Fic: Taken 6/10 Gene, Sam (Adult, Language, Death of a minor Character)
Fic: Taken (Chapter 6)
Author: amproof
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: Blue Cortina, this chapter
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I sure wouldn't
do this to them.
Characters: Gene, Sam Words: 2140
Notes: A lot happens in this one.
About Life on Mars: Sam Tyler is a 37 year old detective chief inspector in Manchester, 2006. After an accident, he "wakes up" in 1973 and finds that he is now a Detective Inspector under the supervision of Gene Hunt, a man who spends his days and nights with a flask ever at the ready, an insult always on his tongue and who lets his fists do his talking. In short, he is the complete opposite of Sam, who plays by the rules and lets evidence, not feelings, guide him in solving crimes. Sam must learn to work with Gene's unorthodox methods as he tries to figure out how to get back to 2006. Though rocky at first, they gradually develop a bond of mutual trust and respect. Voices of his loved ones from 2006 bleed through to him from the phone, the television, and sometimes simply in his head, and though he tries desperately, he can't communicate. Could Sam be stuck in 1973 forever?
About this story: The usually mild-mannered Sam attacks Gene in a violent and terrible way. The next morning, he doesn't remember anything, and the Guv isn't about to remind him--or tell him why he thinks Sam needs to spend more time in the boot of the Cortina. Just as Sam thinks the Guv has gone off his rocker, someone he loves is murdered, his prospect of getting home is practically destroyed, and in 2006 he's getting a visitor no one wants. Oh, and the Guv has started having uncomfortably pleasant dreams of Sam, even as he wonders if his DI is a psychopath.
Previously:
1. A favor gone wrong. Red Cortina (Rape, Violence)
2. A bad joke interpreted…badly. Blue Cortina (language, some violence)
3. Driving in circles. Blue Cortina (Language)
4. An action out of character. Blue Cortina (Language)
5. Understanding the unspoken. Blue Cortina (mild het!sex)
Chapter 6
Sam couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the Guv every chance he got as they drove towards Hyde. He chewed the inside of his cheek and tried not to look excited.
Gene finally noticed. “Whatcha starin’ at me like that for?”
"I'm just happy to be in this part of the car."
"You keep an eye on your mouth or you'll find that remedied."
"I can't see my mouth."
"What?"
"Nothing." He reached for the radio. Gene smacked his hand away.
"I'm drivin'. I'll do the radio flippin', thank you." He turned the dial decisively.
<< Sam? It's Mum. Doctor said you had a visitor from another ward. Said you got agitated. Were you scared, Sammy? You needn't be. I'm here with you. >>
…son of my father, molded, I was folded, I was free from draft
"Flip the station back."
"This is my favorite song." The Guv began singing along lustily.
"Those aren't the words."
"These are the words I prefer."
"Flip it back." Sam lurched towards the radio and got a fist in his sternum for his effort. He bounced against the back of the seat and glared.
"Fine. Not any fun if you're going to be like that." The Guv flipped the tuner to where it was. "Shoulda known you'd be a bleedin' showtune fan. Didn't even know they played bloody showtunes on the radio."
<< He's crying. You said that was normal, right? The crying? Oh, Sam… >>
<< It happens, Mrs. Tyler. Just keep talking to him. >>
Yeah, mum, Sam thought. Just keep talking. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her, leaning over him, touching his forehead, maybe softly tugging the short hair above it, trying to force it to lay down. Maybe if you say the right thing, I'll wake up.
<< Here's to pretty girls who went to our head. Here's to witty girls who went to our bed. Here's to them, and here's to you… >>
Oh, sure. Two seconds ago the Guv was giving him guff about liking musicals and now he was belting one out while Sam's mum was probably saying the magic words to bring him back. "Will you shut up?" Sam snapped his gaze over to Gene.
Gene looked at him, mouth agape. "I haven't said a bloody word, have I? Sittin' here, minding my business while you're in your usual sulk, aren't I?" He banged the top of the steering wheel, as if its sturdiness was proof that he'd been doing nothing but drive.
"You weren't just singing 'Drink With Me' from Les Miserables?"
