Part 8
Author: echo_voice
Title: Follow the yellow brick road (Part Eight)
Rating: Brown Cortina (Slash and swearing)
Pairings: Sam/Gene
Spoilers: 2.02, 2.07 and 2.08 are the important ones.
Summary: Sam's day off does not go as planned.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.
A/N: The end is in sight (finally)! I predict another two parts, if I can stick to a word limit. Oh, and I take some MASSIVE geographical liberties here, so apologies to anyone who actually does live in Manchester. Once again, thanks to everybody who's still reading. All reviews critical or otherwise are gratefully received.
“Gene, you lazy bastard, you have to get up for work.”
“Sod off,” came the muffled answer.
“Gene!”
A head slowly popped up from under the covers and Gene blinked irritably at him. “You’re no good at this, Tyler. We do not wake people up by wittering at them and annoying them. We do it nice and gently with a cup of coffee, maybe complete with a morning shag if I look like I’m in the mood.”
Sam snorted and levelled a glare at the DCI. “How about a slap, a reminder that you have a bloody case to be getting on with, and you can make your own sodding coffee?”
“Nope, you haven’t grasped the basics at all, Sammy-boy. Go on, chop chop, coffee now, there’s a good boy.”
“What part of you seriously thinks that patronising me is the best way of getting coffee?”
“The part that’s watching your lovely pert little arse go into the kitchen right now.”
Sam looked down in some surprise and realised that his legs were indeed carrying him towards the cupboard where he kept the coffee. He sighed in surrender and found a mug. He’d slept surprisingly well, given the fact that he was squashed into his tiny bed with Gene’s snores in his ear, but he’d woken up early, restless and aimless in the knowledge that it wasn’t necessary to sail into work. He didn’t really know what he was going to do with himself. On the plus side, he thought wryly, he seemed to have acquired a new career as a bloody maid.
The coffee was plonked down on the shelving above Sam’s bed.
“C’mere, Tyler,” Gene mumbled, eyes still closed and one hand blindly flailing to try and catch his DI’s shirt.
Sam dodged the hand and looked disapprovingly down on Gene. “Yes…because you’re painting such an attractive picture right now,” he said sarcastically.
Gene opened one eye slowly and then a fist shot out to grab the bottom of Sam’s untucked shirt, jerking him forwards to fall onto the bed. “You know you want me,” he murmured huskily.
“Not really, right now,” Sam replied coolly, shifting so he was no longer at a weird angle. “I just got dressed.”
“So?” Gene asked pointedly and pulled him forward by the collar to kiss him.
Sam drew back and made a face. “You taste of whiskey.”
“Again, so? You liked the taste last night.”
Gene pulled Sam down properly onto the bed, shifting so the DI was lying underneath him. Sam made a little noise of protest, frowning heavily. Gene quickly took the opportunity at his silence to lean down and kiss him again, coaxing until Sam surrendered into it and opened his mouth. They kissed leisurely until Sam pulled back, glancing pointedly at his watch.
“You’re going to be late.”
“Oh shut up, Gladys.”
Gene lowered his head to find the sensitive spot on Sam’s neck and sucked, teeth gently scraping. Sam moaned in spite of himself, his body arching up into Gene’s warmth so their hips met and rubbed together.
“Not fair. That’s going to mark, you bastard. I’ll be sporting a lovebite like I’m bloody sixteen again,” Sam panted out, meshing his hands in Gene’s hair in spite of himself.
“Never said I played fair,” Gene purred against his skin. “Besides, you love having my mark on you, you little tart. Now which button do I press to make you stop yapping?”
His hands teased buttons open and moved Sam’s shirt aside to slide fingers over his chest, moving down to unbuckle trousers and urging Sam’s hips up so he could move them down.
“Looks like you’re in the mood after all, Sammy-boy,” Gene grinned as he looked at Sam’s straining erection.
“Gene,” Sam ground out warningly, breathing out when Gene’s hand closed around him.
But Gene seemed in no hurry at all, despite his waiting CID department, and he stroked Sam slowly with a smirk plastered on his face as the DI tried to buck up, telling him to go faster. One hand quickly moved to grip Sam’s hip to stop him from pushing up, eliciting a groan of frustration.
“Gene, you sod…”
“Now, now, ask nicely, Sam,” Gene murmured huskily.
“You utter bastard, I’m not going to beg and ohhhhh…” Sam couldn’t help the escaping moan.
