Fic: 5 Things Sam and Gene Bought Together..., white cortina, sam/gene, dakfinv
Title: 5 Things Sam and Gene Bought Together After Sam Moved In
Author: dak
Word Count: 1062
Rating: white cortina
Warnings: none, seriously!
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Summary: Does what it says on the tin.
A/N: For dorsetgirl , who requested the prompt.
1)
There was nothing wrong with the bed. Gene loved that bed. It was an antique, passed down through his mum’s side of the family. Old, sturdy, practical, and well kept. The mattress was bloody comfortable, as well. It sunk in all the right places, but was firm when he needed it to be. Gene would replace the bed before he replaced that mattress.
The sheets, they were a bit tired. She had bought them, of course. Blue, to match his eyes, she’d smiled. Gene hadn’t reminded her then that his eyes were green. He did the night she left, though.
The sheets were worn and thin, tired from sleepless nights on the sofa downstairs. There were various stains never quite removed from snacks, cigarettes, and infrequent sex.
Sam wasn’t there for a day before he showed up with a new set. Patterned. Green and brown.
“They’re five hundred thread count,” Sam shrugged, as if Gene knew what that meant.
“Oh, and they match me eyes, too, eh?” Gene teased.
“No,” Sam replied. “They match ours.”
2)
There was something wrong with the oven. That’s what she always said. Couldn’t cook evenly. Food would get burnt round the edges, but stay raw in the middle. Gene had never complained. Alright, maybe never wasn’t quite the word, and she had eventually stopped using it altogether. Every once in awhile she’d cook food on the range, but even that was a mess, she’d said. Too much of a bother to try and cook food properly.
So, it had been all takeaways towards the end. Gene would have bought her a new oven and range, they had the money, but she never asked. Not once.
Sam had just hung up the sheets outside to dry, took one look in the kitchen, and shook his head.
“This is not going to work,” he sighed, messing with the dials Gene had never understood.
“Nice place round the corner. Does all sorts of food.”
“We are not living off takeaways. I have some money saved. It’ll be worth it, Gene. Promise.”
It was installed three days later. Gene couldn’t name all the foods Sam prepared for that first meal, but dammit if he didn’t keep that promise. They were both full for a week.
3)
There was something a bit wrong with the back door. It had a cat flap. Been that way since they moved in, but they never had a cat. Had never thought about it, really. He’d asked her, when they realized children weren’t an option. He asked if she wanted a cat or a dog or a bloody parrot even, anything she could mother. Anything that would make her feel useful.
She always said no. Gene wasn’t particularly fond of cats, but he didn’t hate them. Towards the end, it would have been nice to have something warm and friendly to come home to.
When he came home that Thursday - Sam’s day off - he’d hung up his coat, sampled the stew cooking on the range, and went to the toilet before noticing the litter box by the back door. He went to the front room to question Sam, but didn’t need to. He was half asleep, sprawled on the sofa, a large orange fluff ball resting on his chest.
“I should’ve asked,” Sam said. “Sorry, but, just felt like we were missing something. Not us, but the house, you know? And we already had the cat flap.”
Gene couldn’t argue, except about the name. Bolan was a bloody stupid name for a cat.
4)
There was nothing really wrong with his liquor. Over the years, he’d built up quite the collection through gifts, house guests, and his own money. He always liked to have a nice selection when they were young. Never knew what she’d be in the mood for. They would always share a drink after dinner, after work, after a visit to her mother’s.
At some point, the drinks began to taper off. Every night became a few nights a week became a few times a month became never. Gene stopped buying what she liked because she never drank it. Then he stopped buying the nice stuff for himself because he hated drinking it alone. The liquor cabinet was filled with bottom shelf whiskey he hated and cheap plonk she’d not taken with her.
They were in an off-license on a calm Saturday when Sam noticed the bottle on the top shelf, a thirty year old Glenlivet single malt. He whistled.
“Now that is a drink. Wouldn’t guzzle that like you normally do, would you?” He asked.
“Be a crime,” Gene agreed.
“Perfect, though for after a long night at the station. Don’t you think?”
Gene did think, and it was in their kitchen later that day. The cat twirling between his feet, Gene sipped, Sam sipped, and by God that was a good way to spend a Saturday night.
5)
There was absolutely nothing wrong with the telly. She’d never watched it much. A cooking show here or there. Maybe the news if she was feeling really adventurous. The most Gene would watch was Match of the Day and whatever was on after. Couldn’t be bothered to get up and switch the channel, as much as he’d want to.
Since there had been nothing wrong with the telly, she’d taken it with her. He’d tried to argue, but it had been pointless. He was keeping most of the furniture and the house to boot. Of course he could part with the television.
Sam seemed oddly at ease when he realized the telly was gone, but even he began to itch for one after missing a United match, though he said he just liked to watch the nightly news. They had gone to the shop together, but electronics was Sam’s domain. The one he chose was a bit out of their budget, but Sam was adamant they have it. Said it would make him feel more at home.
That night, Sam handed him a glass of Glenlivet and the click of the switch, the vision of the future. Said it was his for the night for fronting the extra money. Sam sidled up next to him on the sofa and Gene switched on the telly from the other side of the room. His life would never be the same again.
