the_gene_genie | OOM: Driving Lessons

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OOM: Driving Lessons

Gene holds the door open for her with a small smile. The view outside is of a street, red brick houses and a car parked on the corner. There's a high-rise behind the houses; it's all typically 70s. If Kate looks back behind them when the door's closed, she'll see a regular looking pub with a sign hanging near the door, declaring it to be The Railway Arms.

She'll also see Gene standing stock still, glaring at her like she's standing right in his way. Which she is, as far as he's concerned. She might also note that there is not a single spark of recognition on his face.

'You gonna shift yer arse, luv, or am I goin' to 'ave t'do it for ya?'

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'You wanted t'learn to drive, luv!' he calls out, over the scream of the engine and the radio that's blaring (it's also fitted with what appears to be an actual telephone - cutting edge in 1973, that radio).

'This is 'ow you do it!'

It's a drive that lasts about ten minutes. Sam doesn't live that far away but he took a slightly longer route so he could show off the motor a bit. First rule of teaching, show don't tell!

'Come on. Out.

...Kate. Isn' it? Kate.'

He's squealed to a stop outside a grubby looking builing, all red brick and bits of concrete and dirty windows. He flings himself again (out of the car this time; Gene does tend to move in dramatic ways) and heads over to the front door. It opens with little more than a push and he's barrelling down a dirty hallway, up some stairs and to the end of a hallway. He doesn't check to see if she's following because...well, she may be fit but he's not going to slobber all over her and he'd rather just get to the bottom of this.

'Tyler. Tyler! You awake? Get your 'and off your knob, I got a lady wi' me.'

Without waiting for a reply, he simply applies his shoulder to the door, shoving it open and splintering the wood around the lock. (Again.)

Edited 2010-09-25 00:57 (UTC)

"What the -- "

Sam doesn't fall off the bed (later he'll thank a God he doesn't really believe in for small favors). But he does reach up and over like a man who's going for his gun.

Except --

"Guv? What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Uh oh, DI Tyler looks pissed.

And confused.

He's not the only one. Kate looks like a kitten who's just gone through a tumble dryer and lived to tell the tale.

She huffs to a stop in the doorway, pausing to catch her breath and, also, because she has no idea where she is other than she's in an apartment with two strange (some stranger than others) men.

An apartment Gene just broke into.

She looks at Sam, all flushed cheeks and diamond-sharp eyes.

"How do you do."

'Her.'

Gene just strides into the room and then swivels, points at Kate.

'D'you know 'er?'

Yeah Kate, sorry. He does this all the time.

Sam, you should be used to it.

"Hi," Sam says distractedly, taking a moment to grab his head in both hands.

Surely that will clear all this up. Surely.

Nope, the Guv and a lady are still standing there. Right.

"Is there a reason I'm supposed to, Hunt? Sorry, ma'am."

Now that Sam's more awake he can muster up the energy to be polite.

She's pleasantly surprised to see he's... nothing much like Gene, yet.

"Kate," she nods -- and she'd offer a hand, but she's still keeping her distance. "Gene an' I met in the Bar."

She puts a slight stress on Bar, keeping her eyes on Sam's. Smiling, a bit cheeky, she adds:

"Either I wasn't very memorable, or he was drunker than I thought. He don't remember me."

'Pub. You ain' in Yanksville now, sweet'eart.'

He rounds on Sam, glaring down at him sitting there on the bed. He may be looking for signs of hangover because surely if he was that pissed, then Sam would have been drinking as well?

'Was she there las' night? Can't remember a thing abou' it an' she's tryin' to get her mitts on the Cortina.'

"We call it 'America' now, Guv."

Or maybe they don't?

He manages a smile at Kate, before bestowing a dark look on his boss. Behind his eyes his brain is whirring as he pulls the facts together, scenarios click-click-clicking away.

Bar. Right. That means --

"And you were all rarin' to let her drive yesterday. 'm kind of surprised it took her this long to take you up on it."

This time his grin is a little brighter. Gene deserves this for breaking his door (again).

The scene unfolding before her is enough to tell her one thing for certain.

She likes Sam.

Smirking, she crosses her arms over her chest, and leans against the doorjamb.

'So she was there?'

The glare fixed on his DI is still highly suspicious. He really doesn't remember a thing about it.

'You sure, Gladys? This ain' some elaborate wind-up so you can get your grubby paws on me motor?'

He absolutely wouldn't put it past him. It's the sort of sneaky, underhanded tactics this boy would employ.

"If I came up with an elaborate wind-up, Guv, it wouldn't be this obvious."

Sam raises his eyebrows, then actually moves to stand up.

"And it wouldn't have led to you breaking down my door, either."

"Gladys?"

Kate chortles, bite still in her eyes from Mr. Hunt's Wild Ride.

"You two wanna be alone?"

Oh, she gets a death glare for that one. And he takes a step back as Sam stands up, to put decent distance between them so she doesn't get any funny ideas.

'Less of tha' darlin', or I won' let you touch me gearstick.'