"Les Mizawhat? Don't you start spouting that Froggie shite at me. Or do I need to remind you I've got a perfectly empty boot just behind you? Just when I think you can't get any poncier…"
"Fine. Sorry." Sam hunched down, crossed his arms, and indulged himself in a full on sulk.
"Though, mind you, that does sound like the kind of song I'd enjoy, if the title is anything to go by… How's it go?"
"Nevermind. It hasn't been written yet."
A muscle in Gene's left cheek twitched. Calmly, he pulled the car off the road and put it into park.
Sam looked through the back window, hoping that they were pulling off because someone had signaled them. Or that they had a flat tire. Or the Guv wanted to stretch his legs. The Guv sat, waiting silently. Sam was doomed. He tried not to let his desperation show as he began bartering (who was he kidding?) begging to stay in the proper end of the car.
"I'm sorry. I'll sing it for you. I'm sure it won't…cause any trouble in the time-space continuum if you learn a showtune…"
"Too late, Gladys. Now, way I see it, you can either put yourself in the boot, nice and easy. Or, I can do it for you. Which will not be-"
"Nice and easy." Sam closed his eyes. Wake up. Wake up. "Guv, please. We're almost to… Hyde." Home. He almost said 'home'.
"I'm going to count to three."
"Guv. I said I was sorry."
"One."
"Come on, please. I won't…I won't say a thing. And I'll be…"
"Two."
"Good! I'll be good." He felt four years old again. How many times had he promised to be good so his father would come home? Some promises are never outgrown. Just reapplied.
"Three." Gene's fist closed on Sam's collar and tugged him forward. Sam braced himself, knowing he was about to be pulled across Gene's lap and hurled headfirst onto the ground.
"…Guv?" The radio crackled. Gene dropped Sam and leaned over him to reach it. Sam tried to pretend that his head was not caught between his Guv's legs and stomach. Given how good he was at creating everything in 1973, he was more than a little disappointed that he could not uncreate something. He could still feel the roughness of the Guv's trousers against his cheek, and the heat of his torso on his back.
"Yeah, love. What is it?"
"There's been a body spotted. You should be near the area. You and DI Tyler mind stoppin' by? Plod is on the way over, but figured Tyler would want detectives on the scene, and since he's there with you…"
"Yeah. Give us the location."
Phyllis told them the body had been found in back of a deserted factory building. "We're on our way." The Guv hung the radio back on its hook and sat up. "Looks like you don't have to go in the boot after all."
"Thank God." Sam sat up, gingerly. He settled back into his seat as Gene sent the car flying through the streets.
"Guv's fine. Ah, there's your station." Sam looked as they flew past Hyde Station. He nodded, as if he knew this 1973 version, as if he recognized the cars parked in front of it. Perhaps misreading Sam’s expression he added, “You can see all your little mates in a few minutes, once we finish with this corpse.” They stopped a block away from the station. They were the first on the scene. The factory, as promised, was empty, as were the lanes around it. No witnesses hanging about, no one to talk to about where this body might be… The air was dry and stagnant, as if it had held, for years, the stench of manufacturing.
"Thought plod was coming?"
"Probably having trouble buttoning their uniforms. Come on; let's find him ourselves. Go that way."
Sam set off in the direction Gene pointed. The east side of the building was clear, but as he rounded the corner, he saw a pair of boots, toes pointing up, on the opposite side of a blue dumpster.
"Guv, I've found him!" Sam skidded around the dumpster towards the motionless boots. He grabbed the metal handle to stop himself from sliding past, as his shoes didn't give him much traction on the gravel. He stared down at the body.
And stared.
And stared.
Vic Tyler was lying at his feet.
Vic stirred and looked up. "Sammy?" He stretched his hand out. Sam took it, even though he knew his father was calling for his little son. He knelt beside him. It was a mistake. His father wasn't dead. Someone probably just saw him passed out and called in a crank.
Vic touched Sam's face, traced long fingers down his cheek. "You're such a beautiful boy, my Sammy." He turned and coughed. "You grew up so well."
"You know me, Dad?" Sam squeezed his hand. He pulled his father into his chest, but Vic had stopped speaking. Instead, he smiled at Sam. Sam raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed his father's knuckles.
"Oi! What the bloomin' 'ell are you doin', Gladys?" Slam of meaty hands on his shoulder, and Sam was ripped away.
