Wonder
Title: Wonder
Fandom: Life on Mars
Characters: Sam, Annie, Ray, Gene, Chris... and Nelson's probably there, pretending not to eavesdrop as he polishes the glasses...
Rating: PG/Green Cortina
Word Count: 500 more or less
Spoilers: ep 2.08
Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I don't own these shows. The BBC, Kudos does.
Author's Comment: I always wondered how Sam would tell the team what he did...
About: Drunk, after a hard day at work, the team sits around and serenades into their whisky glasses. Then Sam tells them what a sacrifice suicide can mean.
“But I mean it though. What are those divs thinking when they jump?” Ray asked his glass of whisky, swirling the golden substance around gently, idle to the fact that someone might answer.
Sam just smiled knowingly into his scotch, fingers tapping in time to the soft background music of “Life on Mars”. Was it soft? Maybe he was just removed from it; a thousand miles away.
“I dunno. They’re all a bi’ ment’l, tha’ suicidal lot. Better off inna nut fact’ry,” came Chris’ drunken response, twisting his ciggie in his hands; captivated by its elegant beauty.
“Bu’ wha’ are they thinkin’?” Ray pressed, still serenading his whisky.
“I guess we’ll nev’r know-” Annie broke off, fist over her mouth as she hiccupped.
“They don’ think!” Guv slammed his fist down onto the table in a drunken protest.
“They wonder.”
“Wha’?” the whole team’s eyes rested incredulously on Sam, their statement emitted in perfect unison.
Sam’s head swiftly bent down to avoid eye contact, before realising he was too drunk to weave his way out. If he was going to get rid of this gnawing curiosity and tell them, it was best they heard it when they were too intoxicated to process the facts. He drew in a deep breath, and stared at the other side of the table’s edge.
“They don’t think; oh no. They just wonder,” he let out a soft chuckle, his voice just a rich purr or a hum of noise in the smoky bar, “You don’t think, ‘Hey, this is going to hurt,’ or ‘This is sure going to ruin my hair,’ or even ‘I better leave some type of identification on me, ‘cos at the bottom I ain’t going to be recognised,’”
Sam looked into each one of his team’s eyes, making sure he had their absolute attention.
“No, you wonder. You close your eyes and say, ‘I wonder if they’ll ever know?’”
“Takes one to know one,” Ray brushed it off.
“Indeed,” came Sam’s enigmatic reply, “Because as you stand on that roof, you begin to wonder about all those things you did right, all those things you messed up, and all those things you wished you could have done. You start to wonder about all those people you met, all those people you hurt, all those people you loved, and all those people you didn’t save.
“You then close your eyes and imagine the faces of the people you love the most, and pick back through your memories until you see the memory where you saw them last. Their faces, pale, dirt, tear and blood streaked; crying out to you, begging for you not to leave them. Begging for your help; begging for you to save them.
“That’s when you ask yourself, ‘Where’s home?’” his head shook wearily, eyes on the table’s core.
“Then what?”
“Then you know what to do,” a smirk twisted into his face, eyes locking with Ray’s,
The final chorus of ‘Life on Mars’ belted out around the pub, ringing into the marked silence.
“Jump.”