Fic: This Is Nothing To Celebrate (1/1), off-white cortina, dakfinv
Title: This Is Nothing To Celebrate
Author: dak
Word Count: 1113 words
Rating: off-white cortina (for some mild language)
Summary: Gene gets Sam to guess what day it is.
A/N: So, exactly one year ago today, I became an active fic-posting member of this comm. When I posted that first fic, I never knew it would result with me grating cheese in Norway, and many other unexpecting and enjoyable occasions. So, thanks to everyone for making this such a wonderful fandom to be a part of! Please enjoy the fic. (Notice the lack of an angst warning!)
“You know what today is, don’t yeh?”
“Enlighten me,” Sam sighed.
“You really don’t know?” Gene asked again.
“Clearly not,” Sam replied. There were a few seconds of silence before Sam spoke again. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me?” Sam asked.
“I could,” Gene nodded.
“So, why don’t you?” Sam pressed.
“I want you to guess,” he answered.
“You do know how absolutely childish that is, don’t you?” Sam pointed out.
“Absolutely. Doesn’t mean I’m changing me mind,” Gene snorted. There was more silence before Gene spoke again. “Well?”
“Well what?” Sam asked.
“Aren’t you going to guess?” he questioned. Sam sighed heavily.
“Fine. It’s your birthday,” Sam guessed.
“That’s in December and you know it, Tyler. Got me that whisky, remember?”
“Oh, you mean the whisky you ‘accidentally’ gave to Ray’s dog at the CID Christmas party?” Sam scoffed.
“Never said it were good whisky,” Gene replied. Sam sighed again.
“Fine. It’s not your birthday.”
“Nope.”
“It’s Ray’s birthday,” Sam guessed again.
“Nope. That’s next month.”
“Am I going to be invited to the party this year?”
“That’s up to Ray.”
“That’s a ‘no’ then,” Sam shifted position. “Chris’ birthday.”
“What is it with you and birthdays?” Gene sighed. “ ‘S not your birthday, is it?”
“I thought I was the one making guesses?” Sam, nearly, whined.
“You are,” Gene assured him. “ ‘S not your birthday, though, is it?”
“No, Guv. My birthday’s in September. Remember? You were there.”
“I was drunk.”
“Good point,” Sam acquiesced. “So, it’s no one’s birthday then?”
“Not that I know of. ‘Less it’s Cartwright’s.”
“No, Annie’s is in October,” Sam answered.
“Oh, so you remember Cartwright’s birthday but no one else’s?”
“Annie’s is on Halloween. It’s easy to remember,” Sam replied.
“Didn’t she have that fancy dress party?”
“Yeah. You were supposed to be Gary Cooper...”
“What d’you mean ‘supposed to be’?” Gene interjected.
“...I was Marc Bolan and Annie...Annie wore that wig and came as....” Sam couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
“That creepy kiddie from the test card,” Gene continued for him. “You ran screaming for the bogs! Din’t even talk to her the rest of the night, once I did get yeh out,” Gene snickered.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Sam pouted.
“Shakin’ like a leaf, you were,” Gene chuckled.
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!’ Sam snapped.
“Well there’s a surprise. Something Harping Harriet doesn’t want to prattle about,” Gene mocked.
“Your wife’s birthday,” Sam suddenly spoke up.
“Jesus Christ, Gladys! It’s nobody’s bloody birthday!” Gene shouted.
“Then give me another clue,” Sam sighed.
“What else do people observe each year?” he asked.
“Besides birthdays?”
“Tyler. You say ‘birthday’ one more time I’ll make sure you wish you never had one,” Gene warned.
“Other than...days honoring the new life of a child, we didn’t celebrate anything but holidays. It’s not St. George’s Day, is it?”
“Every good Englishman knows that’s April 23,” Gene scoffed.
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m half-Welsh,” Sam smirked and waited for Gene to respond. He didn’t. “It was a joke, Guv.”
“Right,” Gene drawled. “ ‘Sides, I didn’t say this was a day for celebratin’.”
“It’s not the anniversary of someone’s death, is it?” Sam flinched.
“Only my sanity,” Gene mumbled.
“Wait. Is it...No. It can’t be,” Sam gasped as he was hit with the sudden realization.
“Oh yes, Sammy-boy,” Gene grinned.
“It’s been a year? Already?” he asked in surprise.
“Longest of me life. Oi, maybe we can do one of them recastrations you love so much,” Gene pondered.
“Reconstructions,” Sam corrected. “Shit. It doesn’t feel that long,” he added, still in disbelief.
“We’ll put Chris in a leather jacket, spin ‘im round a bit, then plop ‘im in CID,” Gene explained.
“It only feels like six months, tops,” Sam wondered aloud.
“Can’t you see ‘im? Standing there, all confused, like, screaming ‘Where’s me desk?’ People’d pay good money to see that,” he concluded.
“Stuff it. I’d just been hit by a car, you insensitive oaf,” Sam pouted.
“Watch it, Tyler. That’s a DCI you’re talking to,” Gene threatened.
“What does that stand for? Diligence and Competence not Included?” Sam remarked snarkily.
“You stayed awake all night thinking up that one, didn’t yeh?”
“Because I spend every waking moment of my life thinking on you, Guv,” Sam sarcastically quipped.
“Alright. No need to go all poof on me, Dorothy,” Gene inched back slightly.
“One of these days, you’ll have to come to terms with that unresolved homophobia of yours, Gene,” Sam warned.
“Nonsense. Don’t know what you’re on about, Tyler. The Gene Genie respects all men - queers, Paddies, Pakis, spastics, and nutters - alike,” he humphed. Sam shook his head and sighed sadly.
“Guv?” he asked after a brief silence. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“When you said the day I...transferred was nothing to celebrate?” Sam asked cautiously.
“Absolutely. Worst day of me life. Nothing’s been right since,” Gene nodded with certainty.
“Sounds like you could use a drink,” Sam suggested.
“Several,” Gene agreed. “Down at the Arms with Ray an’ Chris. Cartwright, too. You could join us, if you’d like,” he offered.
“So we can all wallow over my unfortunate arrival,” Sam reminded him.
“Might even be a few balloons there. Possibly a cake,” Gene added.
“Just to help us work through our grief, of course,” Sam explained.
“Of course,” Gene agreed.
“So, when is this non-celebration taking place?” Sam inquired.
“ ‘Bout a half-hour from now,” Gene informed him.
“Sounds great, Guv. There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that Tyler?”
“We’re still tied to these rafters,” Sam reminded him. Gene looked above their heads to where the hands were tied to the beams.
“That we are, Sammy-boy,” Gene sighed.
“And you didn’t think to tell anyone we were going to meet an informant?”
“Must’ve slipped me mind when I sent ‘em to the pub, to set up for your not-a-party,” Gene answered. Sam nodded.
“So, what’s the plan then?” he asked.
“Guess we hang here till someone cuts us down. This place gets busy during the day. Someone’ll find us,” Gene assured him.
“Tomorrow morning?” Sam clarified.
“Tomorrow morning,” Gene confirmed.
“Right,” Sam sighed. They swung there silently, their feet barely scraping the ground.
“What kind of cake was it?” Sam asked.
“Chocolate, for the masses. For you, Gwen made this massive treacle sponge, that you’d share with your Guv,” Gene revealed.
“I love treacle,” Sam smiled despite himself. “With mint custard?”
“Of course,” Gene confirmed. They both sighed into the silence, listening for any signs of movement inside the dark building, their arms slowly going numb.
“Happy Anniversary, Sam.”
“You, too, Gene. You, too.”