Fic: Initiation
Title: Initiation
Author: dakfinv
Recipient: jean_geanie
Rating: green cortina
Word Count: 1128
Notes/Warnings: drunkenness
Summary: Sam and Gene - hopelessly drunk.
“Initiation?”
Sam stared at the bottle of Laphroaig that had been plopped down in front of him. He looked across the pub at Nelson, hoping for some explanation, but the barman simply grinned and continued drying a pint glass.
“Aye,” Gene nodded.
“Aye,” Ray smirked.
“Aye,” Chris shrugged.
“Initiation for what?” Sam asked for clarification.
“For joining CID,” Gene stated it as if it were obvious. Ray chuckled. Chris shrugged.
“Guv, I transferred months ago. Nearly a year, actually. Isn’t an initiation something you should have done earlier?”
“We didn’t like yeh then,” Ray answered. Gene’s face remained impassive. Chris looked guilty.
“What our Sergeant here means is that we weren’t sure you were staying,” Gene elaborated. “No point in wasting a bottle of owt if you were going to leave the next week. We’d just have to do it all over again with another bloke. And we didn’t like you.”
“Cheers, Guv,” Sam rolled his eyes. Ray chomped his gum. Chris still looked guilty.
“Well, lot’s changed since then, Sammy-boy. Sort of forget you hadn’t been properly indoculated...”
“You mean indoctrinated?”
“Whatever. Point is, you have to drink this,” Gene pushed the bottle across the table, closer to Sam. “And, I know how much you love loopholes so before we start, here are the rules: you have to drink it all, by yourself, tonight.”
“Tonight? You mean...” Sam swallowed nervously.
“That’s right, my soon-to-be-drunken deputy. Whole bottle. One sitting. Starting now.”
“And if I refuse?”
“We won’t like yeh,” Ray answered. Gene’s face remained impassive. Chris looked apologetic.
“That’ll make for a change,” Sam sighed.
“You do, and Ray’ll do your paperwork for a week,” Gene added as an incentive. Ray looked furious. Chris tried not to laugh.
“Well, in that case,” Sam grinned and reached for the already open bottle. Taking a deep breath, he took a big swig, wincing slightly as the peaty liquid burned his throat. He lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If this goes pear-shaped,” he stared at Gene, “you owe me a new liver.”
*
Somewhere along the way, Sam had started giggling. He had no idea what was so funny and if something was that funny why wasn’t he laughing instead of giggling, but yes, after much consideration, Sam decided that yes, he was, in fact, giggling. Some part of his brain told him various members of the Constabulary would be taking the piss out of him come morning, but the majority of his brain apparently didn’t give a shite. And so, he kept giggling.
“You...you me picked...pained...arsey...summat ‘spector...are drunk.”
It took Gene approximately five minutes to get the whole sentence out. Perhaps that was why Sam was giggling. Sam did manage to stop giggling long enough to take another drink from the nearly empty whisky bottle. He set the bottle down with a flourish, wiped a sloppy hand across his mouth and decided to respond to Gene’s statement.
“I’m not drunk,” he enunciated carefully. “You’re drunk,” he pointed, then fell out of his chair.
“Tha’ makes two...’f us....then,” Gene nodded, jutting out his lower lip as he peered over the table to observe his fallen deputy. He nearly slid out of his chair, but through years of practice, managed to stay upright.
“I think it’s time to go, gentlemen,” Nelson informed them as he wiped down a nearby table.
“But...but I ‘aven’t finished, yet,” Sam whined, still flat on his back. “Ray...I want Ray to do my paperwork.”
“Now, now boy Samuel...respect the mighty landlord,” Gene ordered. “You can take the bottle out o’ the pub.”
“But you can’t take the pub out of the bottle?” Sam pondered.
“Berk.”
“Nean...andy...caveman.”
Through sheer will and strategic usage of Nelson’s broom, Sheriff and Deputy found themselves outside, arses on the pavement and bottles in hand. They were surprisingly silent, focused on nothing but their drinks, when Sam tipped back his bottle and poured the last of the liquor down his throat.
“Ha!” he smiled, waving the bottle at Gene. “I did it. It’s done. Empty. See? Told...told you I weren’t a girl.”
“You ‘aven’t seen me mum,” Gene replied cryptically, staring into his quarter-full bottle.
“’S finished and done.”
“So you said.”
“That means...I’m part of the team. ‘Ficcially and all, eh Guv?”
“This in’t where I parked me car,” Gene looked up and down the street.
“Guv, Gene, we should cel’brate,” Sam belched loudly.
“Congrat’lations! ‘S a girl,” Gene elbowed him in the ribs.
“I’ve not had a baby. Have I?” Sam suddenly couldn’t remember whether he had children or not.
“’Ope not. Don’t need any more Tylers runnin’ ‘bout.”