"You need to call an ambulance, Guv. He could still make it!" Sam flung himself back into Gene's face, pointing and shouting.
"He's dead."
"No. He was just talking to me."
The Guv grabbed him and spun him around. A hand on the back of Sam's neck forced him to look. "Dead. Dead for at least an hour from the looks of it. I called the coroner. Should be here in five minutes, in case you two want some alone time." He shoved Sam towards the corpse and walked off a few steps.
Sam caught himself before he toppled onto his father. Dead. He hadn't come back... Had Vic Tyler died, a John Doe behind a dumpster? Never to be found? Sam glanced back at Gene, who was standing with his back turned. He knelt beside Vic. "Don't worry. I'll make sure mom knows. And me. Little me." He kissed his father's forehead. "You're not alone, Daddy."
<< Pervert is what he is, always wandering in here, staring at him. >>
<< Doctor, he’s harmless. Come on, let’s go back to your room, now. >>
<< Don’t touch that! Get him out of here! >>
In the distance, he heard the sirens approaching. "You finished?" Gene said, turning now and looking at him with disgust, no-discomfort, which, from him, was worse.
<< Sam? Sam? Stay with us now… >>
Sam didn't pay him any mind, though, because he was looking over the Guv's shoulder at the great plume of fire and smoke coming from the direction of Hyde PD. Gene whirled simultaneously with the deafening noise, a sound that slowed everything and made even the air shimmer.
They watched, frozen. Then debris began to rain down on them. It must have been only seconds, and then Gene was grabbing him, Sam trying to hold onto Vic, and his father's hand forced from his as he was thrown into the dumpster. He sank into a mire of broken trash bags, their contents spilling out, swallowing his legs and hands. Gene dove in after him and slammed the lid shut. It was dark. Every movement was joined by squelching sound.
"Fuck me!" The Guv roared his disgust, his voice coming out of the blackness like a train down a tunnel.
A rat scuttled across Sam's hand. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and his mind went blank. Hyde. Blown to bits. He wouldn't get home now.
He wasn't allowed to stay in his shut off space because the Guv was trying to press something into his hand. 1973, and the damn symbol of it, still demanded his attention like a giant three year old.
"I don't need a fucking drink! Why do you always have to have a damn flask in your hand?" Sam pushed Gene's arm away. He cupped his mouth and nose with his other hand. The stench-like someone had bottled up the formaldehyde and the drained bodily fluids from the morgue, mixed them up with Chinese takeout, vomited on it, dumped it into this container and thrown the lid closed to keep the scent in. And along with the smell was the echoing of debris landing on the lid and resonating from wall to wall to wall to wall with deafening clatter.
Gene grabbed his wrist and twisted until Sam opened his hand. Gene slammed the flask into it. "Put it to your nose. Keeps the smell out."
Sam raised the flask and inhaled. Immediately, his nostrils burned with whisky fumes. In seconds, he couldn't smell anything. Between one hail of debris and another, he heard the Guv grunting as he rearranged himself with his back (Sam assumed) on the opposite wall. "Won't have you saying a bad word 'bout me flasks. Saved me life more than once, Sammy."
"Sorry," Sam muttered. Gene's shoe was touching Sam's leg. Sam shifted, thinking that 'sorry' wasn't enough, given as Gene was being nice to him and had probably just saved him. He rested his foot in the curve of Gene's ankle. He thought Gene would kick him away, but he didn't. He was too occupied with radioing CID.
"This is A1. Someone's just sent Hyde PD sky high. Send help. Now."
An empty crackle of dead air answered him, and he tried again, angrier.
<< I’m waiting for you. >>
“Did you say something, Guv?”
“Aside from swearing at this flippin’ radio, no. You’re supposed to be smelling the flask, not drinking from it. You leave the whiskey to the grownups.”
Somewhere, Sam heard someone crying. “I…I’m not dead.” For the first time, the fact sunk in. Hyde was gone, and he was still here. Breathing. Crying, possibly.
“Course you ain’t dead. I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Yeah.” Whatever that means, he did not add.
More shouting into the radio. “Hello? Anyone there? Two of your finest requesting help. Pronto!”
He reached down, grabbed Gene's nearest loafer by the toes and held on for his life.
