Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: PG for language.
Word Count: 1230 words.
Notes: Gen! The title makes this fic pretty self-explanatory, I think. And yes, I really should still be writing journal reflections but I keep getting attacked by fiction. Somebody save me.
1. Gene had this habit of clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. At first it was a minor annoyance, a mere tic like any other. But as time wore on, Sam realised that the clicking occurred when Gene was being a) his most judgemental, b) extraordinarily condescending and c) a prick in general. The clicking became an instant warning sign and bore the brunt of Sam’s wrath.
2. Gene glinted malevolently as Sam bit into his roast beef sandwich. Sam didn’t understand what was so amusing until he spat the contents into the bin next to him. God, it was disgusting. What the hell had Gene done?
“Chris told me you have a fondness for tapioca and beef.”
“Very mature, Gene.”
3. He wanted to meet her. Just once. He didn’t even really know why, it was just this innate curiosity which burned within him and compelled him to ask enthusiastically and often. What type of woman would marry a man like Gene?
“Come on Gene, what are you afraid of? Scared the Missus and I will hit it off? Worried we’ll leave you all on your lonesome?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. You’d spend hours discussing quilting techniques, I can see it now.”
No. Gene wasn’t having any of it. Sam grumbled about it for days. Weeks even. Months.
4. It was a long-known fact that Sam and Ray did not get along, did not come close to getting along, would likely kill each other many times over before even nearing the border of getting along. So when Gene paired them up together for a stakeout, that was it, Sam was murderous. He stalked into Gene’s office, waving his finger and gesticulating wildly. Gene just shrugged, said something to the effect of there only being an ‘I’ in meat pie and took a swig of whiskey.
5. The sun burst down from the sky, illuminating everything until Manchester shone in this dazzling array of colour. He wanted to be outside, breathing in partially polluted air, relishing beams of light and heat. Instead he was inside, in the records room, adding notes to reports that everyone else was too lazy to contemplate. And the Guv laughed loudly when he popped his head around the door and announced he was going to go make some house calls. Bastard.
6. Gene had another habit involving his mouth. More often than not it would be partially open. It was like he was designed as some kind of human fly trap. Sam would be working at his desk, would bob up to see if anyone else was doing any work, and see Gene with his mouth open, staring at a file on the desk, or a poster on his wall, or the lamp nearby. Or they’d be in the Cortina and there Gene’s mouth would be, a letterbox. Or, and this was the worst one, when Sam finally decided he’d get a camera and start taking happy snaps, every shot involving Gene featured that gap where a smile should be, lips parted. And Gene’s teeth were really white and they glinted. And Sam didn’t actually know why this annoyed him, but it did.
7. Sammy-boy and Gladys. He never openly admitted he disliked Gene’s unusual naming patterns, mostly because he knew that if he did it would just get ten times worse. Sammy-boy disturbed him because it brought all sorts of connotations he’d prefer not to think about. And more than once he wondered if Gene’s wife was called Gladys, because he had a sick, sick mind. Mostly it was the immediate familiarity these appellations had rendered between him and Gene, as if Gene knew who he was deep down in his core – but Gene certainly didn’t and Sam never wanted him to.
8. Corruption was a dirty word. He vowed he would never be corrupt. Gene knew this, they’d had discussions about it, but he still tried to manipulate Sam into practices he deemed highly dodgy. And it wasn’t so much the coercion, or even the corruption, it was the fact that Gene should realise his attempts wouldn’t work. Okay, so maybe he wanted Gene to know him a little. Enough to know that his idealism wasn’t just reactionary but was more ingrained than anything else in his being.
9. Chris liked singing and Nelson thought a great way to raise funds to get a professional to re-attach the television brackets (Sam had only worked in the DIY store for three months, after all) was to have a concert competition. Nelson decided he’d get more entries if he made it a thing of duets instead of solo efforts. So Gene wrote Sam’s name down next to that of Chris. Sam had to borrow a guitar from an ex-boyfriend of Annie’s. And basically it was a disaster, even though they won. There’d been no consultation, no nothing, Sam had just had to get up on stage and perform. He’d felt like a complete prat, which, around Gene, was not a new sensation.
10. Okay. I’ll admit it. The ‘one way’ in the title was a complete lie. Everything Sam Tyler did pissed Gene off.
Sam had this habit of pushing the palms of his hands against his eyes. It made him look like he was going to start sobbing like a three year old.
His sense of humour left a lot to be desired. Practical jokes almost always went down like a lead balloon.
He constantly wanted to meet Clara and somehow knew the exact reason Gene didn’t want him to.
Sam disrupted the harmony of his team. Everyone had an understanding before Sam turned up, but then he had to come and disturb the peace. Gene would’ve just shoved him out of the office if it hadn’t turned out he was the best copper of the lot.
Sam would be a prat and stay in the tiny records room when it was a perfectly lovely day outside and he should be a young man living his life.
Sam was always watching Gene. It gave him a right uncomfortable feeling. He’d just have finished eating a bacon sarnie, or doing the crossword, or winding his watch, and there would be Sam – staring.
Sam refused to call him Gene Genie, and this one really stung because he’d been all warm and welcoming by giving Sam his own nickname so that he’d fit in. Hell, he’d given him two nicknames, just for good measure.
Sam insisted on doing everything the hard way, and this was one of those things which annoyed Gene the most, because he wished he had half the tenacity and blind ignorance to do the same thing.
Sam wouldn’t admit when he was good at something unrelated to banging up crims, even though Gene had heard him wailing along with that reel-to-reel in his flat and he had a bloody good voice for someone who liked listening to a load of noise.
And most of all, despite the fact Sam Tyler pissed him off, despite the fact he was a headcase and appeared to be constantly pissed off with him in turn, he liked Sam a lot. He enjoyed his company. He thought he was a good bloke. And he was glad he’d turned up at his station, even if his arrival had heralded a new kind of insanity within his domain.