Title: Sam’s Days
Fandom: Life on Mars
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters or their universe. BBC/Kudos do. I’m not making any money out of this.
Rating: White Cortina
Pairing: Nothing explicit, but you know it’ll be there somewhere!
Word Count: 410
Summary: There are days, and then there are days. And they’re all different when you’re Sam Tyler.
A/N: This was inspired by, and quite frankly ripped off fromfawsley ’s “Days”. (You may note that I haven’t got round to covering “Nights” yet. It’s on the stocks, but much as I would love to be able to write good hot sex, it just doesn’t seem to write itself for me like other things do, so you’ll have to wait and see on that front.)
Some days, Sam’s wound up like a spring. Good days and bad days.
Good days are the ones when gay-boy science has solved the case, brought them a new lead or just given them new hope for tomorrow. On good days, Sam knows he’s making a difference. It’s all he really wants - to know that something has been achieved, something good, that no-one else could have done.
On good days, Sam is bouncing, grinning, clicking his fingers. He drinks coffee incessantly, can’t stand still, claps his hands and calls out when he has something to share.
Bad days are the ones where nothing works: neither his fancy forensics nor old-fashioned coppering. On bad days, Sam gets so frustrated he hurts his hands hitting the walls. His shoulders tighten with the effort of keeping the writing neat when he just wants to stab the pen through the desk. His head hurts with the curses he thinks it’s unprofessional to use in front of the team.
On bad days, everyone else is moving, walking tightly, avoiding Sam’s corner of the room. Sam sits tightly coiled and still, teeth gritted and fists clenched as he fights for calm.
And there are days when Sam is relaxed - muscles loose, eyes half shut. Bad days and good days.
Bad days are when it’s all gone wrong. So hopelessly, horribly wrong that there’s nothing to be done except wait it out until they can all go home.
On bad days, Sam sits at his desk staring into space, nothing in his eyes. No words, no thoughts, no spark. On bad days, Sam needs someone to pull him back together, to hold him safe against the cold of utter despair.
Good days are the ones when it’s all gone quietly right – the little girl found at her friend’s house, the bank job grassed up before it starts. On good days, Sam sits on his desk, lounges against the wall, takes a seat with the team to talk about the football. He laughs with Annie, jokes with Chris, listens casually to Ray.
On good days, Sam smiles with Gene; eyes meeting, softening as they look away. Their separate smiles widen and Sam strolls round the office to lounge in Gene’s doorway, smiling, smiling.
On good days, Sam’s warm to touch, gentle to hold, humming softly and always, always smiling. He can reach out on good days, to share his warmth, offer his softness. On good days Sam is content.