FIC: Five Shirts (4/5): BLUE, by rebelxxwaltz, Green Cortina
Title: Five Shirts (4/5): Blue
Author: rebelxxwaltz
Rating: Green Cortina, I think. Next (and final) bit is rated Brown.
Word Count: right around 1,000.
Notes: Penultimate installment in this 'Five Shirts' series of stand-alone short stories. This one is written from Sam's perspective, and is the second shortest of the series. Slight warning for the fact that it was written while exposed to a continuous loop of Blue Jeans by Lana Del Rey and Behind Blue Eyes by The Who. Oh, and Tangled Up In Blue by Bob Dylan. Thank my iTunes for a cracktacular mix of blue-themed songs. :P
Pairing(s): None, I guess. It's basically Sam/Gene friendship stuff... I have honestly never written so many gen fics in my life!
Summary: On some of the blue shirt days it's like Gene is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Sam is there to help prop him up.
Five Shirts
Part IV: BLUE
~Sam~
The blue shirt, Sam thought, really brought out the blue in Gene's eyes. Those changeable eyes, which were mostly green but sometimes grey or blue or a combination thereof. Gene's drowsy, unfocused, drunken eyes in this particular case...
"You try t'protect people and whaddo they do? Spitinyerbloodyface."
Gene was slumped over his umpteenth Scotch, while his second-in-command deftly confiscated the keys to the Cortina. It was one of those nights, without a doubt. Sam knew he could look forward to a poor night's sleep in the lumpy armchair while the Guv sprawled all over Sam's bed with drunken inconsideration, snoring and grumbling obliviously.
When it came to the perpetually raging hurricane of emotions that was Gene, Sam was a skilled forecaster; maybe the best for all his careful observations. At times it was rooted in Sam's well-honed instinct for self-preservation. There was a lot to be said for knowing whether or not the Guv had reached the point of anger which was likely to result in a sudden flurry of physical violence, or if his ire could be quelled by a few whisky chasers bought and paid for down at the Railway Arms.
The Sadness, however, was harder to predict and far more difficult to keep in check.
It would surface at times when circumstances were beyond the Guv's control, a concept that rubbed Gene the wrong way to start with. There were people and things in this world that simply couldn't be fixed-- regardless of whether Gene followed the law to the very last letter or took it into his own uncompromising, leather-clad hands. When the cases involved children, as this one had, that seemed to upset him the most. Sam knew that there were some dark corners of Gene's past that the other man would probably never speak of, but Sam could see them clear as day shining out of those eyes that looked so much bluer when they were clouded with painstakingly concealed despair.
Shooting Nelson a sympathetic look as Gene shouted for more whisky, Sam recognized his cue. "Come on Guv, time we were off home."
Every time he dragged a legless Gene away from the bar at the Arms, Sam remembered the night that Terry Haslam was murdered-- although righteous and unquenchable rage had been the overriding factor in the larger man's actions that night. Sam had been told to "Piss off" many times since then, but he'd schooled himself not to listen. Gene trusted him. He'd said so himself, with unguarded desperation on yet another harrowing occasion when Sam was moments away from giving him up as a cold-blooded killer. Sam had come to think of that trust as a great responsibility. The Guv spent most of his waking hours chasing after criminals and defending his city and his team, so someone needed to be there to look after Gene when all that weight on his shoulders became too crushing to bear alone.
The worst Sam had ever seen him had probably been the day that Harry Woolf died; suicide in prison after serving a scant two months of his sentence, a shameful and restless end for the Superintendent who had been pushed to the edge of life in so many ways. Jealousy, corruption, illness, a cycle of pain spiraling out of control, and for Harcourt Woolf it had all ended in a lonely cell so far away from the Spanish retreat he had envisioned. Seeing Gene, sat there at his desk in that blue shirt, tie unknotted and his face so full of anguish, had brought Sam straight back to that fateful day when they had searched Woolf's office and uncovered his crimes.
"Talk me out of it," Gene had implored Woolf. "Tell me… it's all untrue."
The sorrow reflected in Gene's eyes when he heard the news of Harry's passing had echoed back to the desolation that haunted his voice that day. The irises set off by the sky blue fabric were so vivid, the color so much sharper without a trembling gun arm for the indestructible Gene Hunt to hide behind. Sam remembered thinking that there are many different ways for a person to be inconsolable, more varieties of heartbreak than could reasonably be counted in two lifetimes, and never enough time or opportunity to make it all right again.
