realityshifted | (no subject)

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life on mars (d1) sam tyler

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[Sam has his hands in his pockets, casually strolling about the Astral Plane. Is he a bit shaken up? Maybe, but he's doing his best not to show it]

'ey, Gene? What do you say to going to the pub? Could do with a Scotch myself.

And, uh, did I miss anything?

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[much to his shame, Sam whimpers] Get off me!

[stays a moment, then shoves Sam away with a disgusted grunt, whether at himself or his DI, he isn't sure] Then stop saying we have to talk and just get your arse moving so I can get pissed.

No! [and he reaches out, grabbing Gene's arm] We talk first.

[shakes him off angrily] You want to talk? Fine! But not here and not like this and not before I get a bloody drink.

Edited 2008-02-25 04:11 (UTC)

Fine. [folds arms] Where?

Where do you think? Somewhere I don't have to listen to your whinging.

[snorts] No such place, if you're frequent complaints are any indication.

Then somewhere you can't have your bloody chat with me, how's that?

I will have this conversation in the Railway Arms if you make it that way. No where to run, Hunt.

I'm not running! [glares] I can't run from nothing, you stupid git!

Why weren't you at CID, then? Why were you hiding away with the Master? How is the team supposed to function with both of us AWOL?

Because the damn bastard dragged me to that...box...thing of his and I couldn't get out, that's why! Gave me a radio to keep in contact and I ran everything from there. [glares] I didn't abandon my boys, Tyler, so don't even try.

Then don't abandon us now. If you leave CID... [hands in jacket pockets] So. Where are we going to talk?

I'm not leaving CID, Tyler. Not like you think. [gives him a dark look] Does it really matter?

It would be nice to know the destination, yeah.

You're a bloody piece of work, you know that? But I'm not having a 'chat' anywhere someone else can see me and I don't fancy getting stuck alone with you. The pub's fine. At least I can drown you out with the noise.

Gene.

What?

[flinches, but he looks down instead of snapping back and, softly, speaks]

You're not a murderer.

[stands very quietly for a very long time before pulling out a flask, uncorking it and holding it lightly in his hands as he stares off into space. after what seems an interminable amount of time, he takes a drink, back to Sam and voice rough] You've some interesting definitions of scum, Tyler.

Interesting or not, they don't include you. And I---I trust you, Guv. You're not that sort of man.

Do you now? [turns on his heel and walks right up to him, chest to chest, invading Sam's personal space and all but obliterating it] You trust me? Let's see you prove it, Dorothy. [and he clasps a hand on Sam' shoulder]

[Gene Hunt has a very distinctive scent. It's a strong scent, and it's the scent of death, now. In fact, it probably isn't any good for Sam's mental health to go face-to-face with it so soon, and he visibly shudders, a foot sliding backwards so he can turn and flee.

But he doesn't finish taking that step away. Oh, sure, he's terrified of Gene. He wants to run. But he's more afraid of the consequences of running, so he stays]

You know, Guv, if it was me doing this, you would've called me a faerie by now.

[snorts, stepping away and taking another drink before corking the flask and shoving it back in his pocket] You still are, so don't think it changes much, Gladys. [gives him a steady look] You're also a liar. You don't trust me. And you're right not to. So now either grab your jacket and get your arse to the pub with me, or I'll go get myself pissed without you.

[grabs his arms and yanks him back] I trust you, Gene. If you weren't being such a damned idiot, you'd see that.

[lets him go and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back] It's normal for individuals who have suffered extreme trauma to express an aversion towards those things associated with the trauma. Situation, people, scents, places... But I trust you with my life, Guv. Anything you want me to do to prove it, I will.