Fic: Feeling Better? by jean_geanie (Sam/Gene, Blue Cortina)
Title: Feeling Better?
Rating: Blue Cortina (but there's some bad language...)
Summary: Sam's not feeling well after dining out with Gene.
Wordcount: 1,138
Note: This started as an attempt at dakfinv 's Maritan Holiday prompt (Gene/Sam, Sam injured, hurt/comfort including the line "You're not the only one ‘aving problems with ‘is trousers" ) .
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Feeling Better
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“You gonna explain why we ‘ad to leave before I finished my meal?”
Sam’s shoulders tensed as he finally managed to stop fumbling his keys and unlock the door to his apartment. Behind him Gene shook his flask and grimaced when he realised it was empty.
“What do you care? You’re just killing time while the missus is away. You want a full meal? Pick somewhere that might ‘ave actually passed a health inspection.”
Gene snorted and pushed past Sam into the apartment, fully intending to head directly to Sam’s whiskey supply to make up for the lost dinner.
“Feelin’ moody are we?” He called back over his shoulder as he rummaged through the bottles under the sink.
“I feel,” Sam paused, “like a herd of elephants have been using my stomach as a jumping castle.”
Gene rolled his eyes.
"Figures, one bad curry an’ you start cryin’ like a girl."
"Gene?"
Gene turned around just in time to see Sam, pale and shaking, supporting himself with a vice-like grip on the door frame. Instinctively he moved closer, walking over to the ailing inspector and gently placing a hand on his back.
"Shit. You okay there Gladys?"
Slowly, Sam nodded.
"Need something? Whiskey? Pills? Water?"
Sam grimaced and shook his head.
"Want me to go ge-FUCK!"
Sam was bent over, wiping at his mouth and regarding Gene with a mixed look of guilt and weariness.
"S-sorry."
"Feelin' better?" Gene sniped, glaring down at his loafers which were now covered in foul-smelling brown-green chunks. Sam’s head twitched in what could have been a nod. Gene growled in frustration and stormed past Sam into the bathroom where he kicked his shoes off onto the tiles and cautiously peeled his socks off with his fingertips.
"I'll pay for new ones." Sam murmured, having followed Gene to the bathroom and propped himself up against the wall.
The man looked pathetic and Gene didn't have the heart to tear into him.
"Oh fer Christ's sake, just get into bed already."
Sam slid down the wall and onto the floor, shaking his head.
"I think here's fine." Gene rolled his eyes.
"You're not sleepin’ on cold tiles when you’re already ill."
Sam didn’t respond, instead he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Gene bit back a growl.
"You just wrecked a pair of perfectly good loafers Tyler, I'm not in the mood. GET INTO BED."
Sam continued ignoring him. Gene glanced at him and then nodded. He pulled his sleeves up.
"Right."
Lunging at Sam he ignored his feeble attempts at struggling and hoisted him up by the torso. He then carried him to the bed and dumped him unceremoniously on the covers, smirking the entire time.
"You were saying?"
Sam glared at him through narrowed eyelids
"Bastard."
Gene grinned and then stopped when he noticed Sam already resting his head on the pillow with his eyes closed.
“Well...”
“Well, what?”
“You gonna sleep like that? On top of the covers an’ with all yer clothes on?”
“Does it matter?”
“Just uncomfortable innit?”
Sighing, Sam unzipped his fly and (without paying any attention to Gene) began wriggling on the bed in an attempt to manoeuvre himself out of his trousers. Gene looked away, unable to contain a slight strangled noise as he tried to focus on anything apart from the spectacle before him. When his eyes wandered back to the bed and its occupant again Sam was staring at him with a slightly self-conscious expression on his face.
"What?"
Gene groaned.
"You're not the only one ‘aving problems with ‘is trousers."
"WHAT?!" Gene’s stomach dropped the second he realised he’d spoken his thoughts out loud.
"Didn't say naught Tyler, yer delirious."
Sam glared at him suspiciously and Gene glared right back.
The awkward silence held until the moment was suddenly broken by Sam clutching his hands to his mouth and jumping out of bed, running towards the bathroom.
As the sounds of retching carried back to the room Gene cringed and made his way toward the kitchen. He wandered idly throughout the cramped space, opening cupboards and drawers in an attempt to search out a kettle and teabags.
When Sam eventually made his way out of the bathroom again Gene was waiting for him with a mug of lukewarm tea set down on the table. Seeing Sam falter on his feet Gene moved to his side and wrapped one arm around his waist. He then half-guided and half-lifted him back to his bed.
As Gene moved to start pulling the covers over Sam, the scrawnier man groaned and pushed them back.
"Not worth it, I'll probably need to be going back in another minute."
Smiling, Gene produced a bucket he'd found under the sink.
"Not with this you wont." Sam squinted at him.
"Gene that's a bucket." he pointed out, his voice slightly strained.
"Ooh right little detective you are."
"What is it doing on my bed?" Sam spoke the words slowly as if fearing for Gene’s mental health. Graciously choosing not to comment on Sam’s many, many “loony” moments Gene brandished the bucket at him and explained.
"When Stu and I were down with the flu Mum used to leave a bucket for us by the bed so we wouldn't ‘ave to get up during the night an’ risk sicking up all over the carpet before we could get to the loo."
"So you threw up in the bucket instead and she'd empty it out in the morning?"
Gene nodded and set the bucket down within reach of Sam.
"That's unhygienic." Sam yawned.
"Not as bad as steppin' in the muck."
Sam cringed and Gene smirked.
“Well, er, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Gene sat on the bed, trying not to crush Sam as it sank under their weight. “So, feelin’ better yet?”
“M’fine” Gene raised an eyebrow.
“Really?”
“Just need sleep.”
“Alright. I’ll let myself out then...” Slowly Gene hoisted himself off the bed and made for the door. Sam sighed, sounding disappointed.
“If that’s what you want." Gene turned around to stare at him. "Then again," Sam continued, "you could stay until I’m feelin’ better and then fuck me over the kitchen sink” Gene stumbled, only barely avoiding losing his balance.
“Wha’ did you say?!”
Sam grinned.
“Didn't say naught, Hunt."
“I ‘eard you.”
“Maybe you’re delirious.”
“I’m feelin’ fine thank you very much...” Sam shook his head.
“No. You definitely look a bit peaky. I think you should lie down, Gene.”
“Oh you do, eh?”
“Best be on the safe side.”
Gene feigned uncertainty.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to chuck up in the Cortina....”
“I’ll let you share my bucket.” Sam offered, not bothering to hide his smirk. Gene snorted.
“Fair enough, but Tyler...”
“Yeah?”
“You throw up on me and I’m throwin’ you out the window.”
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