Introductions all round?
*waves*
Um - hi! I'm new here - or, I'm new posting, and my journal is shiny new, but I've been lurking guiltily, and waiting for an original plot-bunny with which to, er... de-lurk. So, even though it's ye olde short!fic, I hope it's OK... Firstly, though, I have to say how much I *love* this comm! I was starting to think I was the only person I knew who saw the slash in Life on Mars.
...stupid, I know. *blush*
But, like I said, I've been lurking for a while, and I've enjoyed reading so many of the stories here! Now that I have my new, shiny journal (*pets*), I'm going to go and comment on them all!!
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
...Ahem.
Sorry for the long "intro" post. It's late, and I'm probably not making much sense... so, um... on to the fic!
Title: Reality Check
Rating: Green Cortina for Gene's mouth? (am I using the 'cortina' ratings right? *blush*)
Warnings: Absolutely none. Probably so clean - and short! - it doesn't even rate the 'green' rating.
Pairing: I wrote it with Sam/Gene in mind, but it can very easily be read as gen. I didn't even manage to get a kiss in there!
Summary: Thirty three years after everything, and the suicide of DCI Sam Tyler is front page news in the local Manchester papers...
“What the bloody hell is this?!” Gene slammed the newspaper down on Sam’s desk, giving the other man a look so venomous, Sam was genuinely taken aback for a few moments.
He looked down at the newspaper, then stared in shock, picking it up and unfolding it. There was a picture of him, a standard one, but in full “dress” uniform, face serious and ever-so-slightly uptight, bold and in colour on the front page. “It’s - me.”
“It’s you thirty years ago, maybe!” Gene almost snarled it. “What I want to know is, what the bloody hell were you doing, throwing yourself off a building?”
For the first time, Sam actually took a look at the headline. ‘DCI Sam Tyler Takes Swan Dive’, it read, and he actually grinned a little. “Jackie Queen could have done better, don’t you think?” he asked, lightly, folding it up, and handing it back to Gene.
“I asked you a question, Sam.” The older man repeated, with just a faint undercurrent of threat in his voice. “And I want it answered.”
Sam shrugged. “I told you, di’n’t I? Said I was from 2006.”
“Yeah, fine, however crazy it is, I’m startin’ to believe that, all your shit about Star Wars and mobile bloody phones coming true!” Gene was gripping the paper so hard, his knuckles were going white. “But now I’m readin’ about you chucking yourself off a fifteen storey building, and I want to know why!”
“You always were patient, weren’t you, guv?” He shrugged, taking the paper back, and smoothing out the creases where Gene had gripped it just a little too hard, idly reading through the article on himself. DCI Sam Tyler, head of Manchester CID, committed suicide yesterday. The Chief Inspector, recently recovered from a near fatal car accident which left him in a coma for several weeks… “D’you remember that - thing - with Frank Morgan?”
“Stick-up-his-arse DCI from Hyde?” Gene sniffed. “I remember. Rather not, though.”
Sam offered him a rather awkward smile. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” He paused, thinking back thirty three years, and still finding it genuinely difficult to believe that he had travelled back in time, rather than simply gone mad. Of course, he reflected, he could just still be mad, all this time later. “Look, Morgan - he told me that if I did…what he wanted, he could get me back home. I thought he meant this place.”
“You always were a bit simple.” Gene said, but without real bite. “What was he supposed to do, wave his magic wand, and get you back, Dorothy?”
“He did, though.” Sam said, quietly, and Gene stared at him.
“Come again?”
“When I left you lot on that train line. Morgan was there, and somehow, I ended up back here.” He chuckled a little, but without much humour. “I had a brain tumour. Couldn’t feel a thing.”
Gene rested an awkward hand on his shoulder, stood over him as he was, at Sam’s desk, impressive frame diminished a little by age, but no less intimidating for it. It was surprising how gentle he could be, for such a big man, but Sam had experienced that gentleness enough times to appreciate it fully. “But - why’d you throw yourself off a building?”
