Ficathon 2010: Blame Game, dakfinv, Sam/Gene, green cortina
Title: Blame Game
Author: dak
Word Count: 1897
Rating: green cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Summary: Sam and Gene stuck on the side of the road. That sort of thing can force men to talk.
A/N: For saintvic who requested "slash, a flat tyre, stormy weather." I hope you like it!
“If you say this is my fault, you’ll be pitched right out of this car before your gob has time to finish the sentence.”
Sam looked at Gene, eyebrow raised.
“Interesting,” he said after a pause.
“What’s your problem now, Dorothy?” Gene’s fingers clenched the steering wheel.
“I wasn’t going to say it was your fault.”
“Oh really? What was going to come out of them lips, then?”
Sam adjusted in his seat.
“I was going to say it was an unfortunate time to have an accident.”
“Accident?”
“It’s a flat tyre, Gene. It’s no one’s fault. I know how well you take care of this car. I’m sure you check the tyres everyday. If you would’ve noticed one needed replacing you would have done it straight away.”
“Oh.” Gene unclenched his fingers.
They both sat quietly, staring out the windscreen. They were stuck somewhere in between Stockport and Manchester. The sky overhead was darkening from both the sunset and incoming clouds.
“What’s interesting then?” Gene finally asked.
“What? Oh. I thought it was interesting how you immediately assumed I was going to blame you.”
“That’s not interesting. That’s normal.”
Sam couldn’t disagree.
“What did you think was interesting?” Gene asked again.
“Guilt.”
“Sorry?”
“By automatically defending yourself before I even spoke, it demonstrates that you’re feeling guilty.”
“About the tyre.”
“Of course.”
Gene scoffed.
“Thought Cartwright had the degree in psycho.”
“I took a postgraduate module. In psychology. Not psycho.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
There was a rumble in the distance followed by a crack of lightning in the west.
“Did you pass?” Gene asked.
“We should probably change the tyre.” Sam reached for the door handle.
“You didn’t, did you?”
“The lecturer and I had differing views on the content of my final paper.”
“You failed.”
“I didn’t fail.”
“You didn’t pass.”
“I’m changing the tyre.” Sam opened the door and slid out the side. He’d already opened the boot by the time Gene joined him.
“Please tell me you have a spare,” Sam said.
“Under the blanket.”
Sam tossed the old gray wool aside, revealing the spare. He reached in, grabbed it with both hands, and hefted it out of the boot before dropping it to the ground with a shout. The tyre rolled towards Gene who stopped it and rested it against the Cortina.
Sam grasped his right arm, trying to shake off the pain.
“Your shoulder?” Gene asked, ignoring the tyre momentarily.
“It’s fine.”
“Atkinson got a pretty decent hit on you with that pipe.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“Okay.”
There was another clap of thunder and flash of lightning. A drop of rain fell on Sam’s forehead.
“Get the jack and cross wrench,” Gene ordered. Sam didn’t argue. He found them in the boot and carried them to Gene with his left hand then crouched beside him.
“I’ve never had to change a tyre,” Sam said, rubbing his shoulder.
“Never had a flat?”
“Once. I called the AA.”
“Girl.” Gene positioned the jack under the car, then removed the hubcap. “Hand me the wrench.” Sam absentmindedly grabbed it with his right hand. As soon as he lifted it, he dropped it.
“Shit,” he hissed, rocking back on his heels and cradling his arm.
“It’s fine, eh?”
“Yes.”
A sharp bolt of lightning illuminated the fields around them and the rain began pouring down. Sam and Gene were drenched in seconds. The lug nuts loosened, Gene cranked the car up, then started removing the nuts entirely. A close bolt of lightning struck and the loose lug nuts slipped from Gene’s hands and went rolling into the dark, flooded ditch behind them.
“Bollocks.” Gene slapped his knees and shouted over the storm. “Back inside?”
Sam nodded and the two leapt back into the car. Gene quickly shed his soaked camelhair coat while Sam struggled out his own wet jacket.
“That...” Sam said, teeth chattering, “was your fault.”
“It was an accident.”
“Yes. An accident you caused. Ergo, your fault.”
“I’m not listening to you. You failed psychology.” Gene rubbed his gloved hands together while Sam was still unable to remove his jacket. “Need a hand?”
