The One with the Thing
Title: The One with the Thing
Fandom: Hot Fuzz and Life on Mars
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1000 words
Notes: This was inspired by m31andy’s challenge of “Pick a character in any fandom and write their fanfic about their favourite show”. There are spoilers for the finale of Life on Mars and this is slashy in tone.
The car was bright and gleaming, light glinting off its windows. DI Sam Tyler stared at it, wondering why it looked familiar.
Did it remind him of that time he got shitfaced down the Railway Arms late one night and spewed all over someone’s bonnet?
Was it something his Dad drove, way back when, except not way back when, because he was there, way back now?
Perhaps he’d once been attacked in a car like this?
It was definitely giving him weird fucking feelings.
He shielded his blue eyes against the glare and set about---
“Tyler isn’t blue eyed, he’s brown eyed,” Angel said, looking over Danny’s shoulder at the computer screen and sipping his tea - it was 11.28 am.
Danny quickly glanced back at him. “No he ain’t.”
“Yes, he is. John Simm has brown eyes. Sometimes they’re more hazel looking. They’re never blue.”
Danny poked his tongue out and returned his concentration to the black pixels among the white. “Well, in my story, he’s got blue eyes.”
“Why?”
“I like blue eyes.”
They ran down the street, both of them breathing heavily, because I don’t know if you know this, but running when you’re being chased is really fucking tiring and all your muscles feel like they’re gonna give way and you want nothing more than to be able to sit down somewhere, maybe on a nice bench, surrounded by a light, flowing breeze.
“That’s a run-on sentence.”
Danny shrugged. “Don’t care.”
“It’s confusing,” Angel explained.
“My readers don’t care about confusion. They’re in it for the hardcore action scenes.”
“…Your readers?”
Sam punched him, once, twice, three times, straight in the gut. He was pissed off he didn’t have an AK-47 or Benelli M3 Super 90. Murphy punched him back.
They sparred for a long time - the time it takes to learn how to defuse a bomb, or make a really great ham and turkey sandwich with all the trimmings. Right hook, left hook, cut, jab. Sam’s blows glanced off Murphy’s nose more than once and soon it was looking bloodied and battered.
Sam took advantage of Murphy’s inability to keep his eyes straight and sent him down to the ground, pushing his head into the gravel. Murphy groaned.
Sam gave a big-arse grin and jumped over the series of fences like he’d no other care in the world.
“That’s my move!”
“It’s just the kind of thing Sam Tyler would do.”
“No it’s not.”
It was like everything around him was floating and he was stuck in glue. Sam’s head whirled. There was a crashing sound and he saw Murphy joining him on the vomit green carpet, blood pouring out his nose like niagara falls.
“You okay, Sammy-boy?” Gene’s voice asked - loud, but anxious.
Sam found he actually did have both his arms and brought one to his head. “I think so.”
“Ahh, you’ll be grand.”
Gene took Sam’s hand and damn near lifted him up and away.
“You’ve made Gene Hunt too nice.”
“He just smacked a bloke down,” Danny replied defensively.
“And then he went and helped Tyler up. In which episode did you see Hunt do that?”
“The first episode of the second series. On the roof of Crane’s club. Suck on that, bitch!”
“You win this time, Danny. This time.”
Gene stared around himself, looking like he had no idea what was going on. Sam realised with horror that he hadn’t, for Gene had amnesia.
“That is ridiculous. Gene with amnesia? Did you pick up a book of clichés and-”
Danny whirled around, giving Angel the finger. “If you don’t like it, Nick, don’t read it.”
“I do like it. Apart from that bit. That bit is wildly unrealistic.”
“And a bloke time travelling to 1973 isn’t?”
“He never time travelled. Matthew Graham said so.”
“Matthew Graham’s a fucker. He time travelled! How else did he convict Kramer and save Annie’s life and stuff?”
“The simple answer is that he didn’t. The series works on a logical fallacy. Sam never affected the future, because he was never in the past. It was all in his head.”
“If it were all in Sam’s head…”
“Yes?”
“That’d mean he returned to something that wasn’t real.”
“Yes.”
“What a load of cock. He time travelled.”
They’d solved the crimes, they’d celebrated, all there was left to do for the night was say goodbye and go home.
“I wanted to say thank you,” Sam said, twisting his mouth up and staring with those deep blue eyes of his.
Gene gave what was sort of a smile and sort of a grimace. “No need, Dorothy.”
“Maybe not, but I wanted to say it anyway.” Sam paused. He stepped over and put his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “You saved my life, Gene.”
“You’ve saved mine before now. Got me remembering who I was again. That’s no mean feat.”
“So why don’t you say it? I know you want to,” Sam said softly.
Gene pierced him with this look, all manly bravado and terse determination. A minute passed, but Sam waited patiently.
“Thank you, you nancy-boy, fruit-picking girly-girl,” Gene said in a rush. “There, happy?”
Sam grinned. “Close enough.”
“I… that section is very, uhm…”
“Dramatic? Inspiring?”
“I was thinking ‘gay’.”
“Yeah, I was going for the tone of the show.”
“You succeeded.”
“Thanks.”
Hee! Oh, boys!
Angel frowned at the computer screen. “What’s that?”
“My first comment on ‘The One with the Thing’.”
“Oh. Is that good?”
Danny grinned. “Yeah, it means she liked it a lot. She goes on to quote bits she enjoyed, which is like the number one way of knowing you did a good job.”
“Danny, are you going to come watch this movie or not?”
“Just lemme wait for a few more comments.” Danny scratched his chin. “I think I might write The Professionals fic next - give Bodie the Butterman treatment.”
Angel’s next words were unheard by Danny. “I wish you’d get off the sodding computer and give me the Butterman treatment.”