Notes: Songs used are “Son of My Father” by Chicory Tip and “Drink With Me” from Les Miserables.
Author: amproof
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: Blue Cortina, this chapter
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I sure wouldn't
do this to them.
Characters: Gene, Sam Words: 2140
Notes: A lot happens in this one.
About Life on Mars: Sam Tyler is a 37 year old detective chief inspector in Manchester, 2006. After an accident, he "wakes up" in 1973 and finds that he is now a Detective Inspector under the supervision of Gene Hunt, a man who spends his days and nights with a flask ever at the ready, an insult always on his tongue and who lets his fists do his talking. In short, he is the complete opposite of Sam, who plays by the rules and lets evidence, not feelings, guide him in solving crimes. Sam must learn to work with Gene's unorthodox methods as he tries to figure out how to get back to 2006. Though rocky at first, they gradually develop a bond of mutual trust and respect. Voices of his loved ones from 2006 bleed through to him from the phone, the television, and sometimes simply in his head, and though he tries desperately, he can't communicate. Could Sam be stuck in 1973 forever?
About this story: The usually mild-mannered Sam attacks Gene in a violent and terrible way. The next morning, he doesn't remember anything, and the Guv isn't about to remind him--or tell him why he thinks Sam needs to spend more time in the boot of the Cortina. Just as Sam thinks the Guv has gone off his rocker, someone he loves is murdered, his prospect of getting home is practically destroyed, and in 2006 he's getting a visitor no one wants. Oh, and the Guv has started having uncomfortably pleasant dreams of Sam, even as he wonders if his DI is a psychopath.
Previously:
1. A favor gone wrong. Red Cortina (Rape, Violence)
2. A bad joke interpreted…badly. Blue Cortina (language, some violence)
3. Driving in circles. Blue Cortina (Language)
4. An action out of character. Blue Cortina (Language)
5. Understanding the unspoken. Blue Cortina (mild het!sex)
Chapter 6
Sam couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the Guv every chance he got as they drove towards Hyde. He chewed the inside of his cheek and tried not to look excited.
Gene finally noticed. “Whatcha starin’ at me like that for?”
"I'm just happy to be in this part of the car."
"You keep an eye on your mouth or you'll find that remedied."
"I can't see my mouth."
"What?"
"Nothing." He reached for the radio. Gene smacked his hand away.
"I'm drivin'. I'll do the radio flippin', thank you." He turned the dial decisively.
<< Sam? It's Mum. Doctor said you had a visitor from another ward. Said you got agitated. Were you scared, Sammy? You needn't be. I'm here with you. >>
…son of my father, molded, I was folded, I was free from draft
"Flip the station back."
"This is my favorite song." The Guv began singing along lustily.
"Those aren't the words."
"These are the words I prefer."
"Flip it back." Sam lurched towards the radio and got a fist in his sternum for his effort. He bounced against the back of the seat and glared.
"Fine. Not any fun if you're going to be like that." The Guv flipped the tuner to where it was. "Shoulda known you'd be a bleedin' showtune fan. Didn't even know they played bloody showtunes on the radio."
<< He's crying. You said that was normal, right? The crying? Oh, Sam… >>
<< It happens, Mrs. Tyler. Just keep talking to him. >>
Yeah, mum, Sam thought. Just keep talking. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her, leaning over him, touching his forehead, maybe softly tugging the short hair above it, trying to force it to lay down. Maybe if you say the right thing, I'll wake up.
<< Here's to pretty girls who went to our head. Here's to witty girls who went to our bed. Here's to them, and here's to you… >>
Oh, sure. Two seconds ago the Guv was giving him guff about liking musicals and now he was belting one out while Sam's mum was probably saying the magic words to bring him back. "Will you shut up?" Sam snapped his gaze over to Gene.
Gene looked at him, mouth agape. "I haven't said a bloody word, have I? Sittin' here, minding my business while you're in your usual sulk, aren't I?" He banged the top of the steering wheel, as if its sturdiness was proof that he'd been doing nothing but drive.
"You weren't just singing 'Drink With Me' from Les Miserables?"
"Les Mizawhat? Don't you start spouting that Froggie shite at me. Or do I need to remind you I've got a perfectly empty boot just behind you? Just when I think you can't get any poncier…"
"Fine. Sorry." Sam hunched down, crossed his arms, and indulged himself in a full on sulk.