Sam considered saying no but nodded yes in the end. Gene reached over and gingerly slipped the jacket off Sam’s right shoulder. Sam winced as his arm slid out of the sleeve. Thunder roared around them.
“Let me see,” Gene said.
“It’s nothing.” Sam shivered.
“Then you won’t mind me seeing.”
Sam rolled his eyes then began unbuttoning his shirt. He couldn’t reach his right arm far enough across his chest to undo the buttons with both hands. His left managed one button on its own before Gene lost his patience and finished the shirt himself. He maneuvered the shirt so Sam’s shoulder was exposed.
Sam closed his eyes, not looking at the injury. His shoulder was dark purple and a piece of his collarbone was jutting out from the wrong place.
“That doesn’t look good, Sammy.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, voice soft.
“Sam. Oi.” Gene snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face. Sam opened his eyes. “He hit you in the head, too?”
“No,” he replied. Gene wasn’t convinced. “It’s just the shoulder. It hurts and I’m tired. We’ve been up since five this morning.”
“Hm. Woulnd’t move that around if I were you.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Then why’d you lift a bloody tyre?”
“So it’s my fault?”
“No...”
“Is the radio working?” Sam pulled his shirt back on with his left hand.
“Not this far out.”
“So we’re stuck here.”
“For now.”
“Wonderful. Stuck in a car with a battered shoulder and only Gene Hunt for company.” Sam didn’t bother with the buttons.
“Didn’t think you minded my company.” Gene reached for his flask.
“I didn’t...sorry. Ignore me. I’m tired.”
“And grumpy.”
“Fine. And grumpy.”
Gene took a swig of whisky then offered the flask to Sam. Sam took it and a sip before handing it back.
“Gene, do you want to talk...”
“Nope.”
“Because...”
“Nothing to say, Gladys.”
“Okay.”
Sam closed his eyes and let the whisky run down his throat. They listened to the rain and the thunder, the Cortina doing little to warm them.
“You cold?” Gene asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Your lips are blue.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Like your shoulder?”
Sam didn’t answer. Gene took another sip, pocketed the flask then opened the door.
“Gene, what...”
He was back in a moment - the door slamming behind him - with the large wool blanket in his arms.
“Here.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I said here.” Gene dropped the blanket onto Sam’s lap. “That’s the problem with you, Samantha. Too bloody skinny. Me? I’m soaked to me skivvies and still have enough body heat to warm a warehouse in winter.”
“Fine.”
Sam adjusted the blanket over his legs with one hand as his right arm remained cradled to his chest. The rain continued to pour with no signs of stopping. It was the only sound for the next ten minutes. Sam was nearly asleep.
“Do you want to talk?” Gene’s voice cut through the air, startling Sam awake.
“No. It’s fine. I just want to rest.”
“Don’t think you should.”
“Rest?”
“Sleep.”
“I don’t have concussion, Gene. No one hit me in the head.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“Your colour’s off.”
Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he picked at the blanket and watched the rain.
“How much does it hurt?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Doesn’t answer the question.”
“Is this really what you want to talk about?”
“Could do. Or summat else.”
“Like what? The weather?”
Gene didn’t answer. It kept raining.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said.
“Not your fault. You’re tired.”
“And grumpy.” He shifted in his seat. “Don’t listen to me. I failed psychology,” he sighed.
“Thought you just didn’t pass?”
Sam tilted his head back, smiling briefly.
“What’re we doing, Gene?”
“Well, the missus and I called them disagreements.”
“And how would you resolve your disagreements?”
“She’d run off to her mother’s for a week and I’d sleep on the sofa with a bottle of Bell’s. What about you and that bird...”
“Maya? We didn’t have disagreements.”
“Oh really?”
“We’d have fights.”
“And how’d you fix it?”
“She’d take all her stuff back to her flat and I’d sleep at the station surrounded by case files.”
“Well, I’m not sleeping at the ruddy station.”
“And I can’t go to my mum’s.”
“Could buy a bottle of Bell’s.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have any stuff at yours to pack up.”
“That’s the whole point, innit?”
They both fell silent. Gene reached for his flask. Sam kept shivering.
“I can’t move in with you, Gene.”
“So you said last night.”
“I mean, I know I could pass as a lodger and my flat is shite and it would save us both a lot of trouble, but...”
“Always a but with you.”
“It’d feel too...permanent.”
“Right.”
“And I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.”
“So you keep saying.”
“And I...I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, cheers.”
