Past is Future
Title: Past is Future
Fandom: Life on Mars
Pairings/characters: Gene, Sam, passing Chris and Ray (Could be Gene/Sam if you believe in the ability for there to be subtlety in fanfics :-p)
Rating: Blue Cortina (only for the massive swearing)
Word Count: 2,065
Summary: Sam is drunk and tells him some crazy stories, again, about things in the future but later they do come true. (A sort of Gene figures it out story)
Notes: Thank you to jpgr for the inspiration for this one; I even went with the Lennon idea. It just seemed to fit so well with it being in 1980 and all! Thank you!
Usually, Gene had to admit, he was the one who was stumbling all over the street and cursing at random passersby. He knew he could hold his liquor, had all the hip flasks to prove it, ‘course he also was one to enjoy a good solid drunk feeling. Sam, on the other hand, was normally stone cold sober and mouthy enough about it to give anyone a head ache before the hang over portion of drinking. Tonight, however, was a complete reversal and, to be perfectly honest, it was fucking pissing Gene off.
“Sam, get your arse back here!” Gene shouted after the idiotic man.
Sam was stumbling down the street away from the pub. He’d been drinking steadily the whole night amid random mumbles about ‘piss ass antiquated policing’ and ‘right bloody idiotic time period.’ At one point Gene had just left him to himself sitting at the bar for a few hours so Gene could get away from the endless babble. Sometimes he had no clue what Sam was going on about.
“Sam!” Gene shouted again and grudgingly walked after his DI. “Sam, get back here and get in me damn car!”
“Piss off!” Sam shouted back without turning around.
“Bloody great…” Gene muttered putting a hand over his eyes briefly. “Sam would you just…”
“Oh shut it!” Sam shouted whirling around with a very unsteady wobble which nearly sent him falling to the pavement. “Keep yer 1973-”
“It’s ’74 now Sam, keep it straight.”
“1974!” Sam emphasized, “Keep yer bloody asshole…” he trailed off for a moment standing still then started again in full force, “Bruteish, over zhaa…zealous punching, completely deeerogatory, fuckin’ git face out’a me damn business!”
Gene sighed and felt the urge to just punch Sam and just drag him back to the car. However, that probably wasn’t the best idea at present as Sam would most likely end up being sick on him if he did that. Slowly Gene walked over to Sam as the other stumbled about mostly in a circle, trying to glare at him.
“You know, I don’t know any right normal person who can still say that many bloody words at once when ‘e’s as pissed as you are.”
“I am not…” Sam mumbled leaning his shoulder against the brick wall beside him.
“Yeah, you are,” Gene said coming up in front of Sam.
“I am not!” Sam said trying to shove Gene but only resulting in pushing himself back.
Gene grabbed the collar of Sam’s coat. “Come on, you’re being a soddin’ bloody bird now. I ‘alf expect you to start weepin’ about your shag from last night leavin’ without saying goodbye in the morning!”
“My shag from las…‘ast night most cert…certainly said ‘oodbye in the mornin’!” Sam insisted with a lopsided grin.
Gene snorted, “Yeah, I know.”
“’nd what do you know anyho’!” Sam said attempting to straighten up. “Just wait till one of those ‘bloody birds’ is running the ‘ole damn country!” Sam said staggering and falling against Gene.
“Oh really?” Gene said half dragging Sam along back to the Cortina.
“Yes!” Sam said putting an arm around Gene’s waist to keep himself up. “1979 Thatcher is gonna come in and with all ‘er plans and ‘er new economics with all the Thatcherisms and then, and then the conserva… all that…”
“Wha’, Margaret Thatcher?” Gene said looking down at Sam as they reached the car. “That’ll be the day.”
“Yep!” Sam said. “’an she ‘an Reagan will be all buddy buddy.”
Sam leaned against the car and looked up at the sky as Gene fumbled with the keys. Sam was a damn ridiculous drunk sometimes. Margaret Thatcher, what the hell? Who talked about her when drunk? Also all of it was rather making Gene annoyed that he was sober. Why in the world did Sam get to be piss ass drunk and ridiculous while Gene was forced to be fucking sober? Something was not right with the world.
Finally he got the key right and opened the door. Shoving Sam into the passenger seat Gene came around the other side of the car and swooped in, slamming the door and revving the engine all at once. Beside him Sam fumbled with the radio and after three tries finally got it on.