“C’mon, Inspector,” Gene urged. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”
Sam opened his eyes to glare but they rolled back in his head as Gene tightened his grip. “Please.”
Gene grinned his triumph and increased his speed, edging Sam headlong into a searing climax. While Sam recovered, Gene shifted his weight off of him and wiped his hand casually on the bedspread, much to Sam’s vague annoyance.
“I’m gonna have to change the sheets now,” he sighed.
“Oh I’m sorry for making you come, Gladys,” Gene said with a roll of his eyes, turning away from Sam to search for the lube. “Belt up now and be a good lad and turn over.”
“Romantic, aren’t you?” Sam grumbled.
But he did so anyway in an uncharacteristic display of subordination, gritting his teeth as Gene worked his way inside and gasping out desperate, incoherent words as he was fucked bodily into the mattress, Gene apparently not keen on leisurely pace and holding back when it came to his own pleasure. Sam’s name spilled from the DCI’s lips finally as he came, slumping and finally rolling off Sam to lie on his back, sated and happy. Sam moved on his side to face Gene, one hand trailing over the broad chest and they lay like for as long as it took for their heart rates to return.
Gene’s bliss was however temporary.
“Gene?”
“Hmm?”
“You have to get up for work.”
“Jesus, Tyler, don’t you ever stop? Why’d you ruin the moment?”
“Because you’re late,” Sam replied, and with a cheeky grin he had heaved and rolled Gene over and out of the bed.
“Bugger!” Gene said furiously from the floor. “You’ll pay for that, you little sod!”
“Later, maybe. Now go and shower.”
Gene grumbled and got up off the floor, stretching and wandering out to the bathroom. “Tyler?” he called over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Coffee will have gone cold. You’re gonna have to make another cup.”
***
The flat was empty and lonely once Gene had finally gone through the door. Sam’s contentment seemed to flee with the retreat of the camel-coated back. God, Sam had felt like a little housewife trying to get the man to work, but as exasperated as he had been, he was a bit lost as to what to do now. Everything smelt of Gene, a mixture of cigarettes and alcohol and Brut, especially his own skin, and it somehow made him feel even more alone. He showered and redressed, then turned his attention to the untidy flat and spent a good hour cleaning up, all the time scowling and feeling even more like he was Gene’s sodding wife.
Gene’s sodding wife… That made Sam pause to think. Gene hadn’t mentioned his missus since this…thing…had started, nor had he considered last night that Gene should probably go back to her instead of staying with him. He hardly talked about her at all, actually. Sam wondered what would happen if he asked Gene about her. Not a lot, he guessed grimly, apart from the fact that Gene would likely as not clam up for days.
With both himself and the flat finally clean, the sheets and his shirt changed, Sam sat on the edge of his bed gnawing his thumb, at a loss as to what to do with himself. With the restlessness came the realisation that his work was his whole bloody life. He really needed a hobby.
He thought about going out to clear his head. Maybe he could go for a leisurely browse in the music store, as he always had loved to do in his teens, and treat himself to some new records, reminisce about his childhood in the 70s and 80s. Then again, he mused bitterly, the past was not exactly something he was on friendly terms with right now. He could just go for a walk then. Maybe do some jogging.
Or he could, could go to King’s house and search it for clues.
That thought stuck and Sam was momentarily exasperated with himself. Gene was right. He really was obsessed.
Then again, no one would be home, with Sally with a friend and Jack on the run.
No. Today was supposed to be about having a break and sorting his head out.
But it wouldn’t hurt, would it? He wouldn’t do anything stupid. Gene would never know. It was his call. The fresh air would do him good, he reasoned.
He was just getting up to pull on his jacket and go when the phone rang. Sam eyed it guiltily, wondering if Gene was psychic after all, and chided himself for his racing heartbeat, moving to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Sam?”
“Guv?”
“Don’t get too pompous and excited, but we might need you after all.”
Gene sounded concerned beneath the deadpan tone and Sam swallowed thickly. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Judy, Sally’s little girl. She’s been taken. We need you down here, Sam.”
Fuck. Sam stared at the receiver blankly. How had that happened? Sally and her little girl were supposed to be protected, but King had just waltzed in and taken her? This was madness, and why the hell would King take his own niece?
Sam was only jerked out of his stupor when the tinny bellows of Gene through the phone got louder and more irritated.
