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Fic: Those Two Impostors (LoM)

Posted on 2008.11.21 at 23:37
Current Mood: amusedamused
Tags: , ,
Somewhat to my surprise, and much to my delight, it looks as though I might be writing again. Although this is by no means the most serious or sensible piece of fic I've ever created!

But the wonderful fawsley wrote this lovely drabble featuring Gwen (she of the canteen), and then hambelandjemima pointed out that there were bunnies to be had, and so this epic took shape.

Words: 3200
Pairing: Gen (sorry! I put in a line or two for the slashers if that helps!)
Summary: Gwen goes missing. And things get a bit ridiculous!

Sam’s first thought on entering the CID office was that someone must have died. On second glance, he corrected himself – a lot of someones. Maybe a bomb had gone off in the centre of town without him noticing. Couldn’t be ruled out – the amount of Scotch he’d sunk last night, a nuclear explosion could have taken place under his bed and he’d have been hard pressed to care.

Warily he took a few steps into the room, glancing around. Heads rested on desks. A phone rang, unnoticed and unanswered. Ray was sitting bolt upright, staring sightlessly into the middle distance with a look of blank horror that chilled Sam to the core. Annie had a comforting arm round the heaving shoulders of someone who was, softly but unmistakably, sobbing.

And Gene’s blind was drawn.

Sam cleared his throat, a few heads snapping up at the abrupt intrusion into the silence.

“What’s going on? What’s happened?”

Nothing. If anything, the stillness grew more intense, as the entire room turned as a man (and woman, he reminded himself sternly) to focus desperate eyes squarely on him.

The chill intensified. God, what the hell had happened? “Annie?” he tried.

She lifted her head to meet his eyes, her face bleak and tear-stained.

“It’s – oh Sam – it’s Gwen. She…”

Further disclosure was interrupted by a yell from the inner office. “TYLER? That you? In here, sharpish.”

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. OK. Maybe he could get some sense out of Gene. Although, given past experience, that was possibly slightly optimistic. Still…

He flung open the door to Gene’s office, then stopped, taken aback by the sight in front of him. Gene, dark shadows under his eyes matching the stubbly growth around his chin, shirt open three buttons, tie haphazard, a stench of whisky permeating the smoky air. Sam stared for fully ten seconds, before shoving his baser urges ruthlessly aside to focus on the matter at hand.

“Shit, Guv. Has the world ended without telling me or something?”

“Good as.” Gene’s answer hovered somewhere between a growl and a sob. “Gwen’s not turned up. Never missed a day in more than twenty years, and now she’s…” He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “No word from her or anything.”

Sam was fairly sure his response was likely to be unpopular, but he had to ask. “Guv? Who’s Gwen?”

He regretted his rashness almost instantly, as Gene launched himself furiously at Sam, grabbing him by the lapels to catapult him roughly up against Sam’s least favourite piece of office furniture. He made a mental note to outlaw filing cabinets if he ever ended up ruling the world.

“Now you listen to me, you self-obsessed little prick,” Gene snarled, and Sam flinched involuntarily as droplets of spittle splashed onto his cheeks. “Gwen is the heart of this nick. Without her, the whole world comes crashing down around our ears. And…” he allowed himself a dramatic pause, “she makes the best mint custard this side of Rotherham. Got it?”

Sam suddenly understood. “Oh. That Gwen.” He stopped, as the depth of the problem finally, appallingly, sank in. “Gwen’s…bloody hell, Gene. What are we going to do?”

“Do?” Gene released Sam, turning away wearily. “What do you think we do? We find her, Tyler. We’ve got to find her.”

Sam had to hand it to Gene – when he was in the mood, he was an incredible motivational speaker, in a brutal, excessively to the point kind of way. By the time he’d finished rallying the troops, the whole squad was confident that everything would be back to normal in time for lunch, and they each set off gamely on their designated search-and-locate missions.

It couldn’t last, though. One by one, the officers returned, heads hanging, reporting their lack of success. And when Annie finally turned up, explaining in broken tones that Gwen hadn’t been seen at the Post Office that day picking up her mother’s pension, as was apparently her custom on a Tuesday, it was the last straw.

Gene tried his best. “Come on, you bunch of jessies, we’ll get through this. We’ll just have to have lunch at the Arms. Nelson’ll make us up some butties if I twist his arm. Hard enough.”

Ray let out a horrified gasp. “No way, Guv. You tasted Nelson’s sandwiches? I’d rather starve.”