‘Live and let die…’
“Oh! I haven’t ‘eard this song in years!” He exclaimed.
Gene gave Sam a sideways look but decided not to point out that the song had only just come out the year before with that new Bond film.
“Though, you know,” Sam said turning to look at Gene. “I always liked John the best.”
“You know this isn’t The Beatles, right?” Gene said sparing a glance at Sam.
“Yeah, but its Paul McCartney,” Sam replied. “Close enough.”
Gene chuckled. “True. Though I’d agree with ya that Lennon was the best of ‘em.”
“God…” Sam’s voice got quieter. “Poor John.”
Brow furrowing Gene looked over at Sam. “You wouldn’t right call him poor now, would you? Got to be one of the riches blokes around now not to mention everyone from ‘ere to China knows who he is. What have you got to be ‘poor Johning’ ‘im about?”
Sam glared quickly at him as the car stopped in front of Sam’s building. Both stepped out of the car, Sam a bit more unsteadily than Gene. Coming around the car, Gene grabbed Sam by his arm and led him into the building.
“Well,” Sam said, restarting his apparent train of thought and allowing himself to be dragged. “I’d say getting shot is a pretty good thing to be upset about.”
“What?” Gene snapped, confused. Was Sam going on another of his ridiculous rants? Then again he hadn’t really stopped them all night but now it was just getting weird. “What are you on about?”
“I mean when he get’s shot in the back by one of ‘is own fans!”
Gene rubbed the side of his head with his finger tips. He could feel a head ache starting.
“I mean, what kind of a thing is that really?” Sam looked at Gene as if expecting him to agree. “1980 he just wants to go home for the night and what happens?”
Sam paused then staring at Gene as if waiting for him to fill in the blank. Gene shook his head and blinked slowly.
“Well, what!” he snapped.
“Some mad bloke ‘e signed an autograph for comes out of the dark and bloody shoots ‘im!”
“God, Tyler you’re daft,” Gene said trying to fish Sam’s keys out of his coat.
“I am not,” Sam said batting away Gene’s hands and getting out the keys himself, handing it to Gene. “Four times in the back and ‘e’s dead.”
“Right, Sam.”
Unlocking the door, Gene manhandled Sam inside and onto his bed. Closing the door, he walked to the window and put Sam’s keys on the table. On the bed Sam’s eyes were closed and he looked half asleep already. Gene suppressed a laugh and just shook his head. If it were him he’d be going back for another round still but not Sam. Gene grinned at himself for a moment, quite enjoying the fact that he could drink Sam under the table any day of the week. Then again most everyone at the station probably could. Gene would even give Carwright a run for it but perhaps that was being unfair.
“I mean it ya know….” Sam muttered from the bed. “It’s fuckin’ sad.”
“Yeah, yeah, John Lennon bloody murdered and all, I heard ya,” Gene said standing by the door.
“Yeah,” Sam said rolling onto his side and shrugging out of his jacket slowly.
Gene pursed his lips and watched Sam a moment longer. He looked like he would be out soon.
“You good then?” Gene said, hand on the door handle.
“Gene?” Sam said, eyes still closed.
“What?”
Sam waved a hand at Gene, “Come ‘ere.”
Gene sighed and walked over to the edge of the bed. “What it is it, Margery?”
Sam just waved his hand again at Gene to come closer and didn’t say anything. Gene pinched the bridge of his nose but smiled ever so slightly. Sometimes Sam was such a damn bird! Pushing Sam’s hand aside Gene sat down on the edge of the fold out bed.
“Yes?” he said, sitting down.
Instead of speaking Sam just snuggled his face into the side of Gene’s leg and flung an arm over his knees. Gene was tempted to smack him in the head but for some reason just didn’t have the heart. Sighing slightly again he leaned back against the wall and lightly ran his hand through Sam’s hair.
“All right then, you mad man.”
---------------
When in 1979 Sam begins to laugh hysterically at the announcement of Margaret Thatcher winning the election, Gene feels a tug at his memory. They all stare at Sam while he just shrugs with a sort of ‘told you so’ expression on his face. At the time Gene is too busy being thrown by the results to really remember what Sam had said that night.
“Who’s excited for some angry trade unions?” Sam says.
Gene just scoffs.
It really is in 1980, not a few months after Sam is gone, when that whole night comes crashing back like a hang over from hell.