Author: dak
Word Count: 1062
Rating: white cortina
Warnings: none, seriously!
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Summary: Does what it says on the tin.
A/N: For dorsetgirl , who requested the prompt.
1)
There was nothing wrong with the bed. Gene loved that bed. It was an antique, passed down through his mum’s side of the family. Old, sturdy, practical, and well kept. The mattress was bloody comfortable, as well. It sunk in all the right places, but was firm when he needed it to be. Gene would replace the bed before he replaced that mattress.
The sheets, they were a bit tired. She had bought them, of course. Blue, to match his eyes, she’d smiled. Gene hadn’t reminded her then that his eyes were green. He did the night she left, though.
The sheets were worn and thin, tired from sleepless nights on the sofa downstairs. There were various stains never quite removed from snacks, cigarettes, and infrequent sex.
Sam wasn’t there for a day before he showed up with a new set. Patterned. Green and brown.
“They’re five hundred thread count,” Sam shrugged, as if Gene knew what that meant.
“Oh, and they match me eyes, too, eh?” Gene teased.
“No,” Sam replied. “They match ours.”
2)
There was something wrong with the oven. That’s what she always said. Couldn’t cook evenly. Food would get burnt round the edges, but stay raw in the middle. Gene had never complained. Alright, maybe never wasn’t quite the word, and she had eventually stopped using it altogether. Every once in awhile she’d cook food on the range, but even that was a mess, she’d said. Too much of a bother to try and cook food properly.
So, it had been all takeaways towards the end. Gene would have bought her a new oven and range, they had the money, but she never asked. Not once.
Sam had just hung up the sheets outside to dry, took one look in the kitchen, and shook his head.
“This is not going to work,” he sighed, messing with the dials Gene had never understood.
“Nice place round the corner. Does all sorts of food.”
“We are not living off takeaways. I have some money saved. It’ll be worth it, Gene. Promise.”
It was installed three days later. Gene couldn’t name all the foods Sam prepared for that first meal, but dammit if he didn’t keep that promise. They were both full for a week.
3)
There was something a bit wrong with the back door. It had a cat flap. Been that way since they moved in, but they never had a cat. Had never thought about it, really. He’d asked her, when they realized children weren’t an option. He asked if she wanted a cat or a dog or a bloody parrot even, anything she could mother. Anything that would make her feel useful.
She always said no. Gene wasn’t particularly fond of cats, but he didn’t hate them. Towards the end, it would have been nice to have something warm and friendly to come home to.
When he came home that Thursday - Sam’s day off - he’d hung up his coat, sampled the stew cooking on the range, and went to the toilet before noticing the litter box by the back door. He went to the front room to question Sam, but didn’t need to. He was half asleep, sprawled on the sofa, a large orange fluff ball resting on his chest.
“I should’ve asked,” Sam said. “Sorry, but, just felt like we were missing something. Not us, but the house, you know? And we already had the cat flap.”
Gene couldn’t argue, except about the name. Bolan was a bloody stupid name for a cat.
4)
There was nothing really wrong with his liquor. Over the years, he’d built up quite the collection through gifts, house guests, and his own money. He always liked to have a nice selection when they were young. Never knew what she’d be in the mood for. They would always share a drink after dinner, after work, after a visit to her mother’s.
At some point, the drinks began to taper off. Every night became a few nights a week became a few times a month became never. Gene stopped buying what she liked because she never drank it. Then he stopped buying the nice stuff for himself because he hated drinking it alone. The liquor cabinet was filled with bottom shelf whiskey he hated and cheap plonk she’d not taken with her.
They were in an off-license on a calm Saturday when Sam noticed the bottle on the top shelf, a thirty year old Glenlivet single malt. He whistled.
“Now that is a drink. Wouldn’t guzzle that like you normally do, would you?” He asked.
“Be a crime,” Gene agreed.
“Perfect, though for after a long night at the station. Don’t you think?”
Gene did think, and it was in their kitchen later that day. The cat twirling between his feet, Gene sipped, Sam sipped, and by God that was a good way to spend a Saturday night.
5)
There was absolutely nothing wrong with the telly. She’d never watched it much. A cooking show here or there. Maybe the news if she was feeling really adventurous. The most Gene would watch was Match of the Day and whatever was on after. Couldn’t be bothered to get up and switch the channel, as much as he’d want to.
Since there had been nothing wrong with the telly, she’d taken it with her. He’d tried to argue, but it had been pointless. He was keeping most of the furniture and the house to boot. Of course he could part with the television.
Sam seemed oddly at ease when he realized the telly was gone, but even he began to itch for one after missing a United match, though he said he just liked to watch the nightly news. They had gone to the shop together, but electronics was Sam’s domain. The one he chose was a bit out of their budget, but Sam was adamant they have it. Said it would make him feel more at home.
That night, Sam handed him a glass of Glenlivet and the click of the switch, the vision of the future. Said it was his for the night for fronting the extra money. Sam sidled up next to him on the sofa and Gene switched on the telly from the other side of the room. His life would never be the same again.