Sam shrugged, and Gene removed his hand. “I couldn’t just leave you there, on that railway line, could I? Not when I knew that Morgan meant to leave you to die.”
“And you thought lobbing yourself off the nearest high-rise was going to get you back to 1973?” Gene frowned. “You’ve done a lot of stupid bloody things in your time, Sam Tyler, but that just about takes it!”
“It was that or walk out in front of a car again, and I’d already done that once, thanks!” Sam retorted.
“Well, aren’t you just Mr. Experience?”
Sam stared at him, then he smiled a little. “‘Mr. Experience’?”
“Shut up.” He said, firmly, and, for once, Sam actually listened to him. “What if it hadn’t worked, eh? Bet you didn’t think of that, did you? What if you’d just died?”
“I had a brain tumour, Gene.” Sam shrugged. “Chances were, I was going to die anyway, so, you know. Might as well, and all that.”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever known who’d think that they ‘might as well’ throw themselves off a building.” Gene said, rather acidly. “If you’d died, I’d have ended up here in 2006, and had to read about you topping yourself.”
“But I didn’t die. I ended up in 1973.” Sam pointed out, perfectly reasonably, as he saw it.
“Yeah, and god only knows how that happened.” Gene grunted.
Sam stood, stretching, and handed the paper back to Gene. He was sixty years old now, give or take a couple of years, and arthritis was starting to set in; it was very, very strange to see himself on the front of a newspaper, just as he had been thirty years ago, and know that he could have still been that person now, but for one decision.
“It was life in 2006, or you lot.” He said, quietly, as Gene started to leave the study. “You, Chris, Annie - even Ray, sometimes. And you lot won.”
“Just as we should.” Gene said, but he looked a little uncomfortable, just as he always did when their conversations edged just that little bit too close to ‘feelings’.
Sam grinned. “But especially you, of course, Gene.”
“Give over.”
“No, seriously. I love you best.”
“You flaming poofter…”
**
The end...
Um - hi! I'm new here - or, I'm new posting, and my journal is shiny new, but I've been lurking guiltily, and waiting for an original plot-bunny with which to, er... de-lurk. So, even though it's ye olde short!fic, I hope it's OK... Firstly, though, I have to say how much I *love* this comm! I was starting to think I was the only person I knew who saw the slash in Life on Mars.
...stupid, I know. *blush*
But, like I said, I've been lurking for a while, and I've enjoyed reading so many of the stories here! Now that I have my new, shiny journal (*pets*), I'm going to go and comment on them all!!
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
...Ahem.
Sorry for the long "intro" post. It's late, and I'm probably not making much sense... so, um... on to the fic!
Title: Reality Check
Rating: Green Cortina for Gene's mouth? (am I using the 'cortina' ratings right? *blush*)
Warnings: Absolutely none. Probably so clean - and short! - it doesn't even rate the 'green' rating.
Pairing: I wrote it with Sam/Gene in mind, but it can very easily be read as gen. I didn't even manage to get a kiss in there!
Summary: Thirty three years after everything, and the suicide of DCI Sam Tyler is front page news in the local Manchester papers...
“What the bloody hell is this?!” Gene slammed the newspaper down on Sam’s desk, giving the other man a look so venomous, Sam was genuinely taken aback for a few moments.
He looked down at the newspaper, then stared in shock, picking it up and unfolding it. There was a picture of him, a standard one, but in full “dress” uniform, face serious and ever-so-slightly uptight, bold and in colour on the front page. “It’s - me.”
“It’s you thirty years ago, maybe!” Gene almost snarled it. “What I want to know is, what the bloody hell were you doing, throwing yourself off a building?”
For the first time, Sam actually took a look at the headline. ‘DCI Sam Tyler Takes Swan Dive’, it read, and he actually grinned a little. “Jackie Queen could have done better, don’t you think?” he asked, lightly, folding it up, and handing it back to Gene.
