FIC: HANG ON TO YOURSELF, CHAPTER 1, DEBL_NS, SAM/GENE, BLUE CORTINA
Title: Hang on to Yourself, Chapter 1
Author: debl_ns; beta read by basaltgrrl
Word Count: 798
Rating: Blue Cortina
Summary: Gene's going undercover. Sam is not happy.
Notes: Collaboration by basaltgrrl and me, to be posted in chapters. See her prologue and Gene!whump illustration, Go on, cut his throat.
Sam came out of the toilet, dressed in his trousers. He'd pulled on a clean shirt and was rubbing his wet hair with a towel. The short ends stuck up like cactus spines. He walked barefoot on the faded carpet into the kitchen where Gene had placed eggs and butter on the worktop, and was banging about. Coffee was percolating on the stove.
“What are you doing, Gene?” Sam asked.
“It's called making breakfast. What kind of copper are you, Gladys?” He shot a look at Sam then went back to rummaging through his cupboard. “Bloody hell, where do you keep your frying pan? Bread?”
Sam sighed. “I'll do it. You'll make a mess.”
“It's only eggs. Toast. I can manage that without setting anything on fire.” Gene paused, a bottle of jam in his hand. “Course, the state of your flat … burning it to the ground could be a good thing.”
Sam threw a glance at the meager furnishings. The unmade bed. “You enjoyed the bed.”
Gene chuckled. “It was more the bedmate.” He looked up from scrambling the eggs. “Sit, and chew on that,” he said, indicating a folder on the table with a nod of his head.
Sam sat, reaching for the file and inspecting the contents. He read it in silence, frown lines eating into his brow.
Gene set two plates of eggs and buttered toast on the table. Without asking, he poured him a cup of coffee from the percolator and pushed it across the table, along with the milk and sugar.
Sam snapped closed the folder and considered what he would say. He added two sugar lumps to his coffee. “Shit,” he said quietly. “You're going inside, then. Alone.”
“Yes,” Gene replied. “We need to find out who's behind these murders. Rathbone agrees.”
Sam reached for the cup, wanting something to do with his hands. He spun it around then turned it back the other way. “I don't like it. And why didn't you tell me last night?”
“Maybe I just wanted you last night.”
“I see.” Disquiet rose up in his throat like heartburn.
Gene picked up the salt and coated his eggs. “Is it just me, or are you sulking?”
Sam picked at his food with his fork. “Sulking? This is about safety, Gene. Yours! It's not a private swingers party. It's dangerous!”
“It's murder. It's always dangerous, that,” he answered and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.
“Why do you have to take it on?” Sam took a sip of the coffee, not caring if it blistered his tongue. His insides were already inflamed.
Gene shook his fork in Sam's face. “She was executed, Sam. Two shots to the back of the head. An old lady. I don't give a damn who her son is, she was his Mum.” Gene put it down with an authoritative bang. “I bloody want this. What happened in London does not happen in my city. I'll see to it. I'll send those bastards to gaol … until they die.”
Sam was sure of three things. Gene could be murdered himself because of the undercover operation. Second, his own premonition of danger was legitimate. He could feel it in the anxiety that was heating up his guts and threatening to reduce him to ashes. Third, he didn't want to fight with him. Not now. “You could die,” Sam said, touching Gene's arm.
“Let's make sure it doesn't come to that, then, Doubting Thomas.” Gene smiled at Sam fondly. “Use your loaf. You're letting what you want muddy your brain. It's what you know. Everything will go according to plan.”
“Gene--”
“What?”
Sam pushed his coffee cup aside and got to his feet, putting his hand in the small of his back. “Be careful. Will you do that much?”
Gene got up, looking into Sam's eyes. “I'll be back,” he promised.
I'll see that he comes back, Sam thought.
“I'll gird up me loins.”
He'd be preparing for battle like a Roman soldier. An image of Gene cinching up and securing his tunic with a heavy leather belt before combat made Sam feel a shiver of excitement. “Jesus, I fancy your loins.”
“Go on, then. Do something about it.”
He went to Gene. They stood together in each other's arms, for awhile, in silence. Sam shook himself free, fumbling with the zip of his trousers. “Do you--”
“Yeah.” Gene covered Sam's hand with his. “I can handle you, Tyler.”