Punishment indeed.

His look back at Sam is vaguely triumphant. It seems to gloat about the differing ways they're going to spend their Saturdays - him with a sleek young lady (and Kate's very pretty too) - and Sam in a dingy flat with wallpaper that could make Ghandi declare war on the faithful.

'Right then. We'll get off an' leave you to it then.'

Heh.

'No doubt you'll be wantin' to spend the weekend with your paperwork.'

Sam manages not to roll his eyes.

"Considering I keep up with all the necessary forms, I'm actually not behind like some people."

Gene.

"It's very odd how that works. I'll send you the bill for the door, shall I?"

'Nah, stick it on expenses. An' I think you'll find I ain't behind on mine either. I've done as much as I normally do.'

Which is to say, none.

He sticks a fag in his mouth and lights it, looking over at Kate in the doorway.

'Right then, swee'heart. Shall we?'

He holds a hand out to gesture her through the door, then looks back at Sam with a lascivious expression.

'Maybe a result.'

Sweetheart?

She fixes a brief but intense look on Sam; if she has to tie Gene's hands to the steering wheel later, she'll need him to take her home.

"...Thanks for your hospitality."

Sam's smile for Kate is quick and mostly genuine. (He'll wait until they're gone to let the 'gobsmacked' part of his morning register.)

"Think nothing of it, ma'am."

And with a dry yet pointed look toward the broken door --

"I was in need of something to do with my afternoon."

Now she knows where he'll be today.

But if there was ever a time to miss his mobile -- in amongst all those other times -- now would be it.

If Gene knew what a mobile was - and how much Sam misses his - there would be many many unsavoury jokes about the nature of his relationship with the device. As it is, he just waggles his eyebrows at Sam - he's planning on enjoying his afternoon - and barrels out of the door at high speed.

'C'mon then luv, the ride of your life awaits.'

He's probably talking about the car.

Kate wouldn't dream of anything else.

"D'you do everything this speedily?" she asks, heels click-clacking after him.

'Yeah. Ain't no use sitting on yer arse, is there?'

Except when he is sitting on his arse. But he only does that when there's nothing else to do.

The car door is opened once more and left ajar for her but there's no danger of him letting her behind the wheel just yet.

'Righ' then,' he says, once he's behind the wheel. 'I'm no' lettin' a Yankee bird loose on my streets withou' knowin' some basics first.'

He points at the steering wheel.

'Tha's the steering wheel. Now 'old on.'

He fires it up and hits the accelerator again, screeching off to find somewhere less populated to do this.

"Jesus Christ, Gene!"

Her tone is scolding, but it's followed up by a chirruping laugh.

There will be little half moon marks left in his passenger side door.

"Thought y'said you was a safe driver?"

'You see me runnin' anyone over?'

Ergo, he's safe.

She'll have to put up with it for ten minutes or so, while he drives to a flat piece of wasteground between a couple of abandoned mills. If she has the nerve to keep her eyes open, she'll see that 1970s Manchester is a fairly bleak place. It's an industrial city, all red brick and soot stains from the factories; some cobbled streets and ancient old cars on them. But there are green spaces too and kids are out playing on the street (until they see the Cortina bearing down on them, obviously), the sun's out and there's not a hint of modern technology in sight.

'Wha' else did I tell you then? Seein' as you know so much abou' me an' I don' even know your las' name.'

If she has the nerve? For as long as she's been walking she's been riding horses, taking them out to the big open stretches of dry desert outside Heyser and letting them go. She was infatuated with the sensation: the wind in her hair; the pound of hooves echoing in her chest; arms outstretched, she was flying.

Her only complaint now is she can barely see a damn thing as the Cortina goes whizzing by streets and buildings and businesses; a few things stand out, things she saw in a 21st century France like street lights and telephone poles, but eyes and mouth stay round and open, taking in what unremarkable sights Gene may see like she's looking at the Sistine Chapel.

She turns to him, once they've stopped outside the abandoned mills.

"Barlow. Kate Barlow."

'Well, nice t'meet ya.'

He kills the engine and leaves the keys in the ignition. There's a flat expanse of fairly even ground in front of them where a factory once stood; quite a few have been demolished recently. It's clear land though, running for about two hundred yards until piles of stones and scrub form hills that'll stop her going any further. On the other side, building work is underway for a motorway and the factories either side cast long shadows over the rows of houses on the other side of the road.

He takes a deep breath. He doesn't even let Ray or Sam drive this car, he honestly can't believe he's about to do this.

'Righ' then.'

Breathe. Breathebreathebreathe.

'Your turn.'

He pushes the door open before he changes his mind and strides around the car to take her seat on the passanger side.

Edited 2010-09-27 00:35 (UTC)

She can't help but find a little amusement in watching him. He's puzzling her, through and through.

"Really?"

She gets out of the car, and leans against the door.

"'Nice t'meet ya, now go around an' do what I jus' did'?" she chuckles. "Y'look like you're about to pass out."

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