Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 600 words.
Notes: Title slightly modified from “Famous Last Words” by Billy Joel. Sam/Gene. Warning: mention, but no depiction of character death.
Summary: This was their last goodbye.
This was their last goodbye. Neither of them knew it. Sam, because he hadn’t realised he could die in his own unreality, and Gene because he never assumed it was an unreality he was living. They’d gone to the game, different coloured scarves waving, voices loud as they cheered for opposing sides and egged each other on.
Sam had said he’d make Gene a celebratory meal. His celebration. United won. He made beer-battered fish and chips, because he’d come to accept that there were certain situations where Occam’s Razor applied. He added in a Greek Salad just to be a rebel. Gene sat and watched Sam cook, rolling his eyes to himself that he’d befriended a ponce who owned an apron; smirking that he wore the massive knockers edition he’d been given on his birthday.
When Sam realised he had nothing for dessert, it wasn’t a big deal for him to say he’d be back in two minutes, just had to pop down the shop. He took his jacket off the banister and gave a well-worn sigh when Gene came up and muttered he was a useless lump of wotzits and how’s about in addition to the Angel Delight he pick up his fags just to make up for it.
“Which d’you want, strawberry or chocolate?”
Sam made to turn, but Gene gripped him by the waist and kissed him hard and long and deep as if he’d been gagging for it, and it hadn’t only been ten or so minutes since they’d locked lips. Sam quirked an eyebrow and patted Gene on the arse, a tacit indication of later things to come.
Gene didn’t let go, but drew Sam tighter with each word. “Bye, then, grumpy guts.”
“Won’t be long. Try not to miss me.”
“I’ll do my best, Samantha. Console myself with Goldie Hawn. Bet her legs are like the red sea.”
“You’ll have more than a girl in your soup if you keep casting me aside every moment you get, you’ll get spit in your mousse.”
“Thought you’d be best pleased I’d go for a type like your own. Small, bird-like.”
Sam made a half-hearted attempt to pull away. “Lemme go and you won’t even know I’ve gone.”
“Alright. This once, mind. Next time I’ll tell you to sod the sugary afters and we’ll make do with cheese and biscuits instead.”
“Is that what you’re calling it these days. Matured. Tart? Covered in wax?”
Gene bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Leaves you with an overwhelming taste of something rich and creamy.”
Sam returned the expression. “See you soon.”
One last kiss and then Gene released Sam, knowing he wouldn’t feel an absence since the shop was right round the corner and Sam was quick when on a mission. He ambled back into the lounge and drank the last dregs of coffee from the two cups on the table.
And that was it. They never said goodbye on the day Sam crashed into the river, because to their minds there’d never been any reason. There’d been orders and conflict and swearing, as per usual, but no words of luck or love. Sam had gone, Gene had cursed his idiocy, and that was that.
When he thought about it, which wasn’t a lot, because he wasn’t one to dwell, it was much healthier to pack it all like coal into a pocket and end up with something hard enough to cut through glass; Gene wasn’t sure they’d ever needed any further last words.
They’d each known how they felt and that was enough.