Whump!bingo fic: Community-Minded (Gene/Sam, Green Cortina)
Title: Community-Minded
Rating: Green Cortina
Word Count: 1,464
Notes: So I meant to get this up this morning... booted up browser and it had been hijacked. Brother got banned from the computer. Cue huge tantrum and throwing of things, which meant I got the whole day to write in between revision. Bliss.
Summary: "You know I'm not goin' to force you to be a team player, Gene." For the prompt 'blood donation', which isn't even proper whump, but I tried.
-0-0-
“Come on, Gene. Don’t you want to be an outstandin’ paragon of community membership?”
“No.”
“No… that would be too much to ask. Look, where I come from, this is considered one of the best things you can do for your community. Loads of people do it. The blood banks are constantly advertising, you get rewards for it, yer practically saluted as you walk down the street.”
“… Really?”
“… No. Come on, Gene. It’ll be fun. You get to sit there an’ read the paper an’ they’ll make you tea, bring you biscuits… it’ll be like ‘avin’ a servant around. In fact, it’ll be like ‘avin’ an extra me around.”
“You sayin’ I treat you like a servant?”
“Why?”
“Nothing. Just checkin’ you know yer proper place.”
“… Charming.”
“Yes I am. Alright, fine, but if we turn up an’ it’s some moanin’ Minnie nurse with needles the size of King Kong’s todger, we leave, got it?”
“Yes, Guv.”
-0-0-
Highest wattage smile on full power, Sam is the first on the bed, holding his arm out proudly for the nurse to wipe with yellow liquid that Gene can’t help but envisage as piss. He doesn’t even flinch as the needle pricks his elbow- and it’s nothing like the tiny little things Gene had his jabs with years ago- watching with glee in his eyes as he’s connected up to a thick plastic tube, almost instantly filled with red; the nurse gives him a beaming smile, a pillow for his arm, and a cup of tea from the trolley, telling Gene to “take a seat” on the bed beside Sam’s whilst she patters out to fetch another needle. Gene, coat slung over one arm, takes one look at the bag of blood slowly filling up by Sam’s side and double-checks the Cortina keys in his pocket.
“C’mon, Gene. Sit down, the beds don’t bite.” Sam reaches over to pat Gene’s bed, crumpling the pristine white sheets on it, a smile on his face as Gene reluctantly perches on the edge. “I told you it’s not a big needle, didn’t I? Look. Didn’t hurt at all. They put some iodine on first, to disinfect it, an’ then it’s a little tingle an’ yer away.”
“Didn’t look like a little tingle to me, Sammy-boy.” Don’t admit you’re nervous. Gene Hunt doesn’t get nervous about a little needle… big needle… “Just don’t see why you’d do this for fun, that’s all. Could be in the pub instead. An’ who’s goin’ to drive us back if we’re both not allowed to drive? I’ll sit ‘ere an’ watch Nurse Dracula drain you.”
“You know I’m not goin’ to force you to be a team player, Gene.”
“Bloody right yer not.”
“I just thought you’d be a little more… community-minded. We could leave the Cortina ‘ere overnight, nobody’d steal it, would they? Or Ray or Chris could come and get it. Or hell, you could even drive the bloody thing ‘ome. You drive ‘ome from the pub, wouldn’t be so different, physiologically.”
“Physio-what?”
“… Look, I’m not goin’ to make you give blood, Gene, but I can certainly make it worth your while, if you were willin’ to consider it.”
Gene folds his arms, glaring at the poster beside his head. “An’ how do you propose doin’ that?” The woman on the poster is disturbingly jolly for someone who’s just had a needle stuck in their arm, but then, actors get paid for that bollocks, don’t they? Bloody pansy actors, with their agents and bullshit. Not big needles. The big-chested actress gurning at the fake-looking doctor, not big needles, and didn’t Cartwright have one of those shirts, she’d worn it a couple of Thursdays ago, when they’d been on that stakeout and Ray had spilt curry all over his trousers and Sam had almost kissed his cheek by mistake when he’d told the others he was going out to sit in the Cortina for a better view of the-
“Ow!”