“Yeah, well, that’s your other choice, isn’t it? You disappoint me, Raymondo. Where’s your Blitz spirit?”

Sam closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward onto the desk with a satisfyingly painful clunk. This was a disaster on a truly epic scale.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that the phone was ringing again. Clearly, nobody was about to pick it up, their minds being engaged on more apocalyptic matters, but equally whoever was calling didn’t seem likely to give up. Without lifting his head, Sam stretched out an arm and pulled the receiver towards him.


A rasping, husky voice responded. “You lost something, copper? Cos I’ve got it. And if you want to see her alive again, I’ve got demands.”

Files and assorted detritus cascaded to the floor as Sam shoved his chair back. Once again, the eyes of the office swivelled round to home in on him.

“Listen to me, whoever you are.” Sam’s voice was soft, little more than a whisper, laced with menace. “You harm one single hair on her head, and the world won’t be large enough for you to hide in. Do you understand me?”

“Tyler! Give that here!” Gene ripped the phone from Sam’s grasp, yelled into it. “Right, you ponce. You listen to me. You harm one single hair on her head, and I’ll personally boot your knackers so far up inside your body that you’ll be coughing soprano. You got that?”

There was a pause as Gene listened to the response. “Yeah. Well. I said it better.”

Another pause. “Since when does the Gene Genie answer the demands of ponces?”

Pause again. “Well, apart from that.”

Pause. “Yeah, but that were a special case, so it doesn’t count.”

Pause. “All right, but…bloody hell, you nag more than my Missus! I am not caving into any bastard demands, and that’s the end of it. Now sod off, and I expect our Gwen back on these premises, in mint condition mind, before teatime.”

He shoved the phone back at Sam, who lifted it to his ear in time to catch the villain’s parting shot. “Well, if that’s the way you want to play it, Mr Hunt, on your own head be it. I hope you manage to live to regret it.” Sam started to speak, but the phone went dead.

The following few days were indescribable. Almost. It was like every nightmare Sam had ever had rolled into one horrific disaster. Cases went uninvestigated as every resource they had left went into their desperate but fruitless efforts to locate Gwen. The squad became weak and unmotivated, lethargic, the lack of proper sustenance beginning to tell alarmingly rapidly. Sam himself had, just the previous day, attempted to chase down a suspect, only to have to pull up, gasping and faint, after a scant couple of hundred yards. The mocking cackle of the criminal as he had returned to run round Sam several times before strolling casually off into the distance would, Sam was certain, haunt him forever.

Since then, the situation had deteriorated even further. Several of the squad were lying unconscious on the office floor. Criminals of all sorts were phoning in to give advance warning of their nefarious plans. Chris had been lured out of his car by an offender waving a bacon sandwich tantalisingly outside the window, had been summarily set upon and sent back to the station naked apart from a strategically draped feather boa.

Gene and Sam were, frankly, at their wits’ end. At this point they would have agreed to pretty much any demands that were put forward, but the kidnapper made no further contact and was proving as utterly elusive as Gwen herself.

And then, barely in the nick of time, a breakthrough – tiny, but enough. Phyllis (a suspiciously well-fed and healthy-looking Phyllis, now Sam came to think about it) marched without preamble into the Holy of Holies, where Gene was sprawled out on the sofa, Sam’s head resting listlessly in his lap.

“Boss.” Both men winced as the strident tones slammed into their burgeoning hangovers. Sam could have sworn the shadow of a grin passed over the Sergeant’s face. “Boss, there’s some little toerag downstairs with a bag of chips for you lot. Says it’s a present from Gwen.”

Sam sat up, and the two men exchanged a thoughtful glance.

“That right?” muttered Gene. “We’ll see about that. Phyllis, I’m coming down.”

Sam recognised the lad as soon as he stepped into the front office, but he looked again, just to be sure. Yes, it was definitely the same little bastard that had run rings around him, even down to the insolent grin plastered across his face.

“There you go, officers,” he sneered, holding out a paper parcel from which the odour of deep-fried goodness wafted temptingly. “Thought you might be needing a bit of a pick-me-up, like.”

Gene regarded the boy steadily for several moments. He walked over casually and took the proffered gift, holding it up to his nose and taking a deep, loving sniff.

“Mmm, lovely stuff. Just the job.”

Depositing the package with gentle precision on the counter, he rounded on the lad without warning, grabbing a fistful of the fashionably long and conveniently accessible hair and dragging him up the stairs and along the corridor. The boy slammed into the back wall of Lost and Found and slithered down to the floor, glaring up at Gene.