“No. Gene. Really. I’m going to be sick.”
Sam’s face lost all color and his breathing was uneven.
“Shit.” Gene reached over Sam and flung the door open just in time for Sam to vomit all over the road. A minute later, he sat back in the seat and closed the door himself. His head was soaked and he was breathing heavily.
“So, Atkinson,” Sam said. “He may have hit me in the head. I may have concussion.”
“Told you.”
“I didn’t think he hit me that hard.”
“Hit your shoulder hard enough to break it.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Not yours either.”
“Should’ve been watching your back.”
“You had your hands full with Morley.”
“Still, your my...DI.”
The rain started to let up, the thunder receding.
“Sam.” Gene placed a hand on Sam’s thigh and shook it gently. Sam’s eyes shot open.
“Yes. Right. Suppose I shouldn’t fall asleep.”
“Probably not,” Gene agreed.
“What should we talk about?”
“How about which hospital you want to go to.”
“The nearest one?”
“Bet they’ll keep you overnight for observation.”
“Unless I sign myself out against medical advice.”
“Afraid they won’t let you leave?”
“They’ll ask questions with a concussion.”
“Like what?”
“Like what year is it.” Sam’s eyes fell shut again. Gene shook his thigh. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“Why don’t you sit up a bit?”
“Can’t. Shoulder.”
“Rain’s almost stopped.” Gene looked out the window.
“Think you can fix the tyre?” Sam asked.
“I can get her drivable.”
“Good.”
“Think you can stay awake five minutes while I do?”
“I can try.”
Gene gave Sam’s thigh a squeeze then reached for the door.
“Oh, and Gene?”
“Yeah?”
“When I do get out of hospital, with a concussion they’ll want to release me into someone’s care. Need someone to keep an eye on me.”
“Right. For a few days.” Gene nodded.
“At least. Maybe a week or two. See...see how it goes. Could be longer. We’ll have to see.”
“Course. I can ask Cartwright.”
“She doesn’t have an extra bed.”
“Hm. Well, let me fix the tyre. Then I can see about fixing you a room. If you want.”
“That’d be nice. For a few days. We can see...” Sam smiled as his eyes closed once more. Gene shook him awake and shared a concerned smile back.
Outside, the rain finally stopped.
Author: dak
Word Count: 1897
Rating: green cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Summary: Sam and Gene stuck on the side of the road. That sort of thing can force men to talk.
A/N: For saintvic who requested "slash, a flat tyre, stormy weather." I hope you like it!
“If you say this is my fault, you’ll be pitched right out of this car before your gob has time to finish the sentence.”
Sam looked at Gene, eyebrow raised.
“Interesting,” he said after a pause.
“What’s your problem now, Dorothy?” Gene’s fingers clenched the steering wheel.
“I wasn’t going to say it was your fault.”
“Oh really? What was going to come out of them lips, then?”
Sam adjusted in his seat.
“I was going to say it was an unfortunate time to have an accident.”
“Accident?”
“It’s a flat tyre, Gene. It’s no one’s fault. I know how well you take care of this car. I’m sure you check the tyres everyday. If you would’ve noticed one needed replacing you would have done it straight away.”
“Oh.” Gene unclenched his fingers.
They both sat quietly, staring out the windscreen. They were stuck somewhere in between Stockport and Manchester. The sky overhead was darkening from both the sunset and incoming clouds.
“What’s interesting then?” Gene finally asked.
“What? Oh. I thought it was interesting how you immediately assumed I was going to blame you.”
“That’s not interesting. That’s normal.”
Sam couldn’t disagree.
“What did you think was interesting?” Gene asked again.
“Guilt.”
“Sorry?”
“By automatically defending yourself before I even spoke, it demonstrates that you’re feeling guilty.”
“About the tyre.”
“Of course.”
Gene scoffed.
“Thought Cartwright had the degree in psycho.”
“I took a postgraduate module. In psychology. Not psycho.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
There was a rumble in the distance followed by a crack of lightning in the west.
“Did you pass?” Gene asked.
“We should probably change the tyre.” Sam reached for the door handle.
“You didn’t, did you?”
“The lecturer and I had differing views on the content of my final paper.”
“You failed.”
“I didn’t fail.”
“You didn’t pass.”
“I’m changing the tyre.” Sam opened the door and slid out the side. He’d already opened the boot by the time Gene joined him.