“I know, it stings a bit, doesn’t it, love?” The nurse puts one hand on his arm to stop him wriggling, taping the tube into place, and Gene has to avert his eyes for a moment as it fills with scarlet blood. His blood. “There now, yer all set up. I’ll bring you a cuppa in a few minutes, alright?”
“Ta, love.” Gene reaches over to the chair beside his bed with his good arm, snatching a Manchester Gazette off it, determinedly avoiding Sam’s proud gaze. “No biccies?”
“I’m sure we can find something out from the nurses’ station, Mr Hunt. Garibaldis do you?” She tapes a wad of tissue over his arm, trotting out towards the front of the ward, and Gene turns towards the window and buries his head in the newspaper. Don’t look at the bag thingy. Ignore the bag thingy. Christ, ‘ow much blood do they-? Jackie Queen’s on this page, let’s see which poor sod she’s tried to ruin the life of this week.
“See, Gene? Not that bad, is it?” Sam tilts his head back, the grin on his face widening at Gene’s pointed rustle of the newspaper. “Pretty relaxing, just sittin’ back an’ being waited on, right?”
Does ‘e even realise what they’re doin’ with his arm? Gene clears his throat, resting his elbow on his stomach, and starts scanning through the article. Some fraudster, not his jurisdiction thankfully, he’s never had much patience for the white-collar types trying to defraud their own businesses like the brainless gorms they are. Pity old DCI Warner.
“Gene… you alright?”
“Course I bloody am.”
“You know what you’re doin’ might well save someone’s life.”
“Mm.” Don’t look at the bag. The disturbingly full bag now, really rather plump as he turns determinedly away from it and stares at the picture above Jackie Queen’s article. Warner’s put on a few pounds since he saw him at the Dinner and Dance last year, must be the new wife and her fondness for chocolate digestives…
“Thought that would appeal to you. The big ‘ero.” Sam slides off his bed, careful to keep his arm tilted at the same angle, and presses a quick kiss to Gene’s temple, ignoring the stiffening of Gene’s neck muscles. “Look at you, Gene. Brave. Yer wonderful, you are, really wonderful-”
“Shut it,” Gene mutters, and Sam has to rush back to his own bed as the nurse comes back in with Gene’s beloved Garibaldis.
-0-0-
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam’s grinning as he and Gene walk back through the hospital corridors to the car park, the matching plasters on their arms hidden by long sleeves. He seems completely bloody unaffected by the draining, much to Gene’s annoyance, who had been half-hoping the lack of blood would at the very least make Sam sleepy; but no, he’s proving himself to be as annoying and chirpy as ever, possibly even more so.
“Depends. If I wake up in the middle of the night sufferin’ from shock…”
“Oh, I’ll wake you up in the middle of the night, Gene,” Sam purrs, his hand stroking Gene’s aching elbow for a split second before he’s striding round to the passenger side of the Cortina. “Drive slowly now, whether you think it’s important or not, they did take quite a bit of blood an’ it will ‘ave an effect on you, we’ll be goin’ straight to bed when we get ‘ome.”
“I noticed,” Gene grumbles, yanking his door open with more force than is strictly necessary. “Dracula could’ve fed off that for a month.”
“Yer identifyin’ a lot with Dracula today, aren’t you?” Sam slides his arm around Gene’s waist as the DCI makes himself comfortable in the driver’s seat, pushing away the finger scratching idly at his elbow beneath his coat and shirt. “Leave it alone, let it scab up. Don’t you feel just a little bit proud? Helpin’ someone, maybe someone who desperately needs blood to survive? Come on, Gene. You get a nap in front of the telly, they might get a second chance at life. And you got tea an’ Garibaldis courtesy of the NHS. They’ve spoilt you, they ‘ave.”
Gene wordlessly shifts the car into gear, pushing Sam’s arm out from behind his back.
“… Alright, let’s make a deal. Every time you come ‘ere with me an’ donate blood, I do that thing you were talkin’ about last night… the thing with the, er, rubber thing you’ve got ‘idden in the wardrobe.”
“How do you know about th-”
“Give me credit, Gene. I am a detective. An’ it felt very nice too.”
“You little-”
The Cortina’s wheels squeal as Gene slams his foot down, at just the right angle to knock Sam’s sore arm into the door.