“….and a report has just come in that John Lennon has been shot dead in New York City. The authorities…”
Gene’s cup of tea shatters on the floor. Chris and Ray both jump slightly and glance at him. However, both are just as focused on the radio as he is and quickly turn away to listen to the report.
“…last evening at 11:15 PM, U.S. time…. Outside his apartment the…”
The words from the radio announcer’s voice continue but Gene can’t focus on them because all he can really hear is Sam’s voice pounding in his head. Words from years and years ago are whirling around him and he feels like he is going to fall over.
“I mean when he get’s shot in the back by one of ‘is own fans!”
Gene feels like he’s going to choke. He stumbles back into his office, banging into the door.
“1980 he just wants to go home for the night and what happens?”
Sam’s voice in his head won’t stop, ringing as clear as though he is still there standing beside him. Gene feels irrational tears forming in his eyes and suddenly, violently he wants to hit something. He wants to tear his whole fucking office apart. He stares at the newspaper on his shelf, still folded in half so he can’t see the picture of Sam’s face from the article. He wants to tear it to pieces. He wants to break every piece of glass, hear them all shatter like his tea cup.
“Four times in the back and ‘e’s dead.”
It cannot be fucking true.
“Jesus Christ…” he mutters feeling like he’s going to start hyperventilating.
He wants to hit something, anything, just destroy something to make this feeling stop. It feels like all of Sam’s stupid rants and weird comments are coming together. When ever Sam would say something about Margaret Thatcher or rock music or ‘next year’ this or ‘when blah blah’ that, years yet to come thrown out like perfect facts, it suddenly all clicks. The way he talked about everything being old and wrong and how where he was from it was so different. How his hair was always just a bit not right and how he would say certain things wrong or be surprised when something was new because he thought it was old.
“No way…” Gene mutters to himself, hands clasped tight together against his lips. “It can’t be… I thought sometimes you were a bit cracked, Sam, but…”
Gene shakes his head, trying to clear it. He is talking to himself now. Yet how could he not be, what with this? Sam’s voice is still going in his head, speaking from 1974 about what just happened now in 1980. Gene stares at the wall hearing the voice on the radio faintly from outside his office. Slowly he breathes in an out, just in and out. It just can’t be…
Gene finishes and sends off the transfer papers in an hour. Two days later he is completely packed to leave Manchester.
Fandom: Life on Mars
Pairings/characters: Gene, Sam, passing Chris and Ray (Could be Gene/Sam if you believe in the ability for there to be subtlety in fanfics :-p)
Rating: Blue Cortina (only for the massive swearing)
Word Count: 2,065
Summary: Sam is drunk and tells him some crazy stories, again, about things in the future but later they do come true. (A sort of Gene figures it out story)
Notes: Thank you to jpgr for the inspiration for this one; I even went with the Lennon idea. It just seemed to fit so well with it being in 1980 and all! Thank you!
Usually, Gene had to admit, he was the one who was stumbling all over the street and cursing at random passersby. He knew he could hold his liquor, had all the hip flasks to prove it, ‘course he also was one to enjoy a good solid drunk feeling. Sam, on the other hand, was normally stone cold sober and mouthy enough about it to give anyone a head ache before the hang over portion of drinking. Tonight, however, was a complete reversal and, to be perfectly honest, it was fucking pissing Gene off.
“Sam, get your arse back here!” Gene shouted after the idiotic man.
Sam was stumbling down the street away from the pub. He’d been drinking steadily the whole night amid random mumbles about ‘piss ass antiquated policing’ and ‘right bloody idiotic time period.’ At one point Gene had just left him to himself sitting at the bar for a few hours so Gene could get away from the endless babble. Sometimes he had no clue what Sam was going on about.
“Sam!” Gene shouted again and grudgingly walked after his DI. “Sam, get back here and get in me damn car!”
“Piss off!” Sam shouted back without turning around.
“Bloody great…” Gene muttered putting a hand over his eyes briefly. “Sam would you just…”
“Oh shut it!” Sam shouted whirling around with a very unsteady wobble which nearly sent him falling to the pavement. “Keep yer 1973-”
“It’s ’74 now Sam, keep it straight.”
“1974!” Sam emphasized, “Keep yer bloody asshole…” he trailed off for a moment standing still then started again in full force, “Bruteish, over zhaa…zealous punching, completely deeerogatory, fuckin’ git face out’a me damn business!”