“Oi, copper!” Indignation and outrage had, Sam was glad to see, replaced the sneer on the toerag’s face. “You can’t do this to me!”

“Really?” Gene seemed surprised by this revelation. “Funny, that. I thought I just did.” He reached down and pulled the lad up till he was standing on tiptoe, holding him in position with a well-placed arm across the throat. “Right then, first things first. You got a name?”

“Yeah,” the kid snarled defiantly. Gene waited a moment, assured himself that no further information was about to follow, and backhanded the kid across the face. Twice. He glanced at Sam, who was standing nearby, arms crossed, waiting and watching.

“You know what, Tyler? This is fun. Haven’t felt this good in days.” He punctuated the comment by a series of sharp jabs to the lad’s abdomen.

Sam felt morally obliged to step in. “Come on, Guv. Pack it in now. Here, let me have him.”

Somewhat to Sam’s surprise, Gene complied with no more than a glare, pulling away his forearm and giving the lad a shove that sent him sprawling into Sam’s arms, sagging with relief. A relief that, it quickly transpired, was entirely misplaced. With a smile that was little short of angelic, Sam delivered a vicious right hook that sent the lad crashing onto the table, flipped him onto his back and loomed over him, fist poised for the next blow. In the background, Gene started applauding.

“Great stuff, Tyler. Always knew you’d come good in the end. With a bit of proper tuition from an expert.”

“Thanks – glad you liked it.” Sam’s warm tone faded as he returned his attention to the quivering mass on the table.

“My colleague asked your name.”

“N-nigel. Nigel Smart.”

“Very ironic. Right then, Smart, you have significant information pertaining to the disappearance of Gwen…Gwen…hang on.” He turned to Gene, eyebrows raised in silent query. Gene shrugged, shook his head. Sam ploughed on. “Gwen. I want to know everything you know, and you want to tell me, so you can get out of here. OK?”

Smart nodded frantically. “Yeah. Look, I dunno much. I don’t, honest!” he yelped as Sam took a step closer. “Boss said to bring these to you. Said about the pick-me-up thing too. Said you’d know what she meant.”

Sam stared at Smart, then at Gene who, judging by the thunderstruck expression on his face, had picked up the same clue he had and was edging towards the same conclusion.


“I don’t know her name, if that’s what you’re after. Never did, like. She’s just ‘Boss’. She’s been pulling a few strings, getting favours done, you know, we went along cos it were all a bit of a laugh. But she weren’t laughing. Takes it all bloody seriously, the Boss.” He fell silent.

Gene pulled Smart off the table and dusted him down, after a fashion. “Good lad. See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Just one more little thing, and you can run off to your mummy. I want to know where she is.”

Smart nodded gloomily. “Yeah. She said you would. Come on, I’ll take you there.”

It was a shabby looking house, not one that they had had any reason to check. Sam was pretty certain the door was unlocked, but he let Gene kick it in anyway. Smart scarpered down the street as the door flew open and the entire CID squad crammed into the house. Waiting for them, in the kitchen naturally, was Gwen. Holding a large jug, which was poised over the sink.

“Don’t come any further, or I warn you, the mint custard gets it.”

The team froze, appalled. Gwen smiled sadly.

“Mr Hunt. Sorry it’s come to this.”

“Gwen.” Gene was keeping his tone deliberately casual, but bewilderment was radiating from him. “What’s going on, love? We’ve been worried sick.”

Gwen laughed, a brittle harsh sound that had no humour in it. “Oh aye. Worried sick about where your next meal’s coming from. Worried sick about who’ll sort out your morning cuppa. Who’s going to make sure you’ve got every make of biscuit on the planet stocked in the canteen stores, just on the off chance.”

“No, no, Gwen love,” Gene assured her. “You’ve got it all upside down. It’s not like that.”

Chris interjected, putting his hand up as though in a classroom. “Well – to be fair, Guv, yes it is.”

“Shut it, Skelton.”

Gwen’s arm, tiring from the weight of the metal jug, was beginning to shake ever more violently. Small drops of pale green thick liquid escaped into the sink, to the accompaniment of an array of shocked gasps and strangled yelps. Sam decided that if ever his hostage training skills had been needed, it was now.

“We’re listening, Gwen,” he said gently. “You can put that down now. Just tell us what it is you want.”

Moments passed. Then Gwen sighed, and lowered the jug. It landed awkwardly on the side of the sink, and to the horror of the onlookers, began to topple, slowly but inexorably, inwards. With a yell, Ray positively threw himself across the room (displaying a surprising amount of speed and energy for one who had, only twenty minutes previously, been found passed out on one of the cell beds), catching it just before it reached the critical point and bearing it aloft in triumph. There was a ripple of relief.