In the end, it was one of the things that had made Sam return to this place.
"When you can feel, then you're alive. When you don't feel... you're not," that was what Nelson had told him.
Those words had brought him to the cold concrete rooftop on that day when the sky was so incredibly, brilliantly blue, where the colors of his world should have brought him joy and left him in awe of the struggle he'd endured to return 'home.' Instead all he could think of were the friends he had left in that tunnel and the midnight-tinted depths of betrayal that the Guv would be feeling toward him now, after everything. Just like what he had seen on a bleak day in 1974, watching that lion of a man bite his lip hard enough to draw blood rather than submit to the pull of tears at the news of his disgraced mentor's death. And if Gene could feel that deeply, what more proof did Sam need that the place he had left behind was real?
"Gerroff me, you fairy," Gene groused.
Sam Tyler smiled and wedged himself more firmly against Gene's side, supporting his inebriated DCI's weight and steadying his own footsteps beneath the hypocritical grasping of a blue-shirted arm. They weaved along the pavement to the rundown block of flats, where Sam propped Gene's drooping frame against the side of the building as he fished for his keys. Dark blond hairs catching along the rough texture of the brickwork as he leaned his head back, Gene peered over at him.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
Swimming blue-green eyes latched onto indulgent honey-brown with sudden alertness.
"Thanks."
xxxxx
Hmmm, slightly depressing, but at least the ending was a little... happy? Who would have ever expected fan fiction about shirts to produce so many angsty feels? *smiles innocently*
As for Harry Woolf, I don't think we ever had any specific news of his fate. Something made me assume that he would not be long for this world, and for the sake of this story he passed away before Sam's return to 2006-- which I placed in 1974, by the way. Is there any reliable timeline anywhere concerning how much time passed between Sam's arrival in 1973 and the events in 2x8? I always assumed that at least a year must have passed... anybody have a definitive answer? *scratches head*
Hope you guys are enjoying these! The next (and last) story in the series can be expected in a few days.
Next time, Pink-- The message of the pink shirt was simple: I'm gonna fuck you tonight, Tyler, so leave the door to your shitty flat on the latch.
Author: rebelxxwaltz
Rating: Green Cortina, I think. Next (and final) bit is rated Brown.
Word Count: right around 1,000.
Notes: Penultimate installment in this 'Five Shirts' series of stand-alone short stories. This one is written from Sam's perspective, and is the second shortest of the series. Slight warning for the fact that it was written while exposed to a continuous loop of Blue Jeans by Lana Del Rey and Behind Blue Eyes by The Who. Oh, and Tangled Up In Blue by Bob Dylan. Thank my iTunes for a cracktacular mix of blue-themed songs. :P
Pairing(s): None, I guess. It's basically Sam/Gene friendship stuff... I have honestly never written so many gen fics in my life!
Summary: On some of the blue shirt days it's like Gene is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Sam is there to help prop him up.
Five Shirts
Part IV: BLUE
~Sam~
The blue shirt, Sam thought, really brought out the blue in Gene's eyes. Those changeable eyes, which were mostly green but sometimes grey or blue or a combination thereof. Gene's drowsy, unfocused, drunken eyes in this particular case...
"You try t'protect people and whaddo they do? Spitinyerbloodyface."
Gene was slumped over his umpteenth Scotch, while his second-in-command deftly confiscated the keys to the Cortina. It was one of those nights, without a doubt. Sam knew he could look forward to a poor night's sleep in the lumpy armchair while the Guv sprawled all over Sam's bed with drunken inconsideration, snoring and grumbling obliviously.
When it came to the perpetually raging hurricane of emotions that was Gene, Sam was a skilled forecaster; maybe the best for all his careful observations. At times it was rooted in Sam's well-honed instinct for self-preservation. There was a lot to be said for knowing whether or not the Guv had reached the point of anger which was likely to result in a sudden flurry of physical violence, or if his ire could be quelled by a few whisky chasers bought and paid for down at the Railway Arms.
The Sadness, however, was harder to predict and far more difficult to keep in check.
