InsaneJournal

Who: Gene and OTA
When: Day 28
What: Lounging around
Rating: G
Status: Incomplete

Settling down on a bench just outside the garage, Gene was, although he'd be hard pushed to admit it, finding that there was nothing he was left wanting for in this place, materially. It was uncanny, and more than just a little unnerving that he found everything he needed only seconds after he'd thought of it himself. Everything, except when it came to envisioning a nice big door that led out into Fleet Street. No such luck with that one. He was starting to think that maybe there really was truth in this 'planet being alive' notion.

It was the lack of incidents, of anything to react to, that he never thought he'd miss, but did. He hadn't heard of one murder or drug ring since arriving. There was no need to stay on a constant edge, or to always be ready to jump into action, and no Met to work for. God help him, he was even missing his team, although he'd shoved that sentiment so far down that even he hadn't realised it. Acknowledging it would mean that he was going to be stuck there for a long time, and that, above everything, was something he couldn't accept yet.

Without being fully aware that his hands sought out a cigarette from the pack of Embassy Filters in his pocket, it was only when he had to use both hands to light the tip that he found himself taking a satisfying drag. Well, so much for hanging onto that bolting wagon. Seemed that even here he was unreasonably stubborn at knowing when to let go.

He sat with his elbow propped up on the bench arm, chin in the palm of his hand with fingers against cheek, absently letting a cloud of smoke drift upward which only swelled thinly in the light of day. The day he returned back to London one way or the other would be the day he gave up again. Until then, it was a case of taking in any little comfort that he could.