balanced. Sam caught his elbow before he toppled and righted him, snatching the keys up before he could make another try. “Oi, give those here!”
“I don’t think so.” Sam easily sidestepped the resulting punch and caught the Guv’s wrist, slinging his arm around his neck to manhandle him around to the passenger side.
“Get off me, Tyler. This is your last warning before I…” Sam propped Gene up against the car while he opened the door.
“Before you what? Sick-up on my shoes?” Gene half sat, half fell into the seat and Sam checked to see if all hands and feet were clear before closing the door. He missed most of the following tirade as he rounded the car again, slipping behind the wheel in time for “guts for garters, you arrogant little ponce!”
“Right.” Sam started the car and pulled away from the kerb. “I’m taking you home.”
“Sammy-boy, if you wanted a tumble you only had to say so,” Gene said grinning toothily.
“Right,” Sam said again, this time through a clenched jaw. “I’m taking you to your home. Where I'm going to leave you to sleep it off and drive myself back to my flat. I'll bring the car back 'round in the morning.”
“My hairy arse, you will.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and drew a deep breath. “Guv, let me spell out your options for you. I can drive you home and return the damn car in the morning when you are in a condition to drive it. I can drive you home and kip on your couch. Or - and this is becoming more tempting by the minute - I leave you in the gutter to freeze to death. But you are not driving and you are not staying at my flat again. My back's not up to sleeping on the floor and my landlady despises you.”
“The old bag wants a bit of slap and tickle; mark my words, she's just hoping I'll slip her a length,” Gene said, grabbing his crotch and forever imprinting that unfortunate image on Sam's mind. He really didn't want to think of Mrs Doughty as a sexual being. Or the Guv either, for that matter.
“You options, Guv. Pick one,” Sam reminded him.
“Fine, have it your way - but I'll have your ball-bag for a coin purse if you so much as dent the fender.” Gene gave him a final glare, leant against the window, and began to snore softy.
Sam decided it was a marked improvement, especially when he took the wrong cross-street and had to double back.
“We're here. Get out so I can go home,” he said when he finally pulled in across from the Guv's house. “...Hey!”
Gene stirred, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “What are you on about?”
Sam rolled his eyes and got out of the car. The mist had become actual rain and it ran down the back of his neck and dripped from the ends of his hair.
“Come on, up you go,” he said, opening the car door again. He was beginning to feel like a chauffeur; all he needed was the hat. With a great heave, Gene emerged from the car, immediately seizing Sam's lapels for support. “Easy. We're almost there.”
They crossed the street and made it up to the house with a great deal of jostling and at least one intentional elbow to the ribs.
“Ah!” Sam grunted hard and retaliated before stepping out of range. He got the door open before hostilities could escalate, but was nearly bowled over as Gene tackled him with a roar.
Even drunk, Gene handily managed to get Sam into a headlock. Sam struggled, but it was like wrestling with a drunk, ill-tempered bear trap.
“Stop it!” Same hissed, muffled by the crook of Gene's elbow. “We'll wake your Missus!”
Gene abruptly released him and Sam staggered until he recovered. “She's gone to visit her sister.” He shut the door and leant against it. “Left three months ago. Haven’t seen her since.”
“Oh.” Sam said and then offered, “I'm sorry.” Gene gave a little shrug, not quite looking at him. Sam tried to find something to more to offer. “Gene-”
“I've got to piss,” Gene said and staggered off to the toilet.
Sam slung his coat over the back of a kitchen chair and put the kettle on. He rummaged through the cupboard, turning up nothing but a jar of mustard, an assortment of empty tins and a half-eaten box of pink wafers. He tried one; it was stale.
“Please, help yourself,” Gene said, coming up behind him.
“There's no point. The only thing well-stocked in this house is the liquor cabinet,” Sam said.
“You're damn right it is. Do you think I'd waste me time mincing about the greengrocer's, squeezing the melons?”
“What have you been living on? Pink wafers and whiskey?” Sam said. The kettle began to whistle and set the tea to steep and found two cleanish teacups to set out. “Tell me, is an early grave your actual goal or merely an acceptable by-product?”
“Don't you start. The one person allowed to badger me about my bleeding health has fucked off to Leeds.”
“Leeds?” Sam repeated. “She must have been desperate to be rid of you, if Leeds seemed like an improvement.” At first he thought he'd miscalculated but then the corner of Gene's mouth quirked upward.
“Yeah, well, I've been told that I can, at times, be quite trying.”
Sam snorted and took a seat across from Gene at the table. He poured the tea and took out a wafer and dunked it, but the wafer seemed impervious to the tea and he wondered if they'd used sealant instead of sugar.
“So you'll be visiting your family?” Gene asked.
“Ah, no. ” Sam imagined his mother's expression if he showed up on the doorstep with presents for his four-year-old self. “Seeing me would be a rather unpleasant surprise, I think.” To say the least.
Gene nodded. “Mine never could stand me. Lucky for me they've all kicked it.” There was a thickness to his voice that couldn't be ascribed to the alcohol.
“You're not going to cry on me, Guv, are you?” Sam set down the cake. “I mean, if you wanted to--”
“DI Tyler, the day I start blubbering into me hankie like some bird what's broke a nail is the day you take me out in the alley and shoot me. You understand?”
Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Got it.”
“Good,” Gene said, satisfied. “Any road, I prefer my Christmases alone.”
“I could see how peace on Earth and goodwill toward men might not be your cup of tea,” Sam said wryly. “You should come over.” He regretted it as soon as he said it, but it was too late to take the words back. He forged on. “You know, rather than sitting around in your pants, watching the Christmas special on the telly and drinking your dinner.”
“Don't forget masturbating,” Gene said.
“Come on, Gene,” Sam said. He'd made the offer off the cuff, but found he really didn't want to spend Christmas alone. It was foolish, really. He wasn't a devout man, and he liked being along. To be reluctant to spend Christmas alone was uncharacteristically sentimental. “I'm a good cook.”
“Yeah, and I'll bet you knit a fine jumper, but how are you at sucking cock?”
“Fine,” Sam said, pushing his tea away and standing. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He grabbed his coat and slipped into it.
Gene caught him at the door, grabbing the front of his shirt. “Aw, Sammy-boy. Don't get your knickers in a twist.” His grip on Sam was rather tighter than it needed to be. He poked Sam hard in the chest with his free hand; he was close enough for Sam to smell the whiskey on his breath and the faint spice of his aftershave. “So, what time should I show up to this circle jerk?”
“With the two of us, it won't be much of a circle. More of a line jerk - never mind,” he amended quickly as confusion clouded over Gene's face. “Ah, seven o'clock?”
Gene pursed his lips and then nodded. “Right-o.” He released Sam and attempted to smooth the wrinkles he'd just made on Sam's shirtfront. “See you then.”
“Sure, Guv.” Sam hesitated for a long, strange moment. They stood on the doorway, the cold light of the street throwing the crags of Gene's face into sharp relief, his features more strong than handsome. The doorway was narrow and Sam realised how close they were standing, practically chest to chest. His throat had gone quite dry and he swallowed, trying to wet it. “Um, I'd better go.”
“Yeah, piss off and get your beauty sleep.” The door started to slam in Sam's face but it stopped so Gene could say, “But the car had better be back by the time I'm awake tomorrow.”
“So sometime after three, then?”
The door really did slam in Sam's face this time, nearly catching his foot. He smiled inwardly and crossed the street to the Cortina, twirling the keys around his finger.