(Untitled)

[di_or_dci]

" -- out of here! Let me out of h -- "

Apparently DI Sam Tyler was not expecting the door to give way, no matter how hard he was shoving at it.

It means that once it does open, he goes sprawling, catching himself on hands and knees and taking a deep breath.

Okay, two deep breaths

Comments

[themanclion]

About ten seconds after he finds himself on the floor, there's a hand under his arm, attempting to drag him upright.

'Oh get up, y'big girl. Wha's the matter, been on the gin on th' way back from the 'ospital?'

[themanclion]

'Says you,' he mutters, and pulls his Magnum from his belt.

'Bird's a gobby cow, Sam. An' worse, she's o'of our Paddy brethren from over there in Spudland. Need t'teach 'er a lesson.'

[di_or_dci]

"Ah, Fiona. Pleased to meet you."

Sam puts on one of his politest smiles while also taking a step back so that he is not in the line of fire.

Metaphorically.

"You sure you ought to do that with two drinks under your belt?"

Drunk -- or even tipsy -- on the firing range is not Sam's idea of a good day. Surprisingly.

[justcallmefee]

"Are you kidding? With his liver, two drinks brings him just about to sober."

She kicks Hunt's foot where his long legs are sticking out from under the table.

"Are you coming or not?"

[themanclion]

He's actually been glaring so hard at Sam, he barely heard her talk. Though he takes what he heard as a compliment.

''course I am.'

He stands up and rounds on his DI.

'I could do this wi' ten drinks in me, y'bloody fairy. Now, are you comin' or 'ave you got plans t'sit aroun' 'ere an' cry into your water or summat?'

[di_or_dci]

"Someone's got to keep you from shooting yourself in the bloody foot, don't they?"

Or doing something else ill-considered, rash, and probably violent.

Plus, he finds himself wanting to see how all of this goes.

(It's better than thinking about what happened to him in that hospital room. Or about the girl from the telly.)

[justcallmefee]

"The more, the merrier. I just have to make a quick stop at the bar for ammo."

She turns back to Gene, her eyes slitting as she looks him up and down.

".45 Magnum, I'm guessing. And you." She glances at Sam. "You look more like a .38."

She's like one of those tailors who can give you a single look and tell you what size jacket you wear.

[themanclion]

She's wrong in this case.

'.357, actually.'

He looks smug at her. He has been thinking of getting a .44 because Dirty Harry made it look so damn good but for now, .357 it is.

And he jerks his head at Sam, feeling the need to insult him because he thinks he still needs to learn his place. At the same time, he proved today (again) that he's not a bad copper at all.

'He's more a .22. Or jus' give 'im a girl's gun, 'e won' mind.'

[di_or_dci]

The look Sam gives Gene is of the 'you did not just say that' school.

Because with Fiona standing right there, surely Gene did --

Then again, it's Gene Hunt. Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head for a second, just barely refraining from pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The .38 will do me fine, thanks."

Given Gene's commentary, not participating is just going to make him even more . . . . Gene. And Sam is not in the mood.

[justcallmefee]

She smirks at Gene, and then Sam in tandem.

"Suit yourself." She steps up to the bar and gets a brick of each, 250 rounds a box, and a brick of .223 while she's at it. They go into the duffle.

"Eyes and ears, please?" She collects the trio of safety glasses and sound dampening ear muffs that appear on the bar, and falls in step with Sam.

"You been out to the firing range here, yet?"

[themanclion]

Gene has pulled a handful of bullets from his pocket and is rolling them around his palm. Does she really think he'd go out without ammo?

And there's not a chance in hell he's wearing any poncy earmuffs or glasses. So he lets them walk ahead a few metres and orders a quiet refill of his flask and a double shot to go, flings it down his neck and follows them.

Behind them. Mainly so he can eye up her arse.

[di_or_dci]

"I've just had one prior visit, love. Not a lot of time to be seein' the sights."

Sam cracks a smile, half-laughing at himself.

"Took me long enough just to move on from thinking it's all a fever dream."

He's moved from fever dream to hallucination and/or figment, but -

That's like progress.

[justcallmefee]

Her brow furrows as she leads them through the door and out into the pale summer sunlight. It's a huge difference from the Bahamas, and actually, a bit of a relief.

"You're really new then. Well, on behalf of Milliways, welcome and I hope you enjoy your stay. I'm from Miami, 2008. I know when he's from. But you?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him. He does not strike her as Hunt's contemporary, not in the least.

[di_or_dci]

"Me?"

DCI Tyler runs through the possibilities for this conversation right quick.

Then --

"1973, same as the Gene Genie back there."

He cracks a slightly pained grin.

"I'm a man out of my time. What's a bloke to do?"

[justcallmefee]

Fiona gives a dry little laugh. She knows the answer to that question, would know it in her sleep. It's what you do when you're dropped in foreign territory, and you don't know the language or the customs, and you can't sleep because your endocrine system is playing hell with your brain. You do what any sane individual would do.

"Simple. You blend."

She pulls a matte stainless SIG Sauer p226 from where it's tucked in the back of her pants. She drops the magazine, and eyes the top round before snapping it back in place with a motion so casual, it's clear she's done a thousand times before.

"I have a bet with your DCI. He thinks he can out shoot me."

[di_or_dci]

Sam's smile gets a fraction wider, even as he shakes his head.

"Blend. Yeah. But I'm not sure I really want to be more like those blokes."

He follows that with a quickly-raised eyebrow.

"Oh does he, now? And you think you can outshoot him?"

Seeing the way she handles the SIG, Sam does not doubt that she probably can outperform Gene.

Coppers in 1973 do not regularly carry firearms. For one.