Fic: O Christmas Tree, for comeonsam (Sam/Gene, Green Cortina)
Title: O Christmas Tree
Rating: Green Cortina for swearing and mild sexual reference
Word Count: 686
Notes: comeonsam, for your prompt 'Sam/Gene, hurt/comfort', I so so hope you like this! Sorry it's late, Christmas managed to get in the way... on the 28th.
Summary: Sam and Gene are not being treated well by their Christmas trees.
-0-0-
Christmas 1973, 4:00pm
“Why- is this thing- so bloody ‘eavy?!”
“Because it’s a tree. Yer carryin’ a tree.”
“Why won’t you give me an ‘and?”
“Because I’m carryin’ the decorations!”
“Lazy prick.”
“Says you, who got the nice lad at the plantation to get the tree in the car. All of five foot down the path, you’d parked.”
“Ten foot. An’ ‘e offered. Would’ve been rude to refuse.”
“Right. Sure. Whatever you say, Gene. Are you past the front door now?”
“Ow! Well, that was the soddin’ doorframe. You?”
“Shit! Am now. Did you get the handle too?”
“Right on my love ‘andles. You like those, too.”
“Don’t. Said I- oh bollocks, careful, don’t smash the-! GENE!”
“’Ow was I supposed to know the bloody door ‘ad glass in it there?!”
“IT’S YOUR HOUSE! Oh God- I’ll get the dustpan an’ brush… don’t step in-”
“OW!”
“You just smashed a window an’ then trod in the glass- does egg nog always do this to you, Guv? Or are you just talented?”
-0-0-
6:00pm
“How’s the foot, love?”
“All the better for you callin’ me stupid bloody nicknames. Sweet-cheeks.”
“D’you need another- ow! Oh, bloody ‘ell!”
“You just stepped in it too? Don’t need to ask if it’s the egg nog with you. Yer just a div.”
“Can-you-go-and-get-some-bandages-you-bastard.”
“Right away. Sugar pie.”
-0-0-
A&E, 9:00pm
“How many stitches, Tyler?”
“Six. You?”
“Five. Ha.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Yeah, but I ‘ad five an’ you ‘ad six.”
“You are so childish!”
“You still ‘ad six.”
“Well, yours were in yer thumb. You couldn’t even manage a manly injury with glass. No, you landed yerself in ‘ospital with a Christmas tree. Just wait until I tell CID.”
“… Told you the stump was rotten.”
“No. The stump was fine. You were just rotten at cuttin’ it.”
“Well, you speared yerself with glass after clearin’ it up, you twat. An’ after I stepped in it an’ all.”
“How is yer foot, anyway?”
“Better than yours.”
“Yer not still competin’ with me.”
“Nope. … But I still only ‘ad five stitches.”
-0-0-
Christmas 1974, 3:00pm
“You sure you don’t want me to cut the tree stem, Gene?”
“Yep. Bugger off an’ make the mulled wine, Gladys me dear.”
“D’you want almonds in it, love?”
“OW! Shit bugger bugger shit!”
“What? Are you- oh for Christ’s sake. Again.”
“The knife’s still in there!”
“Oh my God. Oh my God, Gene. Next year, we are gettin’ an artificial tree- NO DON’T TAKE THE KNIFE OUT!”
-0-0-
A&E, 6:00pm
“How’re you feelin’, Tyler?”
“Shit. What ‘appened?”
“Passed out, didn’t you. When they pulled the penknife out.”
“… Oh.”
“Guess what? I ‘ad seven stitches. You’ve ‘ad eight in yer ‘ead. I still win.”
“Now you really are the epitome of childishness. Gimme a hug, I feel like I’ve been digested an’ shat out. An’ we’ve ended up in A&E three hours earlier than this time last year. This is ridiculous.”
“A hug? Pansy. … C’mere.”
-0-0-
Christmas 1975, 5:00pm
“Looks bloody awful. An’ it’s wobbly.”
“Well, I did say we were gettin’ an artificial tree.”
“I did not need an artificial tree.”
*smwack*
“The scars on yer thumb say otherwise.”
“An’ you needed to kiss ‘em to make sure. What about yer ‘ead?”
“Which one?”
“Gladys Tyler! That was bloody awful. Now bugger off an’ get me some whisky an’ I might just- shit! Mind the BLOODY NORA!”
*crash*
“OW! SHIT!”
“Ow it bloody ‘urts!”
“… At least it’s not as ‘eavy as a real tree.”
“I’ve got spikes where spikes should never bloody go, Sam. Can you get out?”
“Ow- no, I’m pinned down. … Can you reach the phone?”
“No. Oh God it hurts!”
“It’s OK, Sammy. The Gene Genie’s ‘ere. Gimme yer ‘and- ow- there you go. Now stop gettin’ yer knickers in a twist an’ try to shimmy yerself out.”
“Owowowowow! My head!”
“You ‘aven’t bloody cut it open again.”
“I bloody ‘ope not.”
“You are a special kind of idiot, Tyler. Only you would buy a soddin’ homicidal Christmas tree. Three years runnin’.”