Fandom: Hot Fuzz and Life on Mars
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1000 words
Notes: This was inspired by m31andy’s challenge of “Pick a character in any fandom and write their fanfic about their favourite show”. There are spoilers for the finale of Life on Mars and this is slashy in tone.
The car was bright and gleaming, light glinting off its windows. DI Sam Tyler stared at it, wondering why it looked familiar.
Did it remind him of that time he got shitfaced down the Railway Arms late one night and spewed all over someone’s bonnet?
Was it something his Dad drove, way back when, except not way back when, because he was there, way back now?
Perhaps he’d once been attacked in a car like this?
It was definitely giving him weird fucking feelings.
He shielded his blue eyes against the glare and set about---
“Tyler isn’t blue eyed, he’s brown eyed,” Angel said, looking over Danny’s shoulder at the computer screen and sipping his tea - it was 11.28 am.
Danny quickly glanced back at him. “No he ain’t.”
“Yes, he is. John Simm has brown eyes. Sometimes they’re more hazel looking. They’re never blue.”
Danny poked his tongue out and returned his concentration to the black pixels among the white. “Well, in my story, he’s got blue eyes.”
“Why?”
“I like blue eyes.”
They ran down the street, both of them breathing heavily, because I don’t know if you know this, but running when you’re being chased is really fucking tiring and all your muscles feel like they’re gonna give way and you want nothing more than to be able to sit down somewhere, maybe on a nice bench, surrounded by a light, flowing breeze.
“That’s a run-on sentence.”
Danny shrugged. “Don’t care.”
“It’s confusing,” Angel explained.
“My readers don’t care about confusion. They’re in it for the hardcore action scenes.”
“…Your readers?”
Sam punched him, once, twice, three times, straight in the gut. He was pissed off he didn’t have an AK-47 or Benelli M3 Super 90. Murphy punched him back.
They sparred for a long time - the time it takes to learn how to defuse a bomb, or make a really great ham and turkey sandwich with all the trimmings. Right hook, left hook, cut, jab. Sam’s blows glanced off Murphy’s nose more than once and soon it was looking bloodied and battered.
Sam took advantage of Murphy’s inability to keep his eyes straight and sent him down to the ground, pushing his head into the gravel. Murphy groaned.
Sam gave a big-arse grin and jumped over the series of fences like he’d no other care in the world.
“That’s my move!”
“It’s just the kind of thing Sam Tyler would do.”
“No it’s not.”
It was like everything around him was floating and he was stuck in glue. Sam’s head whirled. There was a crashing sound and he saw Murphy joining him on the vomit green carpet, blood pouring out his nose like niagara falls.
“You okay, Sammy-boy?” Gene’s voice asked - loud, but anxious.
Sam found he actually did have both his arms and brought one to his head. “I think so.”
“Ahh, you’ll be grand.”
Gene took Sam’s hand and damn near lifted him up and away.
“You’ve made Gene Hunt too nice.”
“He just smacked a bloke down,” Danny replied defensively.
“And then he went and helped Tyler up. In which episode did you see Hunt do that?”
“The first episode of the second series. On the roof of Crane’s club. Suck on that, bitch!”
“You win this time, Danny. This time.”
Gene stared around himself, looking like he had no idea what was going on. Sam realised with horror that he hadn’t, for Gene had amnesia.
“That is ridiculous. Gene with amnesia? Did you pick up a book of clichés and-”
Danny whirled around, giving Angel the finger. “If you don’t like it, Nick, don’t read it.”
“I do like it. Apart from that bit. That bit is wildly unrealistic.”
“And a bloke time travelling to 1973 isn’t?”
“He never time travelled. Matthew Graham said so.”
“Matthew Graham’s a fucker. He time travelled! How else did he convict Kramer and save Annie’s life and stuff?”
“The simple answer is that he didn’t. The series works on a logical fallacy. Sam never affected the future, because he was never in the past. It was all in his head.”
“If it were all in Sam’s head…”
“Yes?”
“That’d mean he returned to something that wasn’t real.”
“Yes.”
“What a load of cock. He time travelled.”
They’d solved the crimes, they’d celebrated, all there was left to do for the night was say goodbye and go home.
“I wanted to say thank you,” Sam said, twisting his mouth up and staring with those deep blue eyes of his.
Gene gave what was sort of a smile and sort of a grimace. “No need, Dorothy.”
“Maybe not, but I wanted to say it anyway.” Sam paused. He stepped over and put his hand on Gene’s shoulder. “You saved my life, Gene.”
“You’ve saved mine before now. Got me remembering who I was again. That’s no mean feat.”
“So why don’t you say it? I know you want to,” Sam said softly.
Gene pierced him with this look, all manly bravado and terse determination. A minute passed, but Sam waited patiently.
“Thank you, you nancy-boy, fruit-picking girly-girl,” Gene said in a rush. “There, happy?”
Sam grinned. “Close enough.”
“I… that section is very, uhm…”
“Dramatic? Inspiring?”
“I was thinking ‘gay’.”
“Yeah, I was going for the tone of the show.”
“You succeeded.”
“Thanks.”
Hee! Oh, boys!
Angel frowned at the computer screen. “What’s that?”
“My first comment on ‘The One with the Thing’.”
“Oh. Is that good?”
Danny grinned. “Yeah, it means she liked it a lot. She goes on to quote bits she enjoyed, which is like the number one way of knowing you did a good job.”
“Danny, are you going to come watch this movie or not?”
“Just lemme wait for a few more comments.” Danny scratched his chin. “I think I might write The Professionals fic next - give Bodie the Butterman treatment.”
Angel’s next words were unheard by Danny. “I wish you’d get off the sodding computer and give me the Butterman treatment.”