Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 545 words.
Notes: This was inspired by an interview with Philip Glenister where he said John Simm occasionally hated his dialogue because it made Sam sound like a "fucking wimp." I momentarily got offended on Sam's behalf and then clocked myself around the head for being an idiot. By the way, I thought I swore a lot, but Phil's got the vocabulary of an angel. An angel that likes to say "fuck".
Sam rocked back in his chair, tapping his pen onto his desk in a steady rhythm. Gene wandered into the room, gazing at him with a nonchalant air. He stood watching Sam for a minute. Sam did not halt or alter his actions.
"Why're you so tense?"
"I just came out of the canteen," Sam replied, venom and bile in his tone, "where I was lucky enough to hear Ray calling me a wimp."
Gene shrugged and sat at the end of Sam's table. He picked up Sam's half-consumed tea and swirled the cup around. "You are a wimp."
Sam's stare was made of fire and brimstone. "I am not."
"Prove it, then. Show me."
"You sort it out. I'm not here to tell you which way to point your arse."
"Funny. I thought that was number nine under the job description?" Gene rolled his eyes and lifted the teacup to his lips. Sam gesticulated, wildly. "Oi. That's mine. Get your hands off."
"Mine now, Sammy-boy." Gene took a long gulp.
Sam stood, doing his best to loom over Gene menacingly. He looked like he might topple to the side. He clenched his fingers together until his hands were neat fists and raised them so that they were close to his chest.
"You're gonna fight me over half a cup of tea?" Gene scoffed, setting the piece of crockery back down on the desk.
"Yeah. Why not? What's wrong with that, eh?" Sam asked back, his voice rising in pitch.
"It's bloody juvenile, for one."
Sam did all but pout. He wavered, his eyes narrowing a fraction.
Gene tilted his head to the side. "Look, do you want me to say you're not a wimp? 'Cause I'll say it. Just for you. You're not a wimp."
Sam lowered his hands and crossed his arms against his chest. "You don't mean a word of that, do you?"
"No. But then, you were the one last night, talking about your 'skin care routine'. There's limits, Sam. A line in the sand. Sometimes I don't think you know where that line is."
"You could do with a skin care routine, Gene," Sam said, his eyebrow quirked and his words laced with dry humour. "There's this one cream - it's got lavender in it. It'd be perfect for you. I could show you how to apply it properly and everything."
Ray walked into the room at that moment, his cold eyes alighting on Sam and Gene. They were grinning at each other, relaxed and comfortable. He scowled.
"Just checking on the stationery cupboard," Ray said, a small flick of his head.
"You do that, Ray. Tyler and me are off to get a pint."
Gene rose and began walking out of CID in long strides.
Sam smiled an evil smile and started following him. "See you later, Ray. Once you've got the pens and paper organised."
"Ponce," Ray muttered, under his breath.
"Sorry, what was that?" Sam asked, dipping his head back into the room. He walked over, quick and calculated.
Ray's upper lip curled. "Nothing."
"I may be a wimp and a ponce to you, Raymondo," Sam said, his expression oddly manic. "But I'm also a DI. Suck on that."
Sam left the room with a self-satisfied smirk.