Fanfic: I feel like I win when I lose. White Cortina, Gen
Written because I had to drive to uni and back with my mum's car and the only CD it had was Abba...
Title: I feel like I win when I lose
Rating: PG for Gene Hunt, White Cortina (Gen)
Word Count/Length: 648 words
Notes: No spoilers, slightly cracky and just for fun
Summary: A conversation between Sam and Gene in the pub leads to a bet about the future, but who will really win?
“You know, if this is real, I could use this as an opportunity. Though knowing this place, anything I try will probably come back to bite me in the arse…”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say. I could place bets. I know who’s going to win the next election for Prime Minister, who wins the World Cup… or even the Eurovision Song Festival.”
“The what?... Only birds and nancy boys watch that. Ah, of course you would.” Gene emptied his glass, deciding he needed more alcohol in him to keep up with the fancy thoughts of his cracked-in-the-head DI “You shouldn’t have told me, by the way. If you’ve really got that advantage, I won’t take any bets with you.”
“Yes, you will. Just to try to prove me wrong.”
“True that. So come on, who’s gonna win?”
“Going to win what?”
“Whichever. Your poncy music thing.”
Sam grinned brightly “In 1974? It’s going to be held in Brighton and Abba’s going to win with ‘Waterloo’.”
“Abba?” Gene made a face, then snorted “Told ya it was for birds and nancy boys. Even worse, in glitter. And that sounds daft, making a song about a train station.”
“A what?” Sam stared at him confused like he didn’t know what he was talking about. Gene decided he liked that look.
“That station down in London, Gladys, never heard of it?”
“Not THAT Waterloo, you div. It’s a big hill in Belgium with a lion on top.”
“I didn’t know there were lions in Belgium.” The two men looked at Chris when he suddenly spoke up, reaching between them to grab two pints from Nelson for Ray and himself.
“… It’s a statue, Chris. Not a real lion.” Sam explained slowly, as Gene lit up a cigarette and resisted the urge to try to slap the stupidity out of his subordinate. Sam usually didn’t let him though, on the account that it might actually make it worse. The Guv grudgingly had to agree on that possibility.
“Oh. Right then.” The div stayed standing there for a moment, uncertain of what else to say.
“Just go back to darts, Chris.” His DI sighed and waved him off.
“So what’s so special about a hill in bloody Belgium?”
“It’s only the spot where we defeated Napoleon.”
“Oh, right. Well, that little French dwarf had it comin’.”
“He’s neither French or a dwarf.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Well, technically not. His family was Italian and he was born on Corsica. And he was just short.”
“But that’s part of France.”
“It’s an island.”
“It still belongs to France.”
“I …” Sam halted for a moment, then finally admitted “I’m actually not sure now…”
“Hah!” Gene smirked triumphantly and drank more from his refilled glass.
His DI sighed and put on that little pout that looked way too adorable for a grown man as he mumbled “What I wouldn’t give for Wikipedia…”
“Just admit you’re wrong, Sammy-boy. And I bet you’re going to be wrong about that Waterloo nonsense too.”
“He still wasn’t a dwarf.” He replied stubbornly “And I’m not wrong about that, so I’ll take you up on that bet.”
“Fine. If Abba wins, I’ll do all the paperwork for a week.”
“A month.”
“Only if what I get if I win is big.”
“I’ll buy you drinks for a month.”
“Deal. You’d better be prepared to live on beans on toast for a month then, Gladys.” Their grins were identical as they raised their glasses, each certain they would win.
And even if Sam won, Gene would have the amusement of frustrating the hell out of his DI by sodding up all his precious paperwork with coffee stains, bacon fat drips and writing that not even a doctor could read.
“You do know this means you’ll have to watch the Eurovision Song Festival with me now.” Damn. Not a complete victory then.
Author's note: Title from 'Waterloo' by Abba
Also, I am Belgian myself (though moved to Australia 3 years ago), I have climbed that hill. It is bloody big. Nice lion though. It glares and holds its claw threateningly at France, which Gene would probably like.
