Fic: No Particular Reason (1/1), white cortina, dakfinv
Title: No Particular Reason
Author: dak
Word Count: 1228
Rating: white cortina
Warnings: none
Summary: For amproof, who requested the prompt "Gene finds out that Sam hasn't had a decent xmas/b-day since he was 4, so he takes him to a dept store and lets him pick out anything he wants. Fun romping of your choice ensues, with lots of exuberant Sammy."
“Were that really your ‘appiest memory?” Gene belched.
“Yes. Wait. What? I thought we were talking ‘bout ‘morrow’s match?” Sam hiccupped.
“The station’ry cupboard. Today. Your fourth birthday.” Gene stared into his near empty glass.
“Already told you. Don’t...don’t make me repeat, myself.” Sam hiccupped, again.
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty...something. Thirty-six?” Sam hiccupped. Again.
“And your last, happiest birthday were...” Gene counted on his fingers. “Thirty-two years ago?”
“Give or take. Years tend to...elude me, nowadays.” Sam hiccupped. Gene slapped him on the back. Sam burped. “Cheers.”
“No great piss-up when you were eighteen?”
“I went to a pub. With my mum. And my auntie. Had two pints.” Sam hunched over his empty glass. “Never had a lot of money.”
“Didn’t your mates treat you?”
“Never had a lot of mates.” Sam ran his finger around the rim of the glass.
“Hm.”
“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” He glared at Hunt.
“Nowt. Just...hm, ‘s all.”
They sat in silence, both wanting another drink, both too inebriated to go and fetch it.
“So...” Gene drawled. “What were the best gift you ever got?”
“I...it was never ‘bout the presents.”
“Even when you were older? What’d you get las’ year?”
“Last year...last year, I was too busy to have a birthday. I’m going home, now.” Sam stumbled out of the chair.
“Oi. We’re in the middle of a very enliten...enlootin...”
“Enlightening?”
“Enlightening conversation here.”
“Night, Guv. See you on Monday.” Sam tripped over his feet on his way out of the pub. Gene tripped over his feet on his way to the loo.
“Thirty-two years?” He asked himself as he swayed in front of the urinal. “No wonder he’s so bloody miserable.” Gene fell backwards against the stall behind him as he attempted to zip up, and an idea sprang into his head.
*
He knocked once.
Nothing.
He knocked twice.
Nothing.
He knocked three times.
Nothing.
He aimed his shoulder at the door.
The door cracked open before shoulder could meet wood.
“There better be a body,” Sam grumbled with half-closed eyes.
“Come on, Tyler. Nearly nine. Get your kit on. We’ve a little errand to run.” Gene rubbed his gloved hands together with evil glee.
“It’s Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“Barely nine in the morning.”
“That it is.”
“And you had me drinking my weight in whiskey last night until well past midnight.”
“That I did.”
“Goodnight, Guv.” Sam closed the door in Gene’s face.
Gene slammed his shoulder into the door, cracking it open in one. Sam was already lying back down on his cot.
“Now, now. None of that, Gladys. The day is young! Time to rise, my hungover deputy, and see what the Gene Genie has in store.”
“The hungover deputy is going to punch the Gene Genie if he doesn’t leave in the next five seconds,” Sam mumbled into his pillow.
“Well, that is a shame. Guess the deputy doesn’t want his special surprise.”
Sam lifted his head from the pillow. “What special surprise?”
“Can’t say. Wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”
“Gene, what special surprise?”
“Nope. Said you don’t want it.” Gene turned back to the door.
“Where are you going?” Sam sat up halfway.
“I’ll see you Monday, Tyler.” He strode out the door.
“Wait,” Sam huffed, and dragged himself out of bed.
*
“There been a robbery?” Sam asked as he stepped out of the car.
“Nope.” Gene answered, slamming his door shut.
“Then what are we doing at Kendals?”
“Wait and see,” Gene grinned and crossed the street, Sam following in his wake.
“Guv, if you need a gift for your wife...”
“Wait. And. See. Dorothy.” Gene turned and grabbed Sam by the arm, forcing him to move faster. He pushed him through the doors of the department store, Sam staggering forward as he tried to maintain his balance, still nursing a hungover head and empty stomach. “Go on then.” Gene motioned to the shops.
“Go on and what?” Sam asked, rubbing the back of his sore neck.
“Go on and pick something.”
“Something?”
“Anything.”
“Anything what?”
“Anything you want.”
“Hang on.” Sam held up his hands. “Are you...buying me a gift?”
“Only seems fair.” Gene sniffed, acting nonchalant. “Nearly died yesterday, both of us. Time to celebrate life, Sammy-boy. So, go on. Prance about like I know you will, and pick out something you want.”
“I...” Sam looked from Gene to the shops, then back to Gene. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“Go on and pick something before I get that nice frilly brassiere for you, instead.” Gene shoved him forward.
