Mystery Tour of 1973 (fic) Chapter 13
Title: Mystery Tour of 1973
Fandom: Life on Mars/Doctor Who
Chapter: 13/16
Characters: Sam, Annie, Ray, Gene, Chris, Test Card Girl, Martha and Nelson
Rating: PG/Green Cortina
Word Count: 1,600ish
Spoilers: Life on Mars 2.08. Slightly for Doctor Who season 3
Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I don't own these shows. The BBC, Kudos does.
Author's Comment: Okay, I shouldn’t really be writing right now. I finished this chapter today after having it sit on my computer for the past, like, two months. I know, I am so lazy! Grah. Sorry to all those who were reading this once: I know you’ve probably given up on me by now. Anyway, so I finished this today after being knocked unconscious by the metal bar-holder-upperer thing in high jump. Don't ask me how, but when I was jumping my head rammed into it (but I still made the height o.O). So, I’m a little incoherent (I wrote the “vision” section today; you can so tell!) But decided to post it ‘cause I’ve let some people down for too long.
About: The plot (*gasp* PLOT!) thickens as Sam gets contradicting reports from the TCG and the mirror. Martha and Chris are returning from the “insignificant quest to the holy bollocks of letterboxes on a roof”.
The familiar smells of booze, smoke and dust hit Sam’s nostrils, while the mandatory drunken laughs and belches swung out tenderly around the bar. Relaxing into the familiar routine, he allowed a smile to hitch a ride up into his cheeks, and sat himself down on the barstool.
“Chris! - it’s your shout!” Guv spoke, his voice strong and demanding; but with a hint of good humour.
“I think you’ll find it is necessary to locate someone else to buy you a drink; Chris went off with Martha, remember?”
“Right then, Sammy-boy; thank you for volunteering. Scotch- and make it a double.”
Sam chuckled, amused and relieved. After two days filled with police boxes and letterboxes, a wife and a MPD attack; plus a day in-between spent on filing, Sam felt finally at ease. Gene was back to his normal persona too; instead of having that strange, skitterish and guarded look that had been present since yesterday, which could only be loosely categorised as the Gene Genie’s type of worry.
“Sha questé.”
“I said ‘scotch’, not a bottle of sissy French plonk.”
“It’s not... actually I dunno what...”
“And what can I get you, Mon Brave?”
“Three double scotches, Nelson; Sammy-boy’s offered to shout.”
“Three double scotches; coming right up.”
Sam watched detachedly as Nelson efficiently poured the smooth golden substance into the three glasses and placed them atop the bench with a small ‘clink’ as their edges gently collided.
“Sha questé...” Sam whispered to himself, turning the repeated words over and over in his mind.
Nelson paused half-stroke in his polishing of a beer glass, his eyes thoughtful and unfocused.
“The truth: as you see it in your eyes, may sparkle in the lights; but one must hope a shadow won’t cast, lest the darkness consume,” the bartender shrugged his shoulders and continued polishing. “At least, that’s the best I can translate it to, without it being too long; looses a lot of meaning in English.”
“That’s... beautiful,” Ray whispered faintly, before becoming aware of his surroundings; downing the contents of his glass in an attempt of maintaining his man’s man reputation.
“That’s sweet Nelson; why don’t you ever say something like that to me?” Annie popped up from behind Sam, making him jump.
“No words could ever be able to express my feelings for you, Annie,” he replied, internally cringing as he realised how clichéd he must’ve sounded.
“Bloody hell Gladys...” Guv shot a disgusted look at Sam for his sappy response, “Brings tears to me eardrums.”
“You’ve been touched by an angel then, Mon Brave?”
“Aw, that’s so-”
“You’re very eloquent today, Nelson.”
Nelson bent his head to Sam’s ear.
“I meant it literally,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry?”
“‘Sha questé’, that’s-”
Nelson was cut short as Sam jumped, his attention snapped onto to the single monotone beep and the appearance of the Test Card F on the previously off screen.
“Must be a power burst,” Nelson said, following Sam’s gaze.
Sam felt the nape of his neck bristle and his heart race and pound in his chest. The little girl was missing from the screen. The girl and her clown: his demon and her accomplice.
“Where am I Sam?” she sang from behind him, “Three, two, one- ready or not, here I come!”
Sam sat fixed to his barstool, not daring to turn around. No one else (at least that he could see) seemed to notice anything odd, like a little floating devil in a room with the lights flickering and the TV magically turning on. He didn’t know whether that was good or bad; it either meant he was mad or no one noticed him being mad. Or maybe both.
“Don’t you want to find me Sam?” Sam cautiously swivelled in his chair, and his eyes locked with the little girl’s. “Oh Sam, they want to take you away; far, far away from all your friends. You must make them pay, Sam. They lie, they always lie. You mustn’t listen to them, Sam; don’t stray. Stay here- you’ll be fine. Better than that- you’d be mine.”
He closed his eyes, praying that when he opened them she wouldn’t be there.
“Oh Sam, is there no where to hide? Locked up inside? Only one thing left that’s truly fun- a game of tag, now run Sam run!”
