Title "Just Add Water"
Rating Green cortina for Gene-type language
Warnings Gene, a semi-naked Sam and a hot tub. But no slash. *G*
Trying for something a bit lighter this time. I hope it worked.
“Bacon,” said Gene as if by way of explanation.
Sam stared doubtfully at the greasy parcel which had been thrust into his hands. “And the reason you’re giving me this is—?” These days his life had taken a decided turn for the bizarre, but his boss turning up on his doorstep at seven in the morning delivering smallgoods was odd even by his standards. “Let me guess—there has been an outbreak butchers’ vans raids, and this is a vital piece of evidence?”
“Give over,” Gene huffed. “It’s breakfast, you ponce. Well are you going to let me in, or are you going to keep standing there like yesterday’s stale cornflakes?”
Sam moved aside as Gene pushed through. In the flat where the light was better, Sam noticed that Gene looked somewhat more dishevelled than usual. Even more dishevelled than usual. And Gene was carrying something which looked suspiciously like an overnight bag.
Folding his arms and trying to pretend he was wearing more than a towel, Sam demanded, “So what are you doing here? Decided to race the milk float in for a change?”
“Blame the missus,” Gene said lighting a cigarette. “She wanted one of them—what d’y’ call it? —one of them Swedish bath things—“
“A spa?” Sam suggested. “Sauna?”
“A hot tub.” Gene flicked the ash from his cigarette on the floor. “I tried to talk her out of it. ‘It’s not going to turn you into Britt Ekland,’ I told her—”
“What did she say to that?” Sam grinned.
“Said it wouldn’t turn me into Bjorn Borg, neither. Anyroad, the next thing I know she has some daft bugger of a Scouse plumber in. He quotes me a hundred quid—a hundred quid!—and before I can turn round he’s knocked a bloody great hole in the wall and covered everything in plaster.
“So when I get home last night,” Gene continued, “the place is empty. No hot tub, no plumber, no wife and no water. There’s a note from the missus saying that the idiot plumber she hired had cut through the main, and she was going to stay with her mother until things got sorted.
“Well the short of it is things in the Hunt household are still a right mess. Nowt to wash in. Not even enough to make a cuppa. Mind you,” he added, drawing on his cigarette thoughtfully, “there’s plenty to drink, but I’m not going to be flushing the bog with a single malt!
“When I get hold of that plumber I’m going to give him a proper bollocking.”
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of all the grimy bedsits in the world, you had to walk into mine,” he said in his best Humphrey Bogart voice. “All right, you can use my bathroom. Just for today, mind! You know you could have phoned and given me some warning.”
“What, and give you a chance to say ‘no’?” Gene tossed the butt of his cigarette into the sink and clapped Sam on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come through, Sammy-boy.” He picked up his bag and started towards the bathroom, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Well hadn’t you better get cracking then, Gladys?”
“Fixing me breakfast. I like my bacon crispy around the edges and two sugars in my tea.”
The last thing Sam heard before Gene closed the bathroom door was, “And you better not have used all the hot water!”