Gene sighed and felt the urge to just punch Sam and just drag him back to the car. However, that probably wasn’t the best idea at present as Sam would most likely end up being sick on him if he did that. Slowly Gene walked over to Sam as the other stumbled about mostly in a circle, trying to glare at him.
“You know, I don’t know any right normal person who can still say that many bloody words at once when ‘e’s as pissed as you are.”
“I am not…” Sam mumbled leaning his shoulder against the brick wall beside him.
“Yeah, you are,” Gene said coming up in front of Sam.
“I am not!” Sam said trying to shove Gene but only resulting in pushing himself back.
Gene grabbed the collar of Sam’s coat. “Come on, you’re being a soddin’ bloody bird now. I ‘alf expect you to start weepin’ about your shag from last night leavin’ without saying goodbye in the morning!”
“My shag from las…‘ast night most cert…certainly said ‘oodbye in the mornin’!” Sam insisted with a lopsided grin.
Gene snorted, “Yeah, I know.”
“’nd what do you know anyho’!” Sam said attempting to straighten up. “Just wait till one of those ‘bloody birds’ is running the ‘ole damn country!” Sam said staggering and falling against Gene.
“Oh really?” Gene said half dragging Sam along back to the Cortina.
“Yes!” Sam said putting an arm around Gene’s waist to keep himself up. “1979 Thatcher is gonna come in and with all ‘er plans and ‘er new economics with all the Thatcherisms and then, and then the conserva… all that…”
“Wha’, Margaret Thatcher?” Gene said looking down at Sam as they reached the car. “That’ll be the day.”
“Yep!” Sam said. “’an she ‘an Reagan will be all buddy buddy.”
Sam leaned against the car and looked up at the sky as Gene fumbled with the keys. Sam was a damn ridiculous drunk sometimes. Margaret Thatcher, what the hell? Who talked about her when drunk? Also all of it was rather making Gene annoyed that he was sober. Why in the world did Sam get to be piss ass drunk and ridiculous while Gene was forced to be fucking sober? Something was not right with the world.
Finally he got the key right and opened the door. Shoving Sam into the passenger seat Gene came around the other side of the car and swooped in, slamming the door and revving the engine all at once. Beside him Sam fumbled with the radio and after three tries finally got it on.
‘Live and let die…’
“Oh! I haven’t ‘eard this song in years!” He exclaimed.
Gene gave Sam a sideways look but decided not to point out that the song had only just come out the year before with that new Bond film.
“Though, you know,” Sam said turning to look at Gene. “I always liked John the best.”
“You know this isn’t The Beatles, right?” Gene said sparing a glance at Sam.
“Yeah, but its Paul McCartney,” Sam replied. “Close enough.”
Gene chuckled. “True. Though I’d agree with ya that Lennon was the best of ‘em.”
“God…” Sam’s voice got quieter. “Poor John.”
Brow furrowing Gene looked over at Sam. “You wouldn’t right call him poor now, would you? Got to be one of the riches blokes around now not to mention everyone from ‘ere to China knows who he is. What have you got to be ‘poor Johning’ ‘im about?”
Sam glared quickly at him as the car stopped in front of Sam’s building. Both stepped out of the car, Sam a bit more unsteadily than Gene. Coming around the car, Gene grabbed Sam by his arm and led him into the building.
“Well,” Sam said, restarting his apparent train of thought and allowing himself to be dragged. “I’d say getting shot is a pretty good thing to be upset about.”
“What?” Gene snapped, confused. Was Sam going on another of his ridiculous rants? Then again he hadn’t really stopped them all night but now it was just getting weird. “What are you on about?”
“I mean when he get’s shot in the back by one of ‘is own fans!”
Gene rubbed the side of his head with his finger tips. He could feel a head ache starting.
“I mean, what kind of a thing is that really?” Sam looked at Gene as if expecting him to agree. “1980 he just wants to go home for the night and what happens?”
Sam paused then staring at Gene as if waiting for him to fill in the blank. Gene shook his head and blinked slowly.
“Well, what!” he snapped.
“Some mad bloke ‘e signed an autograph for comes out of the dark and bloody shoots ‘im!”
“God, Tyler you’re daft,” Gene said trying to fish Sam’s keys out of his coat.
“I am not,” Sam said batting away Gene’s hands and getting out the keys himself, handing it to Gene. “Four times in the back and ‘e’s dead.”
“Right, Sam.”