“Okay, okay!” Sam detached himself from Gene’s grip. “I could...” Sam carefully examined the store and walked over to a shop selling kitchen equipment. “I could use a new frying pan.”
Gene grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him away from the uninteresting display of pans. “Not something you need, Gladys. Something you want.”
Gene watched as Sam began to relax. Tyler spun slowly on the spot, taking in all the various storefronts that were available to him. When he took off, Gene could barely keep up. Sam’s manic energy, usually reserved for the toughest of cases, was at the forefront as he launched himself from shop to shop, the hangover since forgotten.
“Look at that guitar! A vintage Univox Hi-Flyer. Well, I suppose it’s not vintage, yet. That’s the same guitar Kurt Cobain used. Will use?...A Hayman? That’s made right here in England. Brand new by the looks of it. Well, it is a Seventy-three. And look at that Conrad...” Sam was practically drooling on the glass. “No. I can’t,” he shook his head, stepping back. “Too expensive.”
“Tyler, I said...”
“Let’s see what else they have.” Sam hurried over to a shop with sport memorabilia.
“I will not buy anything to do with United scum,” Gene proudly announced, hands on his hips.
“Fine,” Sam sighed, then hurried further into the department store.
Sam gasped, ooo’ed, and aww’ed at nearly everything he saw. Gene eventually stopped trying to keep up with him, hanging back as Tyler bounced from one shop to the other and rubbed his hands together in manic glee. Finally, Sam slowed, coming to a stop long enough for Gene to catch up. They were in front of a toy store and Sam couldn’t peel his eyes away from the display.
“I...I’ve always wanted one of those,” Sam swallowed nervously.
“What? A Sindy doll?”
“A Hornby model railway,” Sam sighed. “I asked for one for my fifth birthday. And my sixth. And my seventh. I got clothes instead.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and just stared at the model train going round and round on the track.
Gene stared at Sam, stared at the train, then pursed his lips and nodded.
When he exited the shop, Sam was still staring at the display. He shoved a large bag into Sam’s hands.
“There you are, then, Sammy-boy.”
“You didn’t,” Sam said looking at Gene, then into the bag. “You did! Gene...”
“Go on then. Have fun with them little trains. The pub should open in the next...” he checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes. I’m off.” Gene walked away, heading for the main doors of the department store.
“Tracks. Bridges. Train. And carriages!” Sam examined the contents of the bag, only belated realizing Gene had left. “Hang on! You drove me here!”
Author: dak
Word Count: 1228
Rating: white cortina
Warnings: none
Summary: For amproof, who requested the prompt "Gene finds out that Sam hasn't had a decent xmas/b-day since he was 4, so he takes him to a dept store and lets him pick out anything he wants. Fun romping of your choice ensues, with lots of exuberant Sammy."
“Were that really your ‘appiest memory?” Gene belched.
“Yes. Wait. What? I thought we were talking ‘bout ‘morrow’s match?” Sam hiccupped.
“The station’ry cupboard. Today. Your fourth birthday.” Gene stared into his near empty glass.
“Already told you. Don’t...don’t make me repeat, myself.” Sam hiccupped, again.
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty...something. Thirty-six?” Sam hiccupped. Again.
“And your last, happiest birthday were...” Gene counted on his fingers. “Thirty-two years ago?”
“Give or take. Years tend to...elude me, nowadays.” Sam hiccupped. Gene slapped him on the back. Sam burped. “Cheers.”
“No great piss-up when you were eighteen?”
“I went to a pub. With my mum. And my auntie. Had two pints.” Sam hunched over his empty glass. “Never had a lot of money.”
“Didn’t your mates treat you?”
“Never had a lot of mates.” Sam ran his finger around the rim of the glass.
“Hm.”
“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” He glared at Hunt.
“Nowt. Just...hm, ‘s all.”
They sat in silence, both wanting another drink, both too inebriated to go and fetch it.
“So...” Gene drawled. “What were the best gift you ever got?”
“I...it was never ‘bout the presents.”
“Even when you were older? What’d you get las’ year?”
“Last year...last year, I was too busy to have a birthday. I’m going home, now.” Sam stumbled out of the chair.
“Oi. We’re in the middle of a very enliten...enlootin...”
“Enlightening?”
“Enlightening conversation here.”
“Night, Guv. See you on Monday.” Sam tripped over his feet on his way out of the pub. Gene tripped over his feet on his way to the loo.
“Thirty-two years?” He asked himself as he swayed in front of the urinal. “No wonder he’s so bloody miserable.” Gene fell backwards against the stall behind him as he attempted to zip up, and an idea sprang into his head.
*
He knocked once.
Nothing.
He knocked twice.
Nothing.
He knocked three times.
Nothing.
He aimed his shoulder at the door.
The door cracked open before shoulder could meet wood.