“Gene! We ‘ave to cel’brate,” Sam repeated, forgetting the past few seconds.
“Cos you’re a eunuch?”
“No...cos ‘m part of the team. I am a team member. A memberful team.”
“Oi. Keep your member to yourself,” Gene took another healthy dose of whisky from his bottle.
“What can we do to cel’brate?”
“Nowt with your member, tha’s...sure.”
“Oh. Oh! I know.”
“You know nowt,” Gene burped. “Wha’ d’you know?” he asked, suddenly curious.
“The answer.”
“The answer?”
“To life. The universe. And everything,” Sam began giggling again.
“Girl,” Gene tried to roll his eyes, but it only made him dizzy.
“C’mon,” Sam tried to stand, but couldn’t do it on his own. “Come...on,” he pouted, tugging at Gene’s sleeve. “I’ve an idea.”
“Does it ‘vovle more booze?”
“No.”
“Then ‘m stayin’ put.”
“’S summit better.”
“Better than booze?”
Sam nodded eagerly.
“What, then?”
“Fire.”
Sam really needed to learn to control that giggling problem.
*
“This in’t arson, is it?” Sam asked with worry.
“Your idea.”
“I din’t want to break the law.”
“We’re not breakin’ the law. We are the law!”
“We’re not ‘bove the law,” Sam pouted.
“We’ve ‘ad this conversation ‘fore, ‘aven’t we?”
“Probably,” Sam sighed as he watched the makeshift and flaming boat coast down the canal. “So, tha’s everything?”
“Everything that prat left in me office,” Gene nodded and handed the new bottle to Sam. Sam raised the bottle high in salute.
“Frank Morgan, you bastard,” Sam shouted then laughed.
“You git!” Gene added.
“You...devil!”
“You pinstriped suited ponce!”
“Good one, Guv,” Sam nodded and took a swig.
“I thought so.”
Sam watched the increasingly distant flames flicker.
“That were ‘is paperweight, weren’t it?”
“Which one?” Gene asked.
“The one with the ugly, little birds on it.”
“No. Tha’s from me wife. For our tenth anni...anni...you know.”
“Oh,” Sam gulped. “Were you fond of it?”
“A bit. Why?”
“No reason,” Sam handed back the bottle, suddenly paling.
“Welcome to the team, Sammy-boy,” Gene pat him on the back.
Sam wanted to reply but could only sick up instead. The vomit on the bank was answer enough for Gene.
Author: dakfinv
Recipient: jean_geanie
Rating: green cortina
Word Count: 1128
Notes/Warnings: drunkenness
Summary: Sam and Gene - hopelessly drunk.
“Initiation?”
Sam stared at the bottle of Laphroaig that had been plopped down in front of him. He looked across the pub at Nelson, hoping for some explanation, but the barman simply grinned and continued drying a pint glass.
“Aye,” Gene nodded.
“Aye,” Ray smirked.
“Aye,” Chris shrugged.
“Initiation for what?” Sam asked for clarification.
“For joining CID,” Gene stated it as if it were obvious. Ray chuckled. Chris shrugged.
“Guv, I transferred months ago. Nearly a year, actually. Isn’t an initiation something you should have done earlier?”
“We didn’t like yeh then,” Ray answered. Gene’s face remained impassive. Chris looked guilty.
“What our Sergeant here means is that we weren’t sure you were staying,” Gene elaborated. “No point in wasting a bottle of owt if you were going to leave the next week. We’d just have to do it all over again with another bloke. And we didn’t like you.”
“Cheers, Guv,” Sam rolled his eyes. Ray chomped his gum. Chris still looked guilty.
“Well, lot’s changed since then, Sammy-boy. Sort of forget you hadn’t been properly indoculated...”
“You mean indoctrinated?”
“Whatever. Point is, you have to drink this,” Gene pushed the bottle across the table, closer to Sam. “And, I know how much you love loopholes so before we start, here are the rules: you have to drink it all, by yourself, tonight.”
“Tonight? You mean...” Sam swallowed nervously.
“That’s right, my soon-to-be-drunken deputy. Whole bottle. One sitting. Starting now.”
“And if I refuse?”
“We won’t like yeh,” Ray answered. Gene’s face remained impassive. Chris looked apologetic.
“That’ll make for a change,” Sam sighed.
“You do, and Ray’ll do your paperwork for a week,” Gene added as an incentive. Ray looked furious. Chris tried not to laugh.
“Well, in that case,” Sam grinned and reached for the already open bottle. Taking a deep breath, he took a big swig, wincing slightly as the peaty liquid burned his throat. He lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If this goes pear-shaped,” he stared at Gene, “you owe me a new liver.”