Gwen sat down heavily at the kitchen table, waving an invitation to Gene and Sam, who joined her.

“Mr Hunt,” she began. “I’ve worked at your station for my whole adult life. And I love it, Mr Hunt, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that – lately, it’s not enough just to be part of the background. I want to be one of you.”

“Sorry, love?” Gene looked puzzled. “You want to join the force? I hope you don’t mind me saying, but there might be a problem there. You’re knocking on a bit, you know.”

Sam glared. “Sorry, Gwen. What DCI Hunt, in his usual tactful way, is trying to say…”

“No no,” Gwen interrupted. “I wouldn’t do your job for all the tea in China. No offence. Any road, I like the job I’ve got. But I won’t come back unless – well, unless I really belong there.”

Annie, who had been keeping a discreet distance but listening intently, stepped forward. “Of course you belong, Gwen. You’re one of us. Tell us how we can prove that to you.”

Gewn glanced at Sam, who nodded vehemently. She took a deep breath.

“Well – first off, I like a bit of a chat. It gets lonely in that canteen, you know, watching you lot come and go, listening to your stories about how the day’s gone and such like. I feel like I know you all like the back of my hand, but most of the time I don’t get so much as a please or thank you for my trouble, much less anyone asking how my day’s going. A little bit of friendliness goes a long way, you know.”

Sam glanced around the kitchen. The assembled ranks of CID were shifting guiltily from foot to foot – the exception being Ray, who was surreptitiously knocking back the mint custard by the fingerful. He looked back at Gwen.

“You’re right. We all need to feel like we belong. And I can guarantee that, from now on, you’ll get the attention you deserve. Is there anything else you need?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, there is. I’ll be wanting twenty pence, from each of you, every week.”

Gene frowned. “Blackmail, Gwen? I never thought you’d stoop so low. But if that’s what it takes…”

“No, you great lummox, a tea fund. It’s not cheap making sure we’ve got pink wafers, garibaldis and anything else you suddenly decide you fancy ready and waiting, and my budget doesn’t cover it. Half of those bloody biscuits have been coming out of my money. Have you any idea what you get paid for working in a police canteen? It’s not all that much, I can tell you.”

“Right-o,” Gene said immediately. “No problem. Stump up, lads.” Hands dug into pockets and pennies were counted out until an appropriately sized heap of loose change was piled up on the table. “That enough to keep you going? Good girl. Well, if there’s nothing else, we’ll see you back at work tomorrow.” He half rose from his seat.

“Mr Hunt? There is just one more little thing. Nothing much, but…I want to join the darts team.”

Gene froze. Mouths around the room fell open as everyone awaited the explosion. Ray tried to inject a note of reason.

“But…you’re a bird.”

“So what?” Gwen’s tone, tentative while she was making the request, had hardened. “I may be a bird, Sergeant, but I can handle those arrows better than the lot of you put together. And I’ll take on any one of you who says different.”

Gene sat back down. “Fine,” he said with admirable calm. “Join the bloody darts team, then, if that’s what you want. That’d better be the end of it now, though – my patience only goes so far.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr Hunt,” Gwen answered blithely, looking utterly delighted. “There’s nothing else. That’s all I need.”

“Right then, we’ll be off. Come on, gentlemen, let’s leave Gwen in peace. Time for a quick round at the Arms. Tyler, with me.”

They shepherded the rest of CID off the premises, dragging Ray reluctantly away from the now half-empty jug. Sam was the last to leave the kitchen. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back briefly.


“Yes, Inspector?”

He smiled. “It’s Sam. Just wanted to say. Welcome to the team, Gwen.”


lozenger8 at 2008-11-22 00:23 (UTC) (Link)
I love, love, love this. The mock-seriousness, the genuine message, GWEN!