“There better be a body,” Sam grumbled with half-closed eyes.
“Come on, Tyler. Nearly nine. Get your kit on. We’ve a little errand to run.” Gene rubbed his gloved hands together with evil glee.
“It’s Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“Barely nine in the morning.”
“That it is.”
“And you had me drinking my weight in whiskey last night until well past midnight.”
“That I did.”
“Goodnight, Guv.” Sam closed the door in Gene’s face.
Gene slammed his shoulder into the door, cracking it open in one. Sam was already lying back down on his cot.
“Now, now. None of that, Gladys. The day is young! Time to rise, my hungover deputy, and see what the Gene Genie has in store.”
“The hungover deputy is going to punch the Gene Genie if he doesn’t leave in the next five seconds,” Sam mumbled into his pillow.
“Well, that is a shame. Guess the deputy doesn’t want his special surprise.”
Sam lifted his head from the pillow. “What special surprise?”
“Can’t say. Wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”
“Gene, what special surprise?”
“Nope. Said you don’t want it.” Gene turned back to the door.
“Where are you going?” Sam sat up halfway.
“I’ll see you Monday, Tyler.” He strode out the door.
“Wait,” Sam huffed, and dragged himself out of bed.
*
“There been a robbery?” Sam asked as he stepped out of the car.
“Nope.” Gene answered, slamming his door shut.
“Then what are we doing at Kendals?”
“Wait and see,” Gene grinned and crossed the street, Sam following in his wake.
“Guv, if you need a gift for your wife...”
“Wait. And. See. Dorothy.” Gene turned and grabbed Sam by the arm, forcing him to move faster. He pushed him through the doors of the department store, Sam staggering forward as he tried to maintain his balance, still nursing a hungover head and empty stomach. “Go on then.” Gene motioned to the shops.
“Go on and what?” Sam asked, rubbing the back of his sore neck.
“Go on and pick something.”
“Something?”
“Anything.”
“Anything what?”
“Anything you want.”
“Hang on.” Sam held up his hands. “Are you...buying me a gift?”
“Only seems fair.” Gene sniffed, acting nonchalant. “Nearly died yesterday, both of us. Time to celebrate life, Sammy-boy. So, go on. Prance about like I know you will, and pick out something you want.”
“I...” Sam looked from Gene to the shops, then back to Gene. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“Go on and pick something before I get that nice frilly brassiere for you, instead.” Gene shoved him forward.
“Okay, okay!” Sam detached himself from Gene’s grip. “I could...” Sam carefully examined the store and walked over to a shop selling kitchen equipment. “I could use a new frying pan.”
Gene grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him away from the uninteresting display of pans. “Not something you need, Gladys. Something you want.”
Gene watched as Sam began to relax. Tyler spun slowly on the spot, taking in all the various storefronts that were available to him. When he took off, Gene could barely keep up. Sam’s manic energy, usually reserved for the toughest of cases, was at the forefront as he launched himself from shop to shop, the hangover since forgotten.
“Look at that guitar! A vintage Univox Hi-Flyer. Well, I suppose it’s not vintage, yet. That’s the same guitar Kurt Cobain used. Will use?...A Hayman? That’s made right here in England. Brand new by the looks of it. Well, it is a Seventy-three. And look at that Conrad...” Sam was practically drooling on the glass. “No. I can’t,” he shook his head, stepping back. “Too expensive.”
“Tyler, I said...”
“Let’s see what else they have.” Sam hurried over to a shop with sport memorabilia.
“I will not buy anything to do with United scum,” Gene proudly announced, hands on his hips.
“Fine,” Sam sighed, then hurried further into the department store.
Sam gasped, ooo’ed, and aww’ed at nearly everything he saw. Gene eventually stopped trying to keep up with him, hanging back as Tyler bounced from one shop to the other and rubbed his hands together in manic glee. Finally, Sam slowed, coming to a stop long enough for Gene to catch up. They were in front of a toy store and Sam couldn’t peel his eyes away from the display.
“I...I’ve always wanted one of those,” Sam swallowed nervously.
“What? A Sindy doll?”
“A Hornby model railway,” Sam sighed. “I asked for one for my fifth birthday. And my sixth. And my seventh. I got clothes instead.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and just stared at the model train going round and round on the track.
Gene stared at Sam, stared at the train, then pursed his lips and nodded.
When he exited the shop, Sam was still staring at the display. He shoved a large bag into Sam’s hands.
“There you are, then, Sammy-boy.”
“You didn’t,” Sam said looking at Gene, then into the bag. “You did! Gene...”
“Go on then. Have fun with them little trains. The pub should open in the next...” he checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes. I’m off.” Gene walked away, heading for the main doors of the department store.
“Tracks. Bridges. Train. And carriages!” Sam examined the contents of the bag, only belated realizing Gene had left. “Hang on! You drove me here!”