“Please tell me you have a spare,” Sam said.
“Under the blanket.”
Sam tossed the old gray wool aside, revealing the spare. He reached in, grabbed it with both hands, and hefted it out of the boot before dropping it to the ground with a shout. The tyre rolled towards Gene who stopped it and rested it against the Cortina.
Sam grasped his right arm, trying to shake off the pain.
“Your shoulder?” Gene asked, ignoring the tyre momentarily.
“It’s fine.”
“Atkinson got a pretty decent hit on you with that pipe.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“Okay.”
There was another clap of thunder and flash of lightning. A drop of rain fell on Sam’s forehead.
“Get the jack and cross wrench,” Gene ordered. Sam didn’t argue. He found them in the boot and carried them to Gene with his left hand then crouched beside him.
“I’ve never had to change a tyre,” Sam said, rubbing his shoulder.
“Never had a flat?”
“Once. I called the AA.”
“Girl.” Gene positioned the jack under the car, then removed the hubcap. “Hand me the wrench.” Sam absentmindedly grabbed it with his right hand. As soon as he lifted it, he dropped it.
“Shit,” he hissed, rocking back on his heels and cradling his arm.
“It’s fine, eh?”
“Yes.”
A sharp bolt of lightning illuminated the fields around them and the rain began pouring down. Sam and Gene were drenched in seconds. The lug nuts loosened, Gene cranked the car up, then started removing the nuts entirely. A close bolt of lightning struck and the loose lug nuts slipped from Gene’s hands and went rolling into the dark, flooded ditch behind them.
“Bollocks.” Gene slapped his knees and shouted over the storm. “Back inside?”
Sam nodded and the two leapt back into the car. Gene quickly shed his soaked camelhair coat while Sam struggled out his own wet jacket.
“That...” Sam said, teeth chattering, “was your fault.”
“It was an accident.”
“Yes. An accident you caused. Ergo, your fault.”
“I’m not listening to you. You failed psychology.” Gene rubbed his gloved hands together while Sam was still unable to remove his jacket. “Need a hand?”
Sam considered saying no but nodded yes in the end. Gene reached over and gingerly slipped the jacket off Sam’s right shoulder. Sam winced as his arm slid out of the sleeve. Thunder roared around them.
“Let me see,” Gene said.
“It’s nothing.” Sam shivered.
“Then you won’t mind me seeing.”
Sam rolled his eyes then began unbuttoning his shirt. He couldn’t reach his right arm far enough across his chest to undo the buttons with both hands. His left managed one button on its own before Gene lost his patience and finished the shirt himself. He maneuvered the shirt so Sam’s shoulder was exposed.
Sam closed his eyes, not looking at the injury. His shoulder was dark purple and a piece of his collarbone was jutting out from the wrong place.
“That doesn’t look good, Sammy.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, voice soft.
“Sam. Oi.” Gene snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face. Sam opened his eyes. “He hit you in the head, too?”
“No,” he replied. Gene wasn’t convinced. “It’s just the shoulder. It hurts and I’m tired. We’ve been up since five this morning.”
“Hm. Woulnd’t move that around if I were you.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Then why’d you lift a bloody tyre?”
“So it’s my fault?”
“No...”
“Is the radio working?” Sam pulled his shirt back on with his left hand.
“Not this far out.”
“So we’re stuck here.”
“For now.”
“Wonderful. Stuck in a car with a battered shoulder and only Gene Hunt for company.” Sam didn’t bother with the buttons.
“Didn’t think you minded my company.” Gene reached for his flask.
“I didn’t...sorry. Ignore me. I’m tired.”
“And grumpy.”
“Fine. And grumpy.”
Gene took a swig of whisky then offered the flask to Sam. Sam took it and a sip before handing it back.
“Gene, do you want to talk...”
“Nope.”
“Because...”
“Nothing to say, Gladys.”
“Okay.”
Sam closed his eyes and let the whisky run down his throat. They listened to the rain and the thunder, the Cortina doing little to warm them.
“You cold?” Gene asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Your lips are blue.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Like your shoulder?”
Sam didn’t answer. Gene took another sip, pocketed the flask then opened the door.
“Gene, what...”
He was back in a moment - the door slamming behind him - with the large wool blanket in his arms.
“Here.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I said here.” Gene dropped the blanket onto Sam’s lap. “That’s the problem with you, Samantha. Too bloody skinny. Me? I’m soaked to me skivvies and still have enough body heat to warm a warehouse in winter.”