I always love your interplay between characters. I adored how you had Sam beating up the suspect, OMG. On the inside I was going "no, Sam, no" and on the outside I was grinning.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 10:46 (UTC) (Link)
Desperate times call for desperate measures! Sam is canonically pretty hypocritical about the whole issue of beatings, condoning when it suits and condemning when it doesn't. In this instance, obviously, the sheer scale of the disaster was such that he was able to put his finer feelings on the matter aside! XD
seileach67 at 2008-11-22 00:27 (UTC) (Link)
Awww! This was funny and cute. I LOL'ed at Chris and the bacon sandwich. And good for Sam and his negotiating skills! Annie seems to be coming along nicely there too. Great job! :D
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 10:48 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you! Annie strikes me as a natural negotiator, and she ended up with these lines because I could so clearly hear her saying them. Poor old Chris, eh? XD (And I don't think they even left him the bacon sandwich!)
ladygray99 at 2008-11-22 01:28 (UTC) (Link)
oh that's just beautiful. brings to mind what would happen to torchwood if ianto stopped making coffee. I picture Ray saving the mint custard is slowmo secret service style. :)
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 11:06 (UTC) (Link)
I picture Ray saving the mint custard is slowmo secret service style.

Thanks especially for this, because that's exactly the image I was going for! :D There's a scene somewhere (might be Hot Fuzz, memory's going!)with a character diving across the scene in slow motion going NOOOOOOOOOO!!!, and that's what was in my mind.

Oh God, if Ianto stopped making coffee the universe really might end!
GRITS in Misery
gritsinmisery at 2008-11-22 02:10 (UTC) (Link)

Chris had been lured out of his car by an offender waving a bacon sandwich tantalisingly outside the window, had been summarily set upon and sent back to the station naked apart from a strategically draped feather boa.

I decided to ask you to marry me, there.

...marched without preamble into the Holy of Holies, where Gene was sprawled out on the sofa, Sam’s head resting listlessly in his lap.

And have your babies. Bwah-hah-hah, the boys were too weak to fight the feeling!
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 11:09 (UTC) (Link)
Hee, I got CAPS! Really pleased you liked it so much. Can't help with the marrying thing, but you're more than welcome to have my babies. Here's one. I can arrange shipping as soon as I can sort a secure enough container!

GRITS in Misery
gritsinmisery at 2008-11-22 15:06 (UTC) (Link)
Oh gah! I don't do kids under the age of 13 anymore! :D
severinne at 2008-11-22 03:02 (UTC) (Link)
This is fabulous!! Oh, good on Gwen to show CID just how much she's worth :D

The tone and little touches in this are just spot-on brilliant, especially Sam's angelic smile before clocking poor little Smart, and that image of him resting his head in Gene's lap... lol, just priceless.

Thank you so much for this, especially so quickly! I'd say you're back for sure, and thank goodness for that :)
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 12:35 (UTC) (Link)
Thanks! :D I think I had to get it down quickly, or it would just have stalled.

It was a lot of fun giving Gwen the outing she deserves. The more I thought about it, the more is asked of the poor dear!

(I am besotted with Sam's angelic smile!)
Strike while the irony is hot
draycevixen at 2008-11-22 04:08 (UTC) (Link)

*sings* BK's back in the saddle again! *g*

Really nicely done with some lovely little sly touches like Sam's intention of doing away with filing cabinets if he should rule the world. *g*

I also love the way Sam shares in seeing tragedy the moment he realizes who she is and his willingness to beat up Smart (although running circles around him probably didn't help Smart's case).

Oooh and well fed Phyllis! Loved that bit. *g*

Thanks Petal! ♥
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 12:38 (UTC) (Link)
Yay to being back in the saddle! :D

The filing cabinet thing - I'm very self-conscious about the use of the filing cabinet, ever since that wonderful meta-fic recently (was it nepthys_uk? Think so), but I can't bring myself to leave it alone! XD

(Thanks for picking up on the Phyllis ref - I had it in the back of my mind that Phyllis would have been fully in alliance with Gwen on this, probably feeding her info and stuff. Sisters united in a common cause!)

Edited at 2008-11-22 12:42 (UTC)
dragonlit at 2008-11-22 06:13 (UTC) (Link)
For all the silliness, this is brilliant writing. I loved it, the touches of how serious it all was, how CID fell apart and the true horror they all felt at Gwen's disappearance. A really fun read. Thank you.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 13:33 (UTC) (Link)
Thanks - fun is what I was after! The silliness was quite liberating - I had a blast with all the ridiculous exaggeration and utter suspension of disbelief. :D
amproof at 2008-11-22 06:23 (UTC) (Link)
It's amazing you wrote this so quickly! It's lovely. Lots of little moments stand out amidst the comedy, like Sam asking who Gwen is, the pause in questioning Smart when Sam and Gene don't know her last name, the CID turning into an ineffectual cesspit without her... This was hilarious and touching. Definitely don't take Gwen for granted!
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 13:39 (UTC) (Link)
The touching moments sort of took me by surprise a bit - especially that one where neither of them actually knew her name. Poor old Gwen - maybe they'll treat her better now, but more likely they'll forget all about it. And they still don't know her surname! (My guess would be Dobbs, heh!)

