serafina20 | Fic: Accidentally

Title: Accidentally
Author: serafina20
Rating: Brown Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Summary: Sam accidentally finds out something about the Guv. And accidents continue to happen.
Spoilers: Major for 2.08

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

A bloke should not resemble in any way whatsoever a cat. It weren't natural. Weren't right. Blokes were blokes. Cats were cats. Fuzzy little things with tails and big ears and whiskers. And that boneless thing they did, all draped over everything, completely relaxed. Cats did that. Not blokes.

And yet, there was Sam. Sprawled across a chair, boneless, completely relaxed. Looking like a cat.

Gene had no bloody clue how he did it. It weren't natural or right.

But, there he was. Reminding Gene of a cat.

And that wasn't all that was wrong. It was Sunday afternoon, and Sam was here. At his house. They weren't at the pub or work or staking out some villain's lair. They weren't fighting or bickering and Sam was, for once, blessedly silent. They were just... sitting. Gene watching telly, newspaper in his lap; Sam playing like he were a cat, sprawled on the chair, reading a book.

All wrong. But it didn't feel wrong, and that made everything more wrong.

With his wife, things were... something. Not more simple or complicated. Set. Routine. Settled after years of living with each other, and then just living around each other. Days Gene was home, he did his thing, she did hers and their paths only crossed when he did something wrong. Which, in the last year, maybe more, had been regularly. So regularly, in fact, that Gene had taken to spending as much time away from the house. At the pub, the office, with Sam. Anywhere but the house and the frigid silences broken only by hot flashes of temper that left him scalded.

The letter hadn't been as much as a surprise as Gene let on. At least, not the part about her being unhappy. The stuff about the other bloke and her leaving. That'd been the shocker.

The case had kept him busy. Busy enough to notice, but not to feel the emptiness of the house.

And now Sam. Sam and his-so-right-but-should-be-wrong presence. Filling up the house with it. Acting like he belonged here, and Gene just didn't quite disagree. Liked him here, in fact. That by itself should be worrisome, and, yet again, it just weren't.

Made him question things if he thought too much He didn't want to think too much, though. Just wanted to sit and be glad that, for the first time in a long time, being in his own house felt like being home.

Even if Tyler was a floppy and relaxed, nose in a book, with bare feet. Even if those bare feet were unaccountably distracting. And those long fingers, turning the pages every once in awhile. Smoothing over the cover with small, even strokes. Resting against his cheek. Just...

There was no reason Sam should be more interesting than the telly. No reason at all. And yet...

Sam turned another page of his book. He sighed, a soft smile curving his lips. His eyes flicked upwards momentarily. Then they came back again and rested on Gene's face.

"What?"

Flustered at being caught staring, Gene lifted his neglected newspaper and shook the pages. "What what?"

"Why are you staring at me."

"'m not." He looked at his newspaper. Then back up. "I can't cook, you know."

Sam stared at him, politely. Like you look at a crazy uncle who tucks his shirt into his underwear and doesn't wear pants. "Oh?"

He scowled. "Little. Bacon butty. Eggs. Toast, tea. Beans. Stuff you dump into pots. Nothing like... like food."

"Well," Sam said after a moment. "It's not a skill most men of this.... A lot of men have, is it? You had a wife to do that."

"Right, but now I don't. See? So, unless I plan on eating at the pub every night, or eating toast, I'm not exactly, you know. Be in a good situation."

"You could remarry."

Gene reminded himself that the other man had a concussion and considering the tiny little tap that'd given him it, it wasn't a good idea to smack him again. Plus, if he did smack Sam, he'd have to get up, and he was comfortable where he was.

And he didn't want Sam's brains to fall out his arse.

"You know how to cook," he said.

"I can."

"And you like it."

Sam blinked. "I'm not... going to cook for you. I mean, maybe once in awhile, but not..."

"You could teach me, you bloody moron," Gene finally burst out. Then, quickly, trying to save some dignity, he said, "It'd be nice, you know. To be able to it on me own. If I need to."

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand, Guv."

"Man can't rely on take-away and frozen dinners." He looked sharply at Sam. "Don't want to learn any of your delicate, fancy, fairy-boy stuff, though. Meat, potatoes. Maybe a vegetable or something. Simple."

"Of course." Sam nodded. The corners of his mouth were quivering, like he was holding back laughter. "Something quick and easy you can whip up when you come home. Got it."

"Right." Gene cleared his throat. Looked away, eyes landing on a painting his wife had hung years ago; there'd been a layer of dust on it up until yesterday, when Sam had played happy housewife and dusted. "I've been thinking. You can stay over, sometimes, if you want. Kip in the guestroom. Not like anyone's using it, and the bed's better than the one at your flat. And, if you're gonna teach me, might as well do it here." He turned to Sam again. Narrowed his eyes. "Not every night."

"No. Of course not."

"And you have to ask, first. If we don't already have an agreement, you know? If you just want a place to kip, and I haven't already invited you to teach me, you need to ask."

He nodded. "Right."

Gene glared at him. "And you don't tell no one. Not Chris, not Ray, not the plonk, not Nelson. Not the bloody loony what sings Christmas carols on the street corner. Anyone knows, and your outsides will be your insides. Got it?"

Sam just stared.

Maybe the concussion was messing up his hearing. "Got it?" Gene repeated. Louder.

He blinked. "Yeah. Got it."

"Good." Gene settled back against the couch. He shook out his paper and opened it. "We'll start tomorrow, then. So you might as well drop by your flat at some point, get a change of clothes. No reason to leave after; I'm guessing there'll be stuff to wash, and I know how much you love doing that."

"Um. Right. Right, Guv, I'll. I'll do that. Then."

From over a folded section of the paper, Gene watched as Sam picked his book back up. Stared at the pages, but didn't seem to read. He frowned and wondered why Sam looked so much like a man blindsided with unexpected news. Then, he shook himself; Sam spent most of his time looking like that. Nothing different now.

Satisfied, Gene let the paper fold back into place, obscuring his view. Which is how he missed the rosy blush that stole over Sam's face, and a realization dawning.