It would surface at times when circumstances were beyond the Guv's control, a concept that rubbed Gene the wrong way to start with. There were people and things in this world that simply couldn't be fixed-- regardless of whether Gene followed the law to the very last letter or took it into his own uncompromising, leather-clad hands. When the cases involved children, as this one had, that seemed to upset him the most. Sam knew that there were some dark corners of Gene's past that the other man would probably never speak of, but Sam could see them clear as day shining out of those eyes that looked so much bluer when they were clouded with painstakingly concealed despair.
Shooting Nelson a sympathetic look as Gene shouted for more whisky, Sam recognized his cue. "Come on Guv, time we were off home."
Every time he dragged a legless Gene away from the bar at the Arms, Sam remembered the night that Terry Haslam was murdered-- although righteous and unquenchable rage had been the overriding factor in the larger man's actions that night. Sam had been told to "Piss off" many times since then, but he'd schooled himself not to listen. Gene trusted him. He'd said so himself, with unguarded desperation on yet another harrowing occasion when Sam was moments away from giving him up as a cold-blooded killer. Sam had come to think of that trust as a great responsibility. The Guv spent most of his waking hours chasing after criminals and defending his city and his team, so someone needed to be there to look after Gene when all that weight on his shoulders became too crushing to bear alone.
The worst Sam had ever seen him had probably been the day that Harry Woolf died; suicide in prison after serving a scant two months of his sentence, a shameful and restless end for the Superintendent who had been pushed to the edge of life in so many ways. Jealousy, corruption, illness, a cycle of pain spiraling out of control, and for Harcourt Woolf it had all ended in a lonely cell so far away from the Spanish retreat he had envisioned. Seeing Gene, sat there at his desk in that blue shirt, tie unknotted and his face so full of anguish, had brought Sam straight back to that fateful day when they had searched Woolf's office and uncovered his crimes.
"Talk me out of it," Gene had implored Woolf. "Tell me… it's all untrue."
The sorrow reflected in Gene's eyes when he heard the news of Harry's passing had echoed back to the desolation that haunted his voice that day. The irises set off by the sky blue fabric were so vivid, the color so much sharper without a trembling gun arm for the indestructible Gene Hunt to hide behind. Sam remembered thinking that there are many different ways for a person to be inconsolable, more varieties of heartbreak than could reasonably be counted in two lifetimes, and never enough time or opportunity to make it all right again.
In the end, it was one of the things that had made Sam return to this place.
"When you can feel, then you're alive. When you don't feel... you're not," that was what Nelson had told him.
Those words had brought him to the cold concrete rooftop on that day when the sky was so incredibly, brilliantly blue, where the colors of his world should have brought him joy and left him in awe of the struggle he'd endured to return 'home.' Instead all he could think of were the friends he had left in that tunnel and the midnight-tinted depths of betrayal that the Guv would be feeling toward him now, after everything. Just like what he had seen on a bleak day in 1974, watching that lion of a man bite his lip hard enough to draw blood rather than submit to the pull of tears at the news of his disgraced mentor's death. And if Gene could feel that deeply, what more proof did Sam need that the place he had left behind was real?
"Gerroff me, you fairy," Gene groused.
Sam Tyler smiled and wedged himself more firmly against Gene's side, supporting his inebriated DCI's weight and steadying his own footsteps beneath the hypocritical grasping of a blue-shirted arm. They weaved along the pavement to the rundown block of flats, where Sam propped Gene's drooping frame against the side of the building as he fished for his keys. Dark blond hairs catching along the rough texture of the brickwork as he leaned his head back, Gene peered over at him.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
Swimming blue-green eyes latched onto indulgent honey-brown with sudden alertness.
"Thanks."
xxxxx
Hmmm, slightly depressing, but at least the ending was a little... happy? Who would have ever expected fan fiction about shirts to produce so many angsty feels? *smiles innocently*
As for Harry Woolf, I don't think we ever had any specific news of his fate. Something made me assume that he would not be long for this world, and for the sake of this story he passed away before Sam's return to 2006-- which I placed in 1974, by the way. Is there any reliable timeline anywhere concerning how much time passed between Sam's arrival in 1973 and the events in 2x8? I always assumed that at least a year must have passed... anybody have a definitive answer? *scratches head*
Hope you guys are enjoying these! The next (and last) story in the series can be expected in a few days.
Next time, Pink-- The message of the pink shirt was simple: I'm gonna fuck you tonight, Tyler, so leave the door to your shitty flat on the latch.