Glad you enjoyed it, thanks. :D
Excessive Kumquats
acidpenguin46 at 2008-11-22 10:47 (UTC) (Link)
Hee, that was brilliant! The mock dramatic nature of the situation is done perfectly and the character interactions are spot on.

Oh, and Sam resting his head on Gene's lap is just adorable :) I had so much fun reading this.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 13:41 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you so much! I'm really pleased you liked it.

(I should point out that my four-year-old is totally entranced by your icon. He's been standing beside me for several minutes now, waving at Sam!puppet and saying 'Hello...hello...' whenever the word comes up! :D )
Excessive Kumquats
acidpenguin46 at 2008-11-22 14:19 (UTC) (Link)
Aww, that's cute. I'm glad it's keeping him entertained :)
clonesgirl at 2008-11-22 11:46 (UTC) (Link)
This is great! I loved “Don’t come any further, or I warn you, the mint custard gets it.” LOL. Such a hoot. CID would be lost without it's canteen and the ever-reliable Gwen.

I'm positive there was a distinct hint of slashiness there too with Sam's head resting in Gene's lap - and I'm sure it didn't get there by accident. ;)

Lovely stuff! :)
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 14:01 (UTC) (Link)
I loved the line about the mint custard getting it! It was one of those lines, you know, it's probably too much but it makes me giggle, so in it goes! :D

Hmm. The slashiness. Have you considered it might all be a product of your own sordid imagination? ;) (OK OK, it wasn't entirely accidental! I try to do gen, but they just will not behave themselves! :D )
Mrs Tufty
fawsley at 2008-11-22 13:57 (UTC) (Link)
Hey! Naturally I'm jolly chuffed that I had a hand - albeit unknowing - in getting your writing again but the best bit is the fact that you are indeed writing again. That's just wonderful and so is this ficcy. Lovely sort of echo of the Reg Cole episode but far closer to home with it being Gwen, really brings the boys down to earth. I adore Gwen calling Gene 'a great lummox' (she sounds like my mum!) and of course I squeeed madly at the ending. Wonderful stuff hon!

Now don't you dare go disappearing on us again or we'll have to smother you in mint custard and get the Guv to lick it off.


I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-11-22 14:14 (UTC) (Link)
*drags self away from mint-custard-licking image*

THANK YOU! *hugs bigstylie*

I've been in the position for a while where I've been pretty sure the mojo was back but story inspiration just wasn't. Then your drabble, and I was off and running! :D And now I'm toying with this idea of Phyllis and Gwen actually being related, so this may be the start of something more!

You're spot on about the Reg Cole feel - it's one of my fave eps, that, despite having plot holes wide enough to drive several buses through, and I think that feeling of being un-valued is one that's very embedded in Sam's subconscious.

Glad you enjoyed this - couldn't ahve done it without you! ♥
Becca the Wonder Penguin
sunnyrea at 2008-11-22 17:15 (UTC) (Link)
omg you are too funny for words! hehehe loved it and I loved the Sam kicking witness ass!
norfolkdumpling at 2008-11-23 10:20 (UTC) (Link)
Yay Gwen! Fabulous stuff. Loved the dramatic buildup and the effect of Gwen's disappearance on everyone. Ray having to be bodily removed from the jug of custard had me sporfling, and I think if Gwen's stint on the darts team doesn't work out she's a shoo-in for the next criminal mastermind in the area!

Thanks for a lovely Sunday morning start :D
hambelandjemima at 2008-11-24 21:30 (UTC) (Link)
Yay! *dances with glee* You're writing again! *g*

Love all of this: the slashy bits (Sam holding back his baser urges on seeing a primal Gene Hunt, Sam's head in Gene's lap); Sam hitting the suspect; not knowing Gwen's surname; Phyllis being surprisingly well-fed.... I could go on, but I'd only be repeating the whole fic. *g*

Thanks for taking up the baton. It's a great fic ♥
edzel2 at 2008-11-25 20:18 (UTC) (Link)
I absolutely LOVE your writing style - and this fic is so clever the way it mixes comedy and drama without ever getting silly to the point of disbelief. You are a Goddess...
BTW did I say I liked it?

saintvic at 2008-11-27 23:01 (UTC) (Link)
Okay I agree with everyone and just have to say that this is a work of genius. *hands you certificate of genius as proof*

Funny, wonderful idea and brilliantly executed. I loved every single word.
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