“I asked you a question, Sam.” The older man repeated, with just a faint undercurrent of threat in his voice. “And I want it answered.”
Sam shrugged. “I told you, di’n’t I? Said I was from 2006.”
“Yeah, fine, however crazy it is, I’m startin’ to believe that, all your shit about Star Wars and mobile bloody phones coming true!” Gene was gripping the paper so hard, his knuckles were going white. “But now I’m readin’ about you chucking yourself off a fifteen storey building, and I want to know why!”
“You always were patient, weren’t you, guv?” He shrugged, taking the paper back, and smoothing out the creases where Gene had gripped it just a little too hard, idly reading through the article on himself. DCI Sam Tyler, head of Manchester CID, committed suicide yesterday. The Chief Inspector, recently recovered from a near fatal car accident which left him in a coma for several weeks… “D’you remember that - thing - with Frank Morgan?”
“Stick-up-his-arse DCI from Hyde?” Gene sniffed. “I remember. Rather not, though.”
Sam offered him a rather awkward smile. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” He paused, thinking back thirty three years, and still finding it genuinely difficult to believe that he had travelled back in time, rather than simply gone mad. Of course, he reflected, he could just still be mad, all this time later. “Look, Morgan - he told me that if I did…what he wanted, he could get me back home. I thought he meant this place.”
“You always were a bit simple.” Gene said, but without real bite. “What was he supposed to do, wave his magic wand, and get you back, Dorothy?”
“He did, though.” Sam said, quietly, and Gene stared at him.
“Come again?”
“When I left you lot on that train line. Morgan was there, and somehow, I ended up back here.” He chuckled a little, but without much humour. “I had a brain tumour. Couldn’t feel a thing.”
Gene rested an awkward hand on his shoulder, stood over him as he was, at Sam’s desk, impressive frame diminished a little by age, but no less intimidating for it. It was surprising how gentle he could be, for such a big man, but Sam had experienced that gentleness enough times to appreciate it fully. “But - why’d you throw yourself off a building?”
Sam shrugged, and Gene removed his hand. “I couldn’t just leave you there, on that railway line, could I? Not when I knew that Morgan meant to leave you to die.”
“And you thought lobbing yourself off the nearest high-rise was going to get you back to 1973?” Gene frowned. “You’ve done a lot of stupid bloody things in your time, Sam Tyler, but that just about takes it!”
“It was that or walk out in front of a car again, and I’d already done that once, thanks!” Sam retorted.
“Well, aren’t you just Mr. Experience?”
Sam stared at him, then he smiled a little. “‘Mr. Experience’?”
“Shut up.” He said, firmly, and, for once, Sam actually listened to him. “What if it hadn’t worked, eh? Bet you didn’t think of that, did you? What if you’d just died?”
“I had a brain tumour, Gene.” Sam shrugged. “Chances were, I was going to die anyway, so, you know. Might as well, and all that.”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever known who’d think that they ‘might as well’ throw themselves off a building.” Gene said, rather acidly. “If you’d died, I’d have ended up here in 2006, and had to read about you topping yourself.”
“But I didn’t die. I ended up in 1973.” Sam pointed out, perfectly reasonably, as he saw it.
“Yeah, and god only knows how that happened.” Gene grunted.
Sam stood, stretching, and handed the paper back to Gene. He was sixty years old now, give or take a couple of years, and arthritis was starting to set in; it was very, very strange to see himself on the front of a newspaper, just as he had been thirty years ago, and know that he could have still been that person now, but for one decision.
“It was life in 2006, or you lot.” He said, quietly, as Gene started to leave the study. “You, Chris, Annie - even Ray, sometimes. And you lot won.”
“Just as we should.” Gene said, but he looked a little uncomfortable, just as he always did when their conversations edged just that little bit too close to ‘feelings’.
Sam grinned. “But especially you, of course, Gene.”
“Give over.”
“No, seriously. I love you best.”
“You flaming poofter…”
**
The end...