A smile flickered at the corner of Sam's mouth. “Just what I had in mind.”
Author: debl_ns; beta read by basaltgrrl
Word Count: 798
Rating: Blue Cortina
Summary: Gene's going undercover. Sam is not happy.
Notes: Collaboration by basaltgrrl and me, to be posted in chapters. See her prologue and Gene!whump illustration, Go on, cut his throat.
Sam came out of the toilet, dressed in his trousers. He'd pulled on a clean shirt and was rubbing his wet hair with a towel. The short ends stuck up like cactus spines. He walked barefoot on the faded carpet into the kitchen where Gene had placed eggs and butter on the worktop, and was banging about. Coffee was percolating on the stove.
“What are you doing, Gene?” Sam asked.
“It's called making breakfast. What kind of copper are you, Gladys?” He shot a look at Sam then went back to rummaging through his cupboard. “Bloody hell, where do you keep your frying pan? Bread?”
Sam sighed. “I'll do it. You'll make a mess.”
“It's only eggs. Toast. I can manage that without setting anything on fire.” Gene paused, a bottle of jam in his hand. “Course, the state of your flat … burning it to the ground could be a good thing.”
Sam threw a glance at the meager furnishings. The unmade bed. “You enjoyed the bed.”
Gene chuckled. “It was more the bedmate.” He looked up from scrambling the eggs. “Sit, and chew on that,” he said, indicating a folder on the table with a nod of his head.
Sam sat, reaching for the file and inspecting the contents. He read it in silence, frown lines eating into his brow.
Gene set two plates of eggs and buttered toast on the table. Without asking, he poured him a cup of coffee from the percolator and pushed it across the table, along with the milk and sugar.
Sam snapped closed the folder and considered what he would say. He added two sugar lumps to his coffee. “Shit,” he said quietly. “You're going inside, then. Alone.”
“Yes,” Gene replied. “We need to find out who's behind these murders. Rathbone agrees.”
Sam reached for the cup, wanting something to do with his hands. He spun it around then turned it back the other way. “I don't like it. And why didn't you tell me last night?”
“Maybe I just wanted you last night.”
“I see.” Disquiet rose up in his throat like heartburn.
Gene picked up the salt and coated his eggs. “Is it just me, or are you sulking?”
Sam picked at his food with his fork. “Sulking? This is about safety, Gene. Yours! It's not a private swingers party. It's dangerous!”
“It's murder. It's always dangerous, that,” he answered and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.
“Why do you have to take it on?” Sam took a sip of the coffee, not caring if it blistered his tongue. His insides were already inflamed.
Gene shook his fork in Sam's face. “She was executed, Sam. Two shots to the back of the head. An old lady. I don't give a damn who her son is, she was his Mum.” Gene put it down with an authoritative bang. “I bloody want this. What happened in London does not happen in my city. I'll see to it. I'll send those bastards to gaol … until they die.”
Sam was sure of three things. Gene could be murdered himself because of the undercover operation. Second, his own premonition of danger was legitimate. He could feel it in the anxiety that was heating up his guts and threatening to reduce him to ashes. Third, he didn't want to fight with him. Not now. “You could die,” Sam said, touching Gene's arm.
“Let's make sure it doesn't come to that, then, Doubting Thomas.” Gene smiled at Sam fondly. “Use your loaf. You're letting what you want muddy your brain. It's what you know. Everything will go according to plan.”
“Gene--”
“What?”
Sam pushed his coffee cup aside and got to his feet, putting his hand in the small of his back. “Be careful. Will you do that much?”
Gene got up, looking into Sam's eyes. “I'll be back,” he promised.
I'll see that he comes back, Sam thought.
“I'll gird up me loins.”
He'd be preparing for battle like a Roman soldier. An image of Gene cinching up and securing his tunic with a heavy leather belt before combat made Sam feel a shiver of excitement. “Jesus, I fancy your loins.”
“Go on, then. Do something about it.”
He went to Gene. They stood together in each other's arms, for awhile, in silence. Sam shook himself free, fumbling with the zip of his trousers. “Do you--”
“Yeah.” Gene covered Sam's hand with his. “I can handle you, Tyler.”
A smile flickered at the corner of Sam's mouth. “Just what I had in mind.”