*
Somewhere along the way, Sam had started giggling. He had no idea what was so funny and if something was that funny why wasn’t he laughing instead of giggling, but yes, after much consideration, Sam decided that yes, he was, in fact, giggling. Some part of his brain told him various members of the Constabulary would be taking the piss out of him come morning, but the majority of his brain apparently didn’t give a shite. And so, he kept giggling.
“You...you me picked...pained...arsey...summat ‘spector...are drunk.”
It took Gene approximately five minutes to get the whole sentence out. Perhaps that was why Sam was giggling. Sam did manage to stop giggling long enough to take another drink from the nearly empty whisky bottle. He set the bottle down with a flourish, wiped a sloppy hand across his mouth and decided to respond to Gene’s statement.
“I’m not drunk,” he enunciated carefully. “You’re drunk,” he pointed, then fell out of his chair.
“Tha’ makes two...’f us....then,” Gene nodded, jutting out his lower lip as he peered over the table to observe his fallen deputy. He nearly slid out of his chair, but through years of practice, managed to stay upright.
“I think it’s time to go, gentlemen,” Nelson informed them as he wiped down a nearby table.
“But...but I ‘aven’t finished, yet,” Sam whined, still flat on his back. “Ray...I want Ray to do my paperwork.”
“Now, now boy Samuel...respect the mighty landlord,” Gene ordered. “You can take the bottle out o’ the pub.”
“But you can’t take the pub out of the bottle?” Sam pondered.
“Berk.”
“Nean...andy...caveman.”
Through sheer will and strategic usage of Nelson’s broom, Sheriff and Deputy found themselves outside, arses on the pavement and bottles in hand. They were surprisingly silent, focused on nothing but their drinks, when Sam tipped back his bottle and poured the last of the liquor down his throat.
“Ha!” he smiled, waving the bottle at Gene. “I did it. It’s done. Empty. See? Told...told you I weren’t a girl.”
“You ‘aven’t seen me mum,” Gene replied cryptically, staring into his quarter-full bottle.
“’S finished and done.”
“So you said.”
“That means...I’m part of the team. ‘Ficcially and all, eh Guv?”
“This in’t where I parked me car,” Gene looked up and down the street.
“Guv, Gene, we should cel’brate,” Sam belched loudly.
“Congrat’lations! ‘S a girl,” Gene elbowed him in the ribs.
“I’ve not had a baby. Have I?” Sam suddenly couldn’t remember whether he had children or not.
“’Ope not. Don’t need any more Tylers runnin’ ‘bout.”
“Gene! We ‘ave to cel’brate,” Sam repeated, forgetting the past few seconds.
“Cos you’re a eunuch?”
“No...cos ‘m part of the team. I am a team member. A memberful team.”
“Oi. Keep your member to yourself,” Gene took another healthy dose of whisky from his bottle.
“What can we do to cel’brate?”
“Nowt with your member, tha’s...sure.”
“Oh. Oh! I know.”
“You know nowt,” Gene burped. “Wha’ d’you know?” he asked, suddenly curious.
“The answer.”
“The answer?”
“To life. The universe. And everything,” Sam began giggling again.
“Girl,” Gene tried to roll his eyes, but it only made him dizzy.
“C’mon,” Sam tried to stand, but couldn’t do it on his own. “Come...on,” he pouted, tugging at Gene’s sleeve. “I’ve an idea.”
“Does it ‘vovle more booze?”
“No.”
“Then ‘m stayin’ put.”
“’S summit better.”
“Better than booze?”
Sam nodded eagerly.
“What, then?”
“Fire.”
Sam really needed to learn to control that giggling problem.
*
“This in’t arson, is it?” Sam asked with worry.
“Your idea.”
“I din’t want to break the law.”
“We’re not breakin’ the law. We are the law!”
“We’re not ‘bove the law,” Sam pouted.
“We’ve ‘ad this conversation ‘fore, ‘aven’t we?”
“Probably,” Sam sighed as he watched the makeshift and flaming boat coast down the canal. “So, tha’s everything?”
“Everything that prat left in me office,” Gene nodded and handed the new bottle to Sam. Sam raised the bottle high in salute.
“Frank Morgan, you bastard,” Sam shouted then laughed.
“You git!” Gene added.
“You...devil!”
“You pinstriped suited ponce!”
“Good one, Guv,” Sam nodded and took a swig.
“I thought so.”
Sam watched the increasingly distant flames flicker.
“That were ‘is paperweight, weren’t it?”
“Which one?” Gene asked.
“The one with the ugly, little birds on it.”
“No. Tha’s from me wife. For our tenth anni...anni...you know.”
“Oh,” Sam gulped. “Were you fond of it?”
“A bit. Why?”
“No reason,” Sam handed back the bottle, suddenly paling.
“Welcome to the team, Sammy-boy,” Gene pat him on the back.
Sam wanted to reply but could only sick up instead. The vomit on the bank was answer enough for Gene.