"Though, mind you, that does sound like the kind of song I'd enjoy, if the title is anything to go by… How's it go?"
"Nevermind. It hasn't been written yet."
A muscle in Gene's left cheek twitched. Calmly, he pulled the car off the road and put it into park.
Sam looked through the back window, hoping that they were pulling off because someone had signaled them. Or that they had a flat tire. Or the Guv wanted to stretch his legs. The Guv sat, waiting silently. Sam was doomed. He tried not to let his desperation show as he began bartering (who was he kidding?) begging to stay in the proper end of the car.
"I'm sorry. I'll sing it for you. I'm sure it won't…cause any trouble in the time-space continuum if you learn a showtune…"
"Too late, Gladys. Now, way I see it, you can either put yourself in the boot, nice and easy. Or, I can do it for you. Which will not be-"
"Nice and easy." Sam closed his eyes. Wake up. Wake up. "Guv, please. We're almost to… Hyde." Home. He almost said 'home'.
"I'm going to count to three."
"Guv. I said I was sorry."
"One."
"Come on, please. I won't…I won't say a thing. And I'll be…"
"Two."
"Good! I'll be good." He felt four years old again. How many times had he promised to be good so his father would come home? Some promises are never outgrown. Just reapplied.
"Three." Gene's fist closed on Sam's collar and tugged him forward. Sam braced himself, knowing he was about to be pulled across Gene's lap and hurled headfirst onto the ground.
"…Guv?" The radio crackled. Gene dropped Sam and leaned over him to reach it. Sam tried to pretend that his head was not caught between his Guv's legs and stomach. Given how good he was at creating everything in 1973, he was more than a little disappointed that he could not uncreate something. He could still feel the roughness of the Guv's trousers against his cheek, and the heat of his torso on his back.
"Yeah, love. What is it?"
"There's been a body spotted. You should be near the area. You and DI Tyler mind stoppin' by? Plod is on the way over, but figured Tyler would want detectives on the scene, and since he's there with you…"
"Yeah. Give us the location."
Phyllis told them the body had been found in back of a deserted factory building. "We're on our way." The Guv hung the radio back on its hook and sat up. "Looks like you don't have to go in the boot after all."
"Thank God." Sam sat up, gingerly. He settled back into his seat as Gene sent the car flying through the streets.
"Guv's fine. Ah, there's your station." Sam looked as they flew past Hyde Station. He nodded, as if he knew this 1973 version, as if he recognized the cars parked in front of it. Perhaps misreading Sam’s expression he added, “You can see all your little mates in a few minutes, once we finish with this corpse.” They stopped a block away from the station. They were the first on the scene. The factory, as promised, was empty, as were the lanes around it. No witnesses hanging about, no one to talk to about where this body might be… The air was dry and stagnant, as if it had held, for years, the stench of manufacturing.
"Thought plod was coming?"
"Probably having trouble buttoning their uniforms. Come on; let's find him ourselves. Go that way."
Sam set off in the direction Gene pointed. The east side of the building was clear, but as he rounded the corner, he saw a pair of boots, toes pointing up, on the opposite side of a blue dumpster.
"Guv, I've found him!" Sam skidded around the dumpster towards the motionless boots. He grabbed the metal handle to stop himself from sliding past, as his shoes didn't give him much traction on the gravel. He stared down at the body.
And stared.
And stared.
Vic Tyler was lying at his feet.
Vic stirred and looked up. "Sammy?" He stretched his hand out. Sam took it, even though he knew his father was calling for his little son. He knelt beside him. It was a mistake. His father wasn't dead. Someone probably just saw him passed out and called in a crank.
Vic touched Sam's face, traced long fingers down his cheek. "You're such a beautiful boy, my Sammy." He turned and coughed. "You grew up so well."
"You know me, Dad?" Sam squeezed his hand. He pulled his father into his chest, but Vic had stopped speaking. Instead, he smiled at Sam. Sam raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed his father's knuckles.
"Oi! What the bloomin' 'ell are you doin', Gladys?" Slam of meaty hands on his shoulder, and Sam was ripped away.
"You need to call an ambulance, Guv. He could still make it!" Sam flung himself back into Gene's face, pointing and shouting.