“Ow! You bastard!”
Rating: Green Cortina
Word Count: 1,464
Notes: So I meant to get this up this morning... booted up browser and it had been hijacked. Brother got banned from the computer. Cue huge tantrum and throwing of things, which meant I got the whole day to write in between revision. Bliss.
Summary: "You know I'm not goin' to force you to be a team player, Gene." For the prompt 'blood donation', which isn't even proper whump, but I tried.
-0-0-
“Come on, Gene. Don’t you want to be an outstandin’ paragon of community membership?”
“No.”
“No… that would be too much to ask. Look, where I come from, this is considered one of the best things you can do for your community. Loads of people do it. The blood banks are constantly advertising, you get rewards for it, yer practically saluted as you walk down the street.”
“… Really?”
“… No. Come on, Gene. It’ll be fun. You get to sit there an’ read the paper an’ they’ll make you tea, bring you biscuits… it’ll be like ‘avin’ a servant around. In fact, it’ll be like ‘avin’ an extra me around.”
“You sayin’ I treat you like a servant?”
“Why?”
“Nothing. Just checkin’ you know yer proper place.”
“… Charming.”
“Yes I am. Alright, fine, but if we turn up an’ it’s some moanin’ Minnie nurse with needles the size of King Kong’s todger, we leave, got it?”
“Yes, Guv.”
-0-0-
Highest wattage smile on full power, Sam is the first on the bed, holding his arm out proudly for the nurse to wipe with yellow liquid that Gene can’t help but envisage as piss. He doesn’t even flinch as the needle pricks his elbow- and it’s nothing like the tiny little things Gene had his jabs with years ago- watching with glee in his eyes as he’s connected up to a thick plastic tube, almost instantly filled with red; the nurse gives him a beaming smile, a pillow for his arm, and a cup of tea from the trolley, telling Gene to “take a seat” on the bed beside Sam’s whilst she patters out to fetch another needle. Gene, coat slung over one arm, takes one look at the bag of blood slowly filling up by Sam’s side and double-checks the Cortina keys in his pocket.
“C’mon, Gene. Sit down, the beds don’t bite.” Sam reaches over to pat Gene’s bed, crumpling the pristine white sheets on it, a smile on his face as Gene reluctantly perches on the edge. “I told you it’s not a big needle, didn’t I? Look. Didn’t hurt at all. They put some iodine on first, to disinfect it, an’ then it’s a little tingle an’ yer away.”
“Didn’t look like a little tingle to me, Sammy-boy.” Don’t admit you’re nervous. Gene Hunt doesn’t get nervous about a little needle… big needle… “Just don’t see why you’d do this for fun, that’s all. Could be in the pub instead. An’ who’s goin’ to drive us back if we’re both not allowed to drive? I’ll sit ‘ere an’ watch Nurse Dracula drain you.”
“You know I’m not goin’ to force you to be a team player, Gene.”
“Bloody right yer not.”
“I just thought you’d be a little more… community-minded. We could leave the Cortina ‘ere overnight, nobody’d steal it, would they? Or Ray or Chris could come and get it. Or hell, you could even drive the bloody thing ‘ome. You drive ‘ome from the pub, wouldn’t be so different, physiologically.”
“Physio-what?”
“… Look, I’m not goin’ to make you give blood, Gene, but I can certainly make it worth your while, if you were willin’ to consider it.”
Gene folds his arms, glaring at the poster beside his head. “An’ how do you propose doin’ that?” The woman on the poster is disturbingly jolly for someone who’s just had a needle stuck in their arm, but then, actors get paid for that bollocks, don’t they? Bloody pansy actors, with their agents and bullshit. Not big needles. The big-chested actress gurning at the fake-looking doctor, not big needles, and didn’t Cartwright have one of those shirts, she’d worn it a couple of Thursdays ago, when they’d been on that stakeout and Ray had spilt curry all over his trousers and Sam had almost kissed his cheek by mistake when he’d told the others he was going out to sit in the Cortina for a better view of the-
“Ow!”
