Life on Mars fic, In the genes, part 1/?
In the genes, part 1/?
Something was not the way it ought to be for Gene Hunt. Sam could tell that much from the way his DCI had burst into the room, seized Annie by the shoulders and physically lifted her to the left to get her out of his path; knocked Chris' carefully organised file out of the DC's hands, as he tried to pass it to him; yanked a cigarette from Ray's mouth and stuck it in his own, taking a long, angry drag before clattering into his office, kicking over his metal bin as the door swung shut behind him.
Sam raised an eyebrow to Annie, who shrugged, slightly startled and taking in the grimy hand prints now on the sleeves of her previously pristine white shirt. Chris blinked.
"What's got into him?" he asked nobody in particular.
"Maybe his Missus wouldn't let him have 'is way with her last night," Ray suggested, sorting himself out with another cigarette. Sam shook his head.
"No, it's usually him refusing her, not the other way around." Ray gave him a look but continued,
"Well, you know what birds can be like, all about their emotions and that. No offence, flash knickers."
"None taken," Annie replied with a small smile. She took another glance at her sullied top, sighed, and then fixed Sam with a look. He wriggled uncomfortably.
"What? You blaming me for the state of your shirt?!" She rolled her eyes.
"No! I think you should go and talk to the Guv."
"You expect me to go and play Agony Aunt to him? Annie, I don't know about you, but I love having fully functioning legs." She gave him a gentle shove.
"Go on! He trusts you, he'll tell you what's getting his gun in a twist."
"Is that even an expression?"
"Sam!"
He groaned and turned reluctantly around, crossing to Gene's office and rapping his knuckles tentatively on the glass.
"Go away Gladys, whatever it is your sellin', I'm not buyin'!" Sam could hear the clink of glass on glass. Scotch at half nine in the morning was never good. He spread his palm against the door and pushed it open, slipping inside and looking at his superior where he sat. He had his head bowed, his forearms rested against his thighs, both hands holding the glass. His head snapped up, his expression livid. "Which part of 'Go away' has managed to confuse your tiny rodent brain?!”
"Guv. I think you need to talk to me. I think..." He trailed off pathetically. Gene leapt to his feet.
"Who the Hell do you think you are, Tyler?!" Sam almost flinched, thinking for a moment that he was going to have the glass hurled at his head. He swallowed.
"Well, I'm your DI, Guv-" he ignored the snort of "Well bloody done, Sherlock," and continued, "- I trust you and I know you trust me. But I can be more than a DI, Guv, I can be a confidant... friend." Gene rubbed the back of his own neck and turned away, exhaling heavily, blowing the air out through his cheeks. He put down the glass decisively, looking at Sam and nodding, briskly and crossly as though he had lost a battle. Sam extended his hand, gesturing for Gene to speak. He was silent for a minute, chewing the inside of his mouth, searching for the words. "It was a bloody accident, never s'posed to happen!" He snapped, "I don't know how it's happened but it's the last pissing thing I'll ever want to be dealin' with."
"Is this to do with a case, Guv?"
Gene snorted.
"If only. I'd just charge her with wasting my bloody time and be done with it."
"Her?"
"Beth. My wife." He added, on realising that they name meant nothing his DI.
"Oh. Have you... fallen out?"
"Where are we, the playground? If by fallen out you mean in a sodding mess bigger than a pile up involving a Bisto lorry and a bus taking sufferers of the bubonic plague on an organised day out, then the answers is yes, we bloody well have fallen out.”
Sam leant against Gene's desk, folding his arms.
"Tell me," he commanded, softly but forcefully enough.
"The missus starts moaning that she's putting on weight. Then she starts throwing up all the time. Actually, thought she was doing it on purpose, like one of those anaemics-"
"Bulimics," Sam corrected automatically.
"Whatever. I didn't say anything, didn't really care since I'm more likely to see Mary Whitehouse invite Peter Tatchell round for tea than to see her with her kit off."
Sam nodded in comprehension.
"When was the last you slept with her?"
Gene took a while to answer, stubbing out his fag and lighting up another one before the smoke clouds had even dissipated, sitting down, deciding that he didn't like being at a lower level than Tyler, standing up again and fixing the younger man with a steely glare before saying,
"'Bout four weeks ago."
"Four?"
"Yeah."
"Ah. Shit."
Gene frowned.
"Is that just a sympathetic response to the shockingly long abstinence, or are you that much of a pansy that you understand the concept of conception?"
"The latter. Gene..."
He looked into his Guv's face, trying to read something, anything, that would betray his feelings other than the aura of fury. Nothing. Gene looked back, before clearing his throat and turning his head away quickly.
"Right, Tyler, I've talked, now get your arse out of my office before I kick it out."
Sam stayed put.
"Did you use protection?"
Gene's eyes flashed with rage as he stepped forward to speak into Sam's face.
"No, I just crossed my fingers and hoped for the best! What sort of bloke d'you think I am, Sammy boy?! Beth's on the pill. Has been for years. Now leave me the Hell alone, and keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it for you!"
The smaller man glanced at the floor, resolutely refusing to move or to be intimidated by Hunt's raised tone, closeness or threats. He looked up again.
"Maybe she wasn't."
"What?" Gene barked, seizing the lapels of Sam's leather jacket, just as he had on that first, distant day.
"Maybe your wife really wanted to raise children, just one son or daughter if she was denied any more. But you wouldn't let her-" He paused as he was pressed slightly into the filing cabinet, but soldiered on, "So if she comes off the pill, sleeps with you, she can make it look like an accident, make herself seem like one of the tiny percent of women that it goes wrong for... and she gets the tiny patter of Gene junior's feet without you blaming-" He gagged on the word as one strong hand found his throat.
"Don't you dare assume that you understand me or my wife," Gene hissed, tightening his grip as Sam struggled, "Do you think that I want to deny the woman I married what she wants, think I get a kick out of treating her like a "bean bag", you little shit!" Sam wrenched Gene's hand away and stepped back, holding up his hands.
"I'm sorry, Gene, I don't mean-"
"I've seen it before!" Gene spat, "I've seen it in my own father, the way kids can be treated! He taught me nothing but how to use my fists and how to drink myself into a stupor, so how d'you expect me to know how to raise a child?"
Sam was against the door now, staring, speechless. Gene shut his mouth, running his tongue over his teeth, knowing he'd said far, far too much. "Get out," He murmured. This time, Sam obeyed.
*