"He's dead."
"No. He was just talking to me."
The Guv grabbed him and spun him around. A hand on the back of Sam's neck forced him to look. "Dead. Dead for at least an hour from the looks of it. I called the coroner. Should be here in five minutes, in case you two want some alone time." He shoved Sam towards the corpse and walked off a few steps.
Sam caught himself before he toppled onto his father. Dead. He hadn't come back... Had Vic Tyler died, a John Doe behind a dumpster? Never to be found? Sam glanced back at Gene, who was standing with his back turned. He knelt beside Vic. "Don't worry. I'll make sure mom knows. And me. Little me." He kissed his father's forehead. "You're not alone, Daddy."
<< Pervert is what he is, always wandering in here, staring at him. >>
<< Doctor, he’s harmless. Come on, let’s go back to your room, now. >>
<< Don’t touch that! Get him out of here! >>
In the distance, he heard the sirens approaching. "You finished?" Gene said, turning now and looking at him with disgust, no-discomfort, which, from him, was worse.
<< Sam? Sam? Stay with us now… >>
Sam didn't pay him any mind, though, because he was looking over the Guv's shoulder at the great plume of fire and smoke coming from the direction of Hyde PD. Gene whirled simultaneously with the deafening noise, a sound that slowed everything and made even the air shimmer.
They watched, frozen. Then debris began to rain down on them. It must have been only seconds, and then Gene was grabbing him, Sam trying to hold onto Vic, and his father's hand forced from his as he was thrown into the dumpster. He sank into a mire of broken trash bags, their contents spilling out, swallowing his legs and hands. Gene dove in after him and slammed the lid shut. It was dark. Every movement was joined by squelching sound.
"Fuck me!" The Guv roared his disgust, his voice coming out of the blackness like a train down a tunnel.
A rat scuttled across Sam's hand. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and his mind went blank. Hyde. Blown to bits. He wouldn't get home now.
He wasn't allowed to stay in his shut off space because the Guv was trying to press something into his hand. 1973, and the damn symbol of it, still demanded his attention like a giant three year old.
"I don't need a fucking drink! Why do you always have to have a damn flask in your hand?" Sam pushed Gene's arm away. He cupped his mouth and nose with his other hand. The stench-like someone had bottled up the formaldehyde and the drained bodily fluids from the morgue, mixed them up with Chinese takeout, vomited on it, dumped it into this container and thrown the lid closed to keep the scent in. And along with the smell was the echoing of debris landing on the lid and resonating from wall to wall to wall to wall with deafening clatter.
Gene grabbed his wrist and twisted until Sam opened his hand. Gene slammed the flask into it. "Put it to your nose. Keeps the smell out."
Sam raised the flask and inhaled. Immediately, his nostrils burned with whisky fumes. In seconds, he couldn't smell anything. Between one hail of debris and another, he heard the Guv grunting as he rearranged himself with his back (Sam assumed) on the opposite wall. "Won't have you saying a bad word 'bout me flasks. Saved me life more than once, Sammy."
"Sorry," Sam muttered. Gene's shoe was touching Sam's leg. Sam shifted, thinking that 'sorry' wasn't enough, given as Gene was being nice to him and had probably just saved him. He rested his foot in the curve of Gene's ankle. He thought Gene would kick him away, but he didn't. He was too occupied with radioing CID.
"This is A1. Someone's just sent Hyde PD sky high. Send help. Now."
An empty crackle of dead air answered him, and he tried again, angrier.
<< I’m waiting for you. >>
“Did you say something, Guv?”
“Aside from swearing at this flippin’ radio, no. You’re supposed to be smelling the flask, not drinking from it. You leave the whiskey to the grownups.”
Somewhere, Sam heard someone crying. “I…I’m not dead.” For the first time, the fact sunk in. Hyde was gone, and he was still here. Breathing. Crying, possibly.
“Course you ain’t dead. I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Yeah.” Whatever that means, he did not add.
More shouting into the radio. “Hello? Anyone there? Two of your finest requesting help. Pronto!”
He reached down, grabbed Gene's nearest loafer by the toes and held on for his life.
Notes: Songs used are “Son of My Father” by Chicory Tip and “Drink With Me” from Les Miserables.