Fic: Life On Mars, Sam/Gene, PG-13 - Of Life and Death and Bombs

[mooging]

I was talking to my mother about Life On Mars today, and she said she liked it but the constant fighting between Sam and Gene spoiled it for her. I was agog with disbelief for a very long time. And then I told her she was wrong.

Anyway, this has been floating around half-formed in my brain since Tuesday, and I'm still finding it sodding impossible to write Gene. Damn him except not, because yaye Gene.

Title: Of Life and Death and Bombs
Fandom: Life On Mars
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1081
Summary: Set near the end of 2x03. Therefore, spoilers for 2x03. Kind of a scene (that should have been there, but never mind) that my mind inserted in there, with lovely slashy goodness.
A/N: I still can't write Gene. I'm still not sure I can write Sam. Gene is so very not-Gene to me that I panic, so someone please tell me if I should be panicking! Um, these characters aren't mine. I'm borrowing them for no money. That's devotion

*
 Sam doesn't like bombs. It sounds stupid - because who likes the thought of being blown up? - but he really, really doesn't like bombs. It's the sense of finality; if a car hits you, or a bullet hits you, or the wave of depression hits you and you're battered and bleeding and broken, and dead, sure you've died but you're still you. You still look like you, you still feel like you, you're still recognisable as you even as the haze and the pallor of death seep ever further out of your skin.

If you're caught in that blast, that's it. No more limbs or face or individuality. Just spatters, remains, nothing real, nothing Sam.

He's lost where he is. He's lost every why he knew. He doesn't want to lose this last shred of self: disheartening though it is to wake up each morning in a dingy flat and look in the same cracked mirror, that reflection is a constant and he doesn't want to let that go.

Sam doesn't like bombs.

Sam doesn't like bombs and so he doesn't really appreciate being under a low roof in near pitch-dark, knowing there's a man with intent and a motive, and a will driving him on, and a bloody bomb waiting, waiting for that last second to pass. If it's been triggered. It could still be harmless.

"As harmless as shitting dynamite can be," he mutters, fumbling with a faded map and a dim torch.

"What's that, Gladys?" says Gene, striding over and clapping Sam on the back.

Sam drops the torch and it clatters on the stone floor.

"If you don't mind," he hisses at Gene, scrabbling on the floor for the familiar metal cylinder to meet his hand, "I'm trying to make sure we don't all get blown up."

"What, like Ray?" sneers Gene.

Sam grits his teeth and ignores him. "Right," he says. "Right. This way."

The others set off but Sam turns the map this way, then that way, then swears. "No, wait. The other way."

The others sigh and turn round. Gene straightens up as much as he can in the cramped space (Sam hears his back click and refuses to feel guilty), rolls his shoulders round twice and then drags Sam up from the floor by the collar of his jacket.

"You go ahead," Gene calls, as quietly as he can and manages to sound irate nevertheless. "I need to have a little word with Sally-sense-of-direction here. And keep your guns out. Try not to die before I catch up."

He pulls Sam a little the opposite way down the passage, then chucks him against the wall and slams a fist into his stomach.

Sam doubles over, trying to cough and splutter without making too much noise but the blow doesn't hurt as much as he's used to these fights hurting.

"Bombs do have limited time before they explode," he wheezes, and tries to ignore the timer ticking off safety in his mind. "Are you sure this is the right time to start projecting anger-management issues on me?"

Gene hauls Sam upright again and even in the dark between them, Sam can see the muscle twitching in Gene's jaw.

"Yes, there is a bomb down here," Gene spits, inches away from Sam's face. "There's a bomb, and I don't want to end up as crime scene clean up because some nonce couldn't read a bloody map."

Sam would punch him, but Gene has one hand round his throat and the other is holding Sam's right wrist against the wall, and the angle with his left would be off. Instead, Sam stares at Gene, ignoring the bruise in his abdomen, and Gene sends a glance back after the others.

There is something like desperation in Gene's eyes but Sam can't be sure because Gene is suddenly kissing him, rough and hurried and pressing himself into Sam like he's a last hope, and all Sam can do is kiss him back.

Gene pulls back but not away, and looks quite directly at Sam.

"If I die," Gene says, voice low, and stops. He dips his head, just a little, and his cheek is on Sam's shoulder now, face turned away. "If I die - " and Sam doesn't think he'll finish the sentence, but Gene says, "If I don't die, you will forget this."

Sam's heart is thumping erratically in his chest and Gene is still leaning into him, and it occurs to Sam that his left hand is free, dangling uselessly by his side. He brings it up, waits - you're a fool, his mind tells him - and rests it on Gene's hip.

There is one moment there, hanging still in the dark and the claustrophobia, and neither one of them moves.

Then Gene steps heavily away, looks down the black distance before them, clears his throat. Sam is cold where Gene is no longer resting but his face, his face is burning. He steps forward.

Gene slams him back against the wall and Sam's vision blacks out. He blinks hard, three times, and when he has cleared his head, Gene is halfway down the passage. Sam jogs to catch up, catches Gene's wrist and Gene starts, turns round.

"I don't like bombs," says Sam, simply, and lets go of Gene.

Gene nods, and they walk on.

After, with everyone alive, no bombs threatening anyone and a tearful man in handcuffs being led away, they all emerge back into the light.

Sam can't see immediately: his head is throbbing. He squints hard against the sun's glare but he is aware of someone standing next to him as he watches blurs of shape heading back to the car.

"Sam," says Gene, and there's something in his voice that Sam doesn't like, and then Gene coughs, shifts on his feet.

"We didn't die," says Sam, and he can see well enough now to notice the sideways glance that Gene gives him.

"No," says Gene, and Sam turns to face him.

"We didn't die," Sam says, again, slowly, and then he walks away.

Sam doesn't like bombs.

Sam doesn't like bombs but at least he understands them now.

*

Yes, I'm aware I've posted too much fic lately. I'm sorry!

By the way, Thorntons mini-eggs are things of beauty.

Comments

[moogle62.livejournal.com]

So you liked it?

I have found that the only way I can get these two to kiss is to make them beat each other up either before or after, or both. Not that this is a problem.

And Gene is Gene-ish? Because I still don't think he is (it's surprisingly difficult to write Gene, and you'd think Sam would be more tricky, being as he is slightly insane and/or crazy-in-the-head).