[fic] Cross Street
TITLE: Cross Street
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Two paths intersecting.
RATING: Red Cortina
WORD COUNT: 990
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sam / Chris. It's a truth universally acknowledged that once you get on the slippery slope of crack!fic, the bottom is a long time coming. In the meantime you'd better look out for those trees (and that bunny…)
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Previous Parts:
The Candyman Can (by jantalaimon and m31andy)
Noughts (by jantalaimon)
Cross (by m31andy)
Noughty Noughty (by jantalaimon)
Cross Street
Sam came back from the latest crime scene to find the CID offices empty. He checked his watch; even with his inexhaustible hunt for the serial killer, it looked like Gene had taken his latest meeting down The Railway Arms.
He paused at his desk; he really ought to type up his notes, look busy, look effective. But it was difficult to put so much effort into the case. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't already know the answers. And he was tired. So, so tired.
He glanced down. No, he would take his breaks where he could find them. Act normal. Act natural. Plan ahead, make sure he knew where this investigation was going. And for that he needed to be down the Railway Arms. Being the Guv's confidante, being his sounding board.
His eye caught something, a piece of paper left on his desk. He dropped in the chair and smoothed it out, squinting slightly in the low light. Block letters only. "We have to talk."
His head swam for a moment. Someone obviously knew something. He glanced up, focussing on his ever-present shadows for a moment. They gazed back, knowing but not telling.
Whoever it was had to be a member of CID and Sam had a pretty good idea who. Pausing only to turn off the last of the lights, Sam made his way down to the pub.
* * *
It was a raucous crowd in the Railway Arms. For all that the investigation into the serial killer had stalled, other crimes in the city hadn't stopped and neither had the investigations. Parker had brought in a big collar today and was celebrating with everyone and anyone who would stop for two seconds or would buy him a pint.
It was a more subdued crowd in the corner though. Ray and Gene were deep in confidence, their whispered words not even reaching Chris' ears, who sat next to them with his habitual bemused look on his face. Chris seemed to be a little more aware of his surroundings than he looked, though, as he turned to nod to Sam at the bar. Sam managed a half-wave at Chris and Chris' smile seemed to sharpen slightly.
Bingo. Sam ordered a scotch, snagging a beermat as Nelson turned to fill up the glass and scribbling on it with a pen he kept in his jacket pocket. He paid for his drink and downed it in one before walking over to the table.
Gene looked up at Sam's approach. "Got anything, Tyler?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing so far. I'm on my way to have another look through the files.
Gene snorted. "You and your paperwork. I hope it's a long and happy marriage." He turned back to Ray. "You were saying, Raimondo?"
Sam turned back to the door, slipping the note into Chris's pocket as he passed. Two words only. Joni. Midnight.
* * *
It was dark down at the canal. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd come down here with Gene to identify the body pulled out of the canal. He glanced round at his eerily silent army. Several lifetimes.
It was cold and damp down here. Sam took a pull from the whisky bottle wrapped in brown paper. It was well past midnight and it wasn't the most private of places. Occasionally people staggered past, in ones and twos, taking a less salubrious shortcut home.
Five more minutes and he would give this up for a bad job, go back, drink himself into a stupor and forget it all in the morning.
He looked at the half empty whisky bottle. One more mouthful then he would leave. He tilted the bottle back, not even noticing the burn. Too far in now, he thought as he swallowed. He didn't even notice the shadow falling across him.
"Hello, boss," Chris said, "Fancy meeting you down here."
Sam choked.
"You didn't expect me to turn up, did you?"
Sam tried to get a grip of himself, wiping his arm across his face. "Not especially, no."
"Yet here I am and yet here you are. Fate I suppose."
There was something wrong, something subtly different. Enough to make Sam pause as he tried to screw the top back on the bottle. Taking a deep breath he tried to salvage the conversation. "You said we needed to talk."
Chris nodded, "Well, when I said we needed to talk, I think what I meant was you need to talk." He glanced round, seemingly taking in Sam's invisible army and smiled. "My, my, you have been busy."
Sam stared. "You, you can see them?"
Chris smiled slowly. "Oh, yes. We all have our demons, after all. It just takes some time to recognise them in other people." He took a step closer, effectively pinning Sam against the wall of the tunnel. "The lengths that some people will go to. My, my." He brought his face closer Sam's, leaning in, his hands braced against the wall either side of Sam's head. "We should really go somewhere more private, you know." He forced his lips onto Sam's, swallowing Sam's cry of protest. Sam dropped the bottle of whisky, bringing his hands up to push Chris away, but at the last moment he curled his fingers round Chris's arms, pulling him closer and opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.
Chris pulled away, a sardonic smile looking alien on his childish face. "Oh yes. We really need to take this somewhere more private."
fin
Next Part: The Games We Play
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Two paths intersecting.