“I know, it stings a bit, doesn’t it, love?” The nurse puts one hand on his arm to stop him wriggling, taping the tube into place, and Gene has to avert his eyes for a moment as it fills with scarlet blood. His blood. “There now, yer all set up. I’ll bring you a cuppa in a few minutes, alright?”
“Ta, love.” Gene reaches over to the chair beside his bed with his good arm, snatching a Manchester Gazette off it, determinedly avoiding Sam’s proud gaze. “No biccies?”
“I’m sure we can find something out from the nurses’ station, Mr Hunt. Garibaldis do you?” She tapes a wad of tissue over his arm, trotting out towards the front of the ward, and Gene turns towards the window and buries his head in the newspaper. Don’t look at the bag thingy. Ignore the bag thingy. Christ, ‘ow much blood do they-? Jackie Queen’s on this page, let’s see which poor sod she’s tried to ruin the life of this week.
“See, Gene? Not that bad, is it?” Sam tilts his head back, the grin on his face widening at Gene’s pointed rustle of the newspaper. “Pretty relaxing, just sittin’ back an’ being waited on, right?”
Does ‘e even realise what they’re doin’ with his arm? Gene clears his throat, resting his elbow on his stomach, and starts scanning through the article. Some fraudster, not his jurisdiction thankfully, he’s never had much patience for the white-collar types trying to defraud their own businesses like the brainless gorms they are. Pity old DCI Warner.
“Gene… you alright?”
“Course I bloody am.”
“You know what you’re doin’ might well save someone’s life.”
“Mm.” Don’t look at the bag. The disturbingly full bag now, really rather plump as he turns determinedly away from it and stares at the picture above Jackie Queen’s article. Warner’s put on a few pounds since he saw him at the Dinner and Dance last year, must be the new wife and her fondness for chocolate digestives…
“Thought that would appeal to you. The big ‘ero.” Sam slides off his bed, careful to keep his arm tilted at the same angle, and presses a quick kiss to Gene’s temple, ignoring the stiffening of Gene’s neck muscles. “Look at you, Gene. Brave. Yer wonderful, you are, really wonderful-”
“Shut it,” Gene mutters, and Sam has to rush back to his own bed as the nurse comes back in with Gene’s beloved Garibaldis.
-0-0-
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sam’s grinning as he and Gene walk back through the hospital corridors to the car park, the matching plasters on their arms hidden by long sleeves. He seems completely bloody unaffected by the draining, much to Gene’s annoyance, who had been half-hoping the lack of blood would at the very least make Sam sleepy; but no, he’s proving himself to be as annoying and chirpy as ever, possibly even more so.
“Depends. If I wake up in the middle of the night sufferin’ from shock…”
“Oh, I’ll wake you up in the middle of the night, Gene,” Sam purrs, his hand stroking Gene’s aching elbow for a split second before he’s striding round to the passenger side of the Cortina. “Drive slowly now, whether you think it’s important or not, they did take quite a bit of blood an’ it will ‘ave an effect on you, we’ll be goin’ straight to bed when we get ‘ome.”
“I noticed,” Gene grumbles, yanking his door open with more force than is strictly necessary. “Dracula could’ve fed off that for a month.”
“Yer identifyin’ a lot with Dracula today, aren’t you?” Sam slides his arm around Gene’s waist as the DCI makes himself comfortable in the driver’s seat, pushing away the finger scratching idly at his elbow beneath his coat and shirt. “Leave it alone, let it scab up. Don’t you feel just a little bit proud? Helpin’ someone, maybe someone who desperately needs blood to survive? Come on, Gene. You get a nap in front of the telly, they might get a second chance at life. And you got tea an’ Garibaldis courtesy of the NHS. They’ve spoilt you, they ‘ave.”
Gene wordlessly shifts the car into gear, pushing Sam’s arm out from behind his back.
“… Alright, let’s make a deal. Every time you come ‘ere with me an’ donate blood, I do that thing you were talkin’ about last night… the thing with the, er, rubber thing you’ve got ‘idden in the wardrobe.”
“How do you know about th-”
“Give me credit, Gene. I am a detective. An’ it felt very nice too.”
“You little-”
The Cortina’s wheels squeal as Gene slams his foot down, at just the right angle to knock Sam’s sore arm into the door.
“Ow! You bastard!”