Title: I feel like I win when I lose
Rating: PG for Gene Hunt, White Cortina (Gen)
Word Count/Length: 648 words
Notes: No spoilers, slightly cracky and just for fun
Summary: A conversation between Sam and Gene in the pub leads to a bet about the future, but who will really win?
“You know, if this is real, I could use this as an opportunity. Though knowing this place, anything I try will probably come back to bite me in the arse…”
“You don’t say.”
“I do say. I could place bets. I know who’s going to win the next election for Prime Minister, who wins the World Cup… or even the Eurovision Song Festival.”
“The what?... Only birds and nancy boys watch that. Ah, of course you would.” Gene emptied his glass, deciding he needed more alcohol in him to keep up with the fancy thoughts of his cracked-in-the-head DI “You shouldn’t have told me, by the way. If you’ve really got that advantage, I won’t take any bets with you.”
“Yes, you will. Just to try to prove me wrong.”
“True that. So come on, who’s gonna win?”
“Going to win what?”
“Whichever. Your poncy music thing.”
Sam grinned brightly “In 1974? It’s going to be held in Brighton and Abba’s going to win with ‘Waterloo’.”
“Abba?” Gene made a face, then snorted “Told ya it was for birds and nancy boys. Even worse, in glitter. And that sounds daft, making a song about a train station.”
“A what?” Sam stared at him confused like he didn’t know what he was talking about. Gene decided he liked that look.
“That station down in London, Gladys, never heard of it?”
“Not THAT Waterloo, you div. It’s a big hill in Belgium with a lion on top.”
“I didn’t know there were lions in Belgium.” The two men looked at Chris when he suddenly spoke up, reaching between them to grab two pints from Nelson for Ray and himself.
“… It’s a statue, Chris. Not a real lion.” Sam explained slowly, as Gene lit up a cigarette and resisted the urge to try to slap the stupidity out of his subordinate. Sam usually didn’t let him though, on the account that it might actually make it worse. The Guv grudgingly had to agree on that possibility.
“Oh. Right then.” The div stayed standing there for a moment, uncertain of what else to say.
“Just go back to darts, Chris.” His DI sighed and waved him off.
“So what’s so special about a hill in bloody Belgium?”
“It’s only the spot where we defeated Napoleon.”
“Oh, right. Well, that little French dwarf had it comin’.”
“He’s neither French or a dwarf.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Well, technically not. His family was Italian and he was born on Corsica. And he was just short.”
“But that’s part of France.”
“It’s an island.”
“It still belongs to France.”
“I …” Sam halted for a moment, then finally admitted “I’m actually not sure now…”
“Hah!” Gene smirked triumphantly and drank more from his refilled glass.
His DI sighed and put on that little pout that looked way too adorable for a grown man as he mumbled “What I wouldn’t give for Wikipedia…”
“Just admit you’re wrong, Sammy-boy. And I bet you’re going to be wrong about that Waterloo nonsense too.”
“He still wasn’t a dwarf.” He replied stubbornly “And I’m not wrong about that, so I’ll take you up on that bet.”
“Fine. If Abba wins, I’ll do all the paperwork for a week.”
“A month.”
“Only if what I get if I win is big.”
“I’ll buy you drinks for a month.”
“Deal. You’d better be prepared to live on beans on toast for a month then, Gladys.” Their grins were identical as they raised their glasses, each certain they would win.
And even if Sam won, Gene would have the amusement of frustrating the hell out of his DI by sodding up all his precious paperwork with coffee stains, bacon fat drips and writing that not even a doctor could read.
“You do know this means you’ll have to watch the Eurovision Song Festival with me now.” Damn. Not a complete victory then.
Author's note: Title from 'Waterloo' by Abba
Also, I am Belgian myself (though moved to Australia 3 years ago), I have climbed that hill. It is bloody big. Nice lion though. It glares and holds its claw threateningly at France, which Gene would probably like.