“Fine.”
Sam adjusted the blanket over his legs with one hand as his right arm remained cradled to his chest. The rain continued to pour with no signs of stopping. It was the only sound for the next ten minutes. Sam was nearly asleep.
“Do you want to talk?” Gene’s voice cut through the air, startling Sam awake.
“No. It’s fine. I just want to rest.”
“Don’t think you should.”
“Rest?”
“Sleep.”
“I don’t have concussion, Gene. No one hit me in the head.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“Your colour’s off.”
Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he picked at the blanket and watched the rain.
“How much does it hurt?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Doesn’t answer the question.”
“Is this really what you want to talk about?”
“Could do. Or summat else.”
“Like what? The weather?”
Gene didn’t answer. It kept raining.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said.
“Not your fault. You’re tired.”
“And grumpy.” He shifted in his seat. “Don’t listen to me. I failed psychology,” he sighed.
“Thought you just didn’t pass?”
Sam tilted his head back, smiling briefly.
“What’re we doing, Gene?”
“Well, the missus and I called them disagreements.”
“And how would you resolve your disagreements?”
“She’d run off to her mother’s for a week and I’d sleep on the sofa with a bottle of Bell’s. What about you and that bird...”
“Maya? We didn’t have disagreements.”
“Oh really?”
“We’d have fights.”
“And how’d you fix it?”
“She’d take all her stuff back to her flat and I’d sleep at the station surrounded by case files.”
“Well, I’m not sleeping at the ruddy station.”
“And I can’t go to my mum’s.”
“Could buy a bottle of Bell’s.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have any stuff at yours to pack up.”
“That’s the whole point, innit?”
They both fell silent. Gene reached for his flask. Sam kept shivering.
“I can’t move in with you, Gene.”
“So you said last night.”
“I mean, I know I could pass as a lodger and my flat is shite and it would save us both a lot of trouble, but...”
“Always a but with you.”
“It’d feel too...permanent.”
“Right.”
“And I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.”
“So you keep saying.”
“And I...I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, cheers.”
“No. Gene. Really. I’m going to be sick.”
Sam’s face lost all color and his breathing was uneven.
“Shit.” Gene reached over Sam and flung the door open just in time for Sam to vomit all over the road. A minute later, he sat back in the seat and closed the door himself. His head was soaked and he was breathing heavily.
“So, Atkinson,” Sam said. “He may have hit me in the head. I may have concussion.”
“Told you.”
“I didn’t think he hit me that hard.”
“Hit your shoulder hard enough to break it.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Not yours either.”
“Should’ve been watching your back.”
“You had your hands full with Morley.”
“Still, your my...DI.”
The rain started to let up, the thunder receding.
“Sam.” Gene placed a hand on Sam’s thigh and shook it gently. Sam’s eyes shot open.
“Yes. Right. Suppose I shouldn’t fall asleep.”
“Probably not,” Gene agreed.
“What should we talk about?”
“How about which hospital you want to go to.”
“The nearest one?”
“Bet they’ll keep you overnight for observation.”
“Unless I sign myself out against medical advice.”
“Afraid they won’t let you leave?”
“They’ll ask questions with a concussion.”
“Like what?”
“Like what year is it.” Sam’s eyes fell shut again. Gene shook his thigh. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“Why don’t you sit up a bit?”
“Can’t. Shoulder.”
“Rain’s almost stopped.” Gene looked out the window.
“Think you can fix the tyre?” Sam asked.
“I can get her drivable.”
“Good.”
“Think you can stay awake five minutes while I do?”
“I can try.”
Gene gave Sam’s thigh a squeeze then reached for the door.
“Oh, and Gene?”
“Yeah?”
“When I do get out of hospital, with a concussion they’ll want to release me into someone’s care. Need someone to keep an eye on me.”
“Right. For a few days.” Gene nodded.
“At least. Maybe a week or two. See...see how it goes. Could be longer. We’ll have to see.”
“Course. I can ask Cartwright.”
“She doesn’t have an extra bed.”
“Hm. Well, let me fix the tyre. Then I can see about fixing you a room. If you want.”
“That’d be nice. For a few days. We can see...” Sam smiled as his eyes closed once more. Gene shook him awake and shared a concerned smile back.
Outside, the rain finally stopped.