Run.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Martha stared at the odd-shaped key for a few moments, captivated by the black tendrils of radiating smoke, before sliding it back into the cricket bat and returning it to the safe home of her pocket.
“Come on, we have to go get Sam from the pub; before he gets intoxicated, at least,” she said with a tired sigh. “What pub would he be at?”
“The Railway Arms. S’ ‘cross town.” Chris had a quizzical look on his face, but lightly slipped off the roof nonetheless- landing one foot in a dustbin in the process.
“Is there a bus service?” Martha cast a glance at the dark sky before accepting Chris’ hand as she slid off the roof; dusting her hands on her pants.
“It’s jus’ ‘round ‘ere.”
Before long a bus hissed to a stop; the pair clambered on and sat down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Panicked and terror clouding his mind, Sam slid off the barstool, barely able to hold himself upright with shaking legs, and stumbled into the men’s bathroom. The overload of rank smells calmed him slightly as he leaned onto the cool basin. She’d never come to him when he was awake before; she was a nightmare, and only that- surely? What has changed? Taking in a deep breath, Sam lifted up a shaking hand to turn on the tap, feeling the grit indents on the metal handle.
“Little girls don't tend to follow men into the gentlemen’s bathroom, do they?” a cruel voice shattered the silence, his tenor sounding gut-wrenchingly familiar.
Sam jumped and slid on the tiles, his jaw jolting with impact on the sink.
“Ow!” Sam heaved himself to his feet, using the basin as leverage and wincing, eyes unfocused as he rubbed his jaw. He looked up to his reflection in the mirror. He could’ve sworn if his jaw hadn’t locked from hitting the basin, it would’ve dropped to the floor. His reflection wore a smart business suit, similar to the one he’d jumped in, an undone tie and a twisted smirk on his shadowed face. His eyes were somewhat different too- mad, powerful and a bit magnificent too.
“Do you want to die?”
The cold cruel smirk was the last thing Sam saw before he was plunged into an ocean of colours- sepia, blue, black, white, grey, red and orange; he was drowning in a thousand scents, choking on a flurry of voices and shuddering through his body was a white blinding pain. Flickers of memories and photographs crashed on top of him at an alarming pace; a metallic taste on his tongue.
He was flying through the air; soaring, gliding. The black suit rippling and wind sweeping through the channel he made as he crashed through the air. Free. Impact- shuddering, lingering, shattering. Pavement- grey, coarse and cold. Blue. Grey. Flash. Fall. Land. Sepia. Red.
“Sam, hold on.”
Grey. Chocolate. Ice.
“Listen to me- you’re dieing!”
Storm. Rage. Sun.
A single voluntary thought of ‘At least I’ll die happy,’ crossed his mind.
“Trust Martha.”
There was that girl again... or was it? An army coat, perhaps? No, it’s... camel hair? Strawberry alpacas, fairy-floss sheep and a sequin Tufty?-no, that’s definitely not right. Soft red grass, moonlight, earthlight, chips, stars, vinegar, salt rivers and shades of blue.
He was aware of whimpering,
“Stop, please stop!” to the smothering whirlwind of senses.
Amber streaks, grey eyes - everything that ever was, is and will be.
“Be strong.” Yes...
The wolf stared at him in the sudden still darkness, her sad grey eyes tinted with gold. Chocolate fur rippled down her muscular frame, and she appeared to be glowing; keeping the shadowed world alight. Her jaws parted, and her whispered voice slipped out to roll effortlessly around in the room.
“Sha questé.”
A stark, blinding white light washed over Sam, and his vision returned- slightly blurry at first- with a big intake of air into his lungs. His ears were ringing, but he still managed to register the slow squeak of the door closing. It took a surprising amount of effort to shift his eyes upwards to the blurred figure above him. Squinting, the contrast sharpened, and he registered the face of Ray.
Oh great, he thought bitterly, with an inward groan. Then again, it would be more disturbing if it were Annie in here.
Instead, Ray crouched down to see eye to eye with Sam, where he sat back against the wall, on the floor where he’d landed sometime when his legs had given way. Now he had to move his eyes again; his head felt like splitting with what he was sure was a migraine.
“Boss, you ‘lright?”
Sam’s eyes focused again, this time it being a close-up of Ray’s startling blue eyes. He groaned outwardly- the only sound he was currently able to make- and nodded slowly; each slight movement still sending shockwaves around his shattered body.
“Bullshit you are. I’ve seen stiffs in better shape than this,” he remarked, voice carrying an odd strain of worry. “Come on, can you get up?”
Again, Sam nodded, his jaw still clamped shut; the migraine was less intense, and his nerves weren’t firing off as many pain signals. With an effortless movement, Ray bounced up to a standing position and eased Sam onto his feet with strong arms. He led Sam out of the bathroom with an uncharacteristic softness, Sam’s arm slung round his shoulder and an encouraging voice. As the door squeaked shut behind them, Ray paused and raked a glance over Sam’s body.
“Weren’t you jus’ wearing a suit?”