Unlocking the door, Gene manhandled Sam inside and onto his bed. Closing the door, he walked to the window and put Sam’s keys on the table. On the bed Sam’s eyes were closed and he looked half asleep already. Gene suppressed a laugh and just shook his head. If it were him he’d be going back for another round still but not Sam. Gene grinned at himself for a moment, quite enjoying the fact that he could drink Sam under the table any day of the week. Then again most everyone at the station probably could. Gene would even give Carwright a run for it but perhaps that was being unfair.
“I mean it ya know….” Sam muttered from the bed. “It’s fuckin’ sad.”
“Yeah, yeah, John Lennon bloody murdered and all, I heard ya,” Gene said standing by the door.
“Yeah,” Sam said rolling onto his side and shrugging out of his jacket slowly.
Gene pursed his lips and watched Sam a moment longer. He looked like he would be out soon.
“You good then?” Gene said, hand on the door handle.
“Gene?” Sam said, eyes still closed.
“What?”
Sam waved a hand at Gene, “Come ‘ere.”
Gene sighed and walked over to the edge of the bed. “What it is it, Margery?”
Sam just waved his hand again at Gene to come closer and didn’t say anything. Gene pinched the bridge of his nose but smiled ever so slightly. Sometimes Sam was such a damn bird! Pushing Sam’s hand aside Gene sat down on the edge of the fold out bed.
“Yes?” he said, sitting down.
Instead of speaking Sam just snuggled his face into the side of Gene’s leg and flung an arm over his knees. Gene was tempted to smack him in the head but for some reason just didn’t have the heart. Sighing slightly again he leaned back against the wall and lightly ran his hand through Sam’s hair.
“All right then, you mad man.”
---------------
When in 1979 Sam begins to laugh hysterically at the announcement of Margaret Thatcher winning the election, Gene feels a tug at his memory. They all stare at Sam while he just shrugs with a sort of ‘told you so’ expression on his face. At the time Gene is too busy being thrown by the results to really remember what Sam had said that night.
“Who’s excited for some angry trade unions?” Sam says.
Gene just scoffs.
It really is in 1980, not a few months after Sam is gone, when that whole night comes crashing back like a hang over from hell.
“….and a report has just come in that John Lennon has been shot dead in New York City. The authorities…”
Gene’s cup of tea shatters on the floor. Chris and Ray both jump slightly and glance at him. However, both are just as focused on the radio as he is and quickly turn away to listen to the report.
“…last evening at 11:15 PM, U.S. time…. Outside his apartment the…”
The words from the radio announcer’s voice continue but Gene can’t focus on them because all he can really hear is Sam’s voice pounding in his head. Words from years and years ago are whirling around him and he feels like he is going to fall over.
“I mean when he get’s shot in the back by one of ‘is own fans!”
Gene feels like he’s going to choke. He stumbles back into his office, banging into the door.
“1980 he just wants to go home for the night and what happens?”
Sam’s voice in his head won’t stop, ringing as clear as though he is still there standing beside him. Gene feels irrational tears forming in his eyes and suddenly, violently he wants to hit something. He wants to tear his whole fucking office apart. He stares at the newspaper on his shelf, still folded in half so he can’t see the picture of Sam’s face from the article. He wants to tear it to pieces. He wants to break every piece of glass, hear them all shatter like his tea cup.
“Four times in the back and ‘e’s dead.”
It cannot be fucking true.
“Jesus Christ…” he mutters feeling like he’s going to start hyperventilating.
He wants to hit something, anything, just destroy something to make this feeling stop. It feels like all of Sam’s stupid rants and weird comments are coming together. When ever Sam would say something about Margaret Thatcher or rock music or ‘next year’ this or ‘when blah blah’ that, years yet to come thrown out like perfect facts, it suddenly all clicks. The way he talked about everything being old and wrong and how where he was from it was so different. How his hair was always just a bit not right and how he would say certain things wrong or be surprised when something was new because he thought it was old.
“No way…” Gene mutters to himself, hands clasped tight together against his lips. “It can’t be… I thought sometimes you were a bit cracked, Sam, but…”
Gene shakes his head, trying to clear it. He is talking to himself now. Yet how could he not be, what with this? Sam’s voice is still going in his head, speaking from 1974 about what just happened now in 1980. Gene stares at the wall hearing the voice on the radio faintly from outside his office. Slowly he breathes in an out, just in and out. It just can’t be…
Gene finishes and sends off the transfer papers in an hour. Two days later he is completely packed to leave Manchester.