RATING: Red Cortina
WORD COUNT: 990
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sam / Chris. It's a truth universally acknowledged that once you get on the slippery slope of crack!fic, the bottom is a long time coming. In the meantime you'd better look out for those trees (and that bunny…)
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Previous Parts:
The Candyman Can (by jantalaimon and m31andy)
Noughts (by jantalaimon)
Cross (by m31andy)
Noughty Noughty (by jantalaimon)
Cross Street
Sam came back from the latest crime scene to find the CID offices empty. He checked his watch; even with his inexhaustible hunt for the serial killer, it looked like Gene had taken his latest meeting down The Railway Arms.
He paused at his desk; he really ought to type up his notes, look busy, look effective. But it was difficult to put so much effort into the case. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't already know the answers. And he was tired. So, so tired.
He glanced down. No, he would take his breaks where he could find them. Act normal. Act natural. Plan ahead, make sure he knew where this investigation was going. And for that he needed to be down the Railway Arms. Being the Guv's confidante, being his sounding board.
His eye caught something, a piece of paper left on his desk. He dropped in the chair and smoothed it out, squinting slightly in the low light. Block letters only. "We have to talk."
His head swam for a moment. Someone obviously knew something. He glanced up, focussing on his ever-present shadows for a moment. They gazed back, knowing but not telling.
Whoever it was had to be a member of CID and Sam had a pretty good idea who. Pausing only to turn off the last of the lights, Sam made his way down to the pub.
* * *
It was a raucous crowd in the Railway Arms. For all that the investigation into the serial killer had stalled, other crimes in the city hadn't stopped and neither had the investigations. Parker had brought in a big collar today and was celebrating with everyone and anyone who would stop for two seconds or would buy him a pint.
It was a more subdued crowd in the corner though. Ray and Gene were deep in confidence, their whispered words not even reaching Chris' ears, who sat next to them with his habitual bemused look on his face. Chris seemed to be a little more aware of his surroundings than he looked, though, as he turned to nod to Sam at the bar. Sam managed a half-wave at Chris and Chris' smile seemed to sharpen slightly.
Bingo. Sam ordered a scotch, snagging a beermat as Nelson turned to fill up the glass and scribbling on it with a pen he kept in his jacket pocket. He paid for his drink and downed it in one before walking over to the table.
Gene looked up at Sam's approach. "Got anything, Tyler?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing so far. I'm on my way to have another look through the files.
Gene snorted. "You and your paperwork. I hope it's a long and happy marriage." He turned back to Ray. "You were saying, Raimondo?"
Sam turned back to the door, slipping the note into Chris's pocket as he passed. Two words only. Joni. Midnight.
* * *
It was dark down at the canal. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd come down here with Gene to identify the body pulled out of the canal. He glanced round at his eerily silent army. Several lifetimes.
It was cold and damp down here. Sam took a pull from the whisky bottle wrapped in brown paper. It was well past midnight and it wasn't the most private of places. Occasionally people staggered past, in ones and twos, taking a less salubrious shortcut home.
Five more minutes and he would give this up for a bad job, go back, drink himself into a stupor and forget it all in the morning.
He looked at the half empty whisky bottle. One more mouthful then he would leave. He tilted the bottle back, not even noticing the burn. Too far in now, he thought as he swallowed. He didn't even notice the shadow falling across him.
"Hello, boss," Chris said, "Fancy meeting you down here."
Sam choked.
"You didn't expect me to turn up, did you?"
Sam tried to get a grip of himself, wiping his arm across his face. "Not especially, no."
"Yet here I am and yet here you are. Fate I suppose."
There was something wrong, something subtly different. Enough to make Sam pause as he tried to screw the top back on the bottle. Taking a deep breath he tried to salvage the conversation. "You said we needed to talk."
Chris nodded, "Well, when I said we needed to talk, I think what I meant was you need to talk." He glanced round, seemingly taking in Sam's invisible army and smiled. "My, my, you have been busy."
Sam stared. "You, you can see them?"
Chris smiled slowly. "Oh, yes. We all have our demons, after all. It just takes some time to recognise them in other people." He took a step closer, effectively pinning Sam against the wall of the tunnel. "The lengths that some people will go to. My, my." He brought his face closer Sam's, leaning in, his hands braced against the wall either side of Sam's head. "We should really go somewhere more private, you know." He forced his lips onto Sam's, swallowing Sam's cry of protest. Sam dropped the bottle of whisky, bringing his hands up to push Chris away, but at the last moment he curled his fingers round Chris's arms, pulling him closer and opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.
Chris pulled away, a sardonic smile looking alien on his childish face. "Oh yes. We really need to take this somewhere more private."
fin
Next Part: The Games We Play