“Love you too, Gene.”
“… Mm.”
Rating: Green Cortina for swearing and mild sexual reference
Word Count: 686
Notes: comeonsam, for your prompt 'Sam/Gene, hurt/comfort', I so so hope you like this! Sorry it's late, Christmas managed to get in the way... on the 28th.
Summary: Sam and Gene are not being treated well by their Christmas trees.
-0-0-
Christmas 1973, 4:00pm
“Why- is this thing- so bloody ‘eavy?!”
“Because it’s a tree. Yer carryin’ a tree.”
“Why won’t you give me an ‘and?”
“Because I’m carryin’ the decorations!”
“Lazy prick.”
“Says you, who got the nice lad at the plantation to get the tree in the car. All of five foot down the path, you’d parked.”
“Ten foot. An’ ‘e offered. Would’ve been rude to refuse.”
“Right. Sure. Whatever you say, Gene. Are you past the front door now?”
“Ow! Well, that was the soddin’ doorframe. You?”
“Shit! Am now. Did you get the handle too?”
“Right on my love ‘andles. You like those, too.”
“Don’t. Said I- oh bollocks, careful, don’t smash the-! GENE!”
“’Ow was I supposed to know the bloody door ‘ad glass in it there?!”
“IT’S YOUR HOUSE! Oh God- I’ll get the dustpan an’ brush… don’t step in-”
“OW!”
“You just smashed a window an’ then trod in the glass- does egg nog always do this to you, Guv? Or are you just talented?”
-0-0-
6:00pm
“How’s the foot, love?”
“All the better for you callin’ me stupid bloody nicknames. Sweet-cheeks.”
“D’you need another- ow! Oh, bloody ‘ell!”
“You just stepped in it too? Don’t need to ask if it’s the egg nog with you. Yer just a div.”
“Can-you-go-and-get-some-bandages-you-bastard.”
“Right away. Sugar pie.”
-0-0-
A&E, 9:00pm
“How many stitches, Tyler?”
“Six. You?”
“Five. Ha.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Yeah, but I ‘ad five an’ you ‘ad six.”
“You are so childish!”
“You still ‘ad six.”
“Well, yours were in yer thumb. You couldn’t even manage a manly injury with glass. No, you landed yerself in ‘ospital with a Christmas tree. Just wait until I tell CID.”
“… Told you the stump was rotten.”
“No. The stump was fine. You were just rotten at cuttin’ it.”
“Well, you speared yerself with glass after clearin’ it up, you twat. An’ after I stepped in it an’ all.”
“How is yer foot, anyway?”
“Better than yours.”
“Yer not still competin’ with me.”
“Nope. … But I still only ‘ad five stitches.”
-0-0-
Christmas 1974, 3:00pm
“You sure you don’t want me to cut the tree stem, Gene?”
“Yep. Bugger off an’ make the mulled wine, Gladys me dear.”
“D’you want almonds in it, love?”
“OW! Shit bugger bugger shit!”
“What? Are you- oh for Christ’s sake. Again.”
“The knife’s still in there!”
“Oh my God. Oh my God, Gene. Next year, we are gettin’ an artificial tree- NO DON’T TAKE THE KNIFE OUT!”
-0-0-
A&E, 6:00pm
“How’re you feelin’, Tyler?”
“Shit. What ‘appened?”
“Passed out, didn’t you. When they pulled the penknife out.”
“… Oh.”
“Guess what? I ‘ad seven stitches. You’ve ‘ad eight in yer ‘ead. I still win.”
“Now you really are the epitome of childishness. Gimme a hug, I feel like I’ve been digested an’ shat out. An’ we’ve ended up in A&E three hours earlier than this time last year. This is ridiculous.”
“A hug? Pansy. … C’mere.”
-0-0-
Christmas 1975, 5:00pm
“Looks bloody awful. An’ it’s wobbly.”
“Well, I did say we were gettin’ an artificial tree.”
“I did not need an artificial tree.”
*smwack*
“The scars on yer thumb say otherwise.”
“An’ you needed to kiss ‘em to make sure. What about yer ‘ead?”
“Which one?”
“Gladys Tyler! That was bloody awful. Now bugger off an’ get me some whisky an’ I might just- shit! Mind the BLOODY NORA!”
*crash*
“OW! SHIT!”
“Ow it bloody ‘urts!”
“… At least it’s not as ‘eavy as a real tree.”
“I’ve got spikes where spikes should never bloody go, Sam. Can you get out?”
“Ow- no, I’m pinned down. … Can you reach the phone?”
“No. Oh God it hurts!”
“It’s OK, Sammy. The Gene Genie’s ‘ere. Gimme yer ‘and- ow- there you go. Now stop gettin’ yer knickers in a twist an’ try to shimmy yerself out.”
“Owowowowow! My head!”
“You ‘aven’t bloody cut it open again.”
“I bloody ‘ope not.”
“You are a special kind of idiot, Tyler. Only you would buy a soddin’ homicidal Christmas tree. Three years runnin’.”
“Love you too, Gene.”
“… Mm.”