“Sam! Are you there? Get your arse down here, and when you do, you better bloody behave and obey my every command, d’you hear me? Tyler!”
“Yes, guv,” Sam said automatically.
“Right. Now move!”
There was a click as the receiver was put down at the other end. Sam sat very still for a moment before he was grabbing his jacket, professional and determined. The feeling of uselessness was gone: he was back doing what he did best. And King would not win, not this time. He half flew over to the door and wrenched it open, only to stop dead.
There on his doorstep was a pair of red shoes. Little girl’s shoes.
This had gone too far.
***
Sam banged through the doors of CID with a wild look on his face, blazing into Gene’s office and chucking the red shoes onto his guv’s desk.
“He’s fucking with me, Gene!”
Gene stared at the shoes. “Where’d you get those?”
“My bloody doorstep! He’s playing with me and I can’t bloody do anything!”
“For Christ’s sake, Tyler, if you’re gonna act like a hysterical girl you can damn well go back home! Now calm down!” Gene snapped, getting to his feet and planting two hands on his desk.
Sam deflated at Gene harsh tone and sank into the nearest chair, head in his hands. “I can’t deal with this.”
Gene looked long and hard at him. Then he moved to his cabinet and withdrew a bottle of Scotch, pouring them both a glass. Sam stared at the whiskey before he knocked it back. For all his previous scolding, he had to admit that it did help just a little.
“Right. Those shoes need to get dusted for prints, although we both know it will come back with nothing. Where would he have taken her, for god’s sake? I’ve got patrols out all over Manchester, but that won’t be productive unless we have some idea of where he’ll go. He’s left us clues everywhere else, so he must have done for this too.”
“Unless he doesn’t intend to be found,” Sam shrugged helplessly. “How’s Sally?”
“Devastated, obviously, but she says King won’t hurt the girl. She’s more scared that he won’t give her back, now that he’s taken off with her.”
“Does she know where he might go?”
“She says she doesn’t, and she’s not in any fit state for me to push her about it. Fancy a go at coaxing something out, what with your ways with women?”
Sam couldn’t pinpoint Gene’s tone, unable to tell whether it was scathing or serious, so he simply shook his head. “I can’t face her, not right now. We should have protected them better, should have…”
“Should have what? Guarded her with fifty policemen? We don’t have the resources, Sam. I thought she’d be okay in hospital with Chris. Didn’t think he’d go for the kid.” Gene sighed and sank into a chair opposite Sam. “This case is a sodding nightmare.”
Sam snorted his agreement, staring blankly at the floor. “Gene, I need to go out there. I need to find her.”
“You’re not going anywhere, sunshine. You’re staying here with me and working it through, just like you bloody well taught me. This is not the time to go flying off the handle,” Gene snapped.
“But there’s no time-”
Sam was cut off by a sharp knock and Ray poked his head around the door. “Guv, we’ve just had a phone call. Photo that you gave to be shown around has apparently got a reaction - someone just called in, said King was spotted in the Cleavelands Estate.”
“Right Raymondo, let’s get down there now,” Gene said immediately, standing up and grabbing his coat.
“Let me come,” Sam demanded, standing up too.
Gene considered him briefly, but shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I need someone back here in case it turns out to be a false lead. Stay here and keep everything under control.”
“But Gene…”
“Did you not hear me? I said stay here. You’re my sodding DI, now act like it!” Gene growled warningly. “Raymondo, with me.”
The look Sam threw him was of pure hatred, but Gene ignored it and swept out of the room with Ray in tow. Sam stalked out after them to sit at his desk, scowling menacingly as Gene barked out orders.
“Cartwright, talk to Sally and see if you can get anything else useful out. She’s in the canteen with Chris. Ray, get Phyllis to put a call out to all officers in the Cleavelands area to keep an eye out until we get there and meet me at the Cortina.” They all scurried to obey him and Gene finally turned to his DI, leaning on his desk and getting up close so Sam had no choice but to meet his DCI’s eyes. “Tyler, stay here and work this through like the picky pain you are and get me something useful like I know you bloody can. And if you even dare set foot outside this station, I will take you off duty for the next month faster than you can click your bleeding heels, understand? Good.”
And he swept out of the room, Ray trailing behind him. Sam rocked back and forth in his chair for a minute, trying to contain his frustration. He needed to be out there searching, not sitting idle at his desk.
And yet deep down he knew Gene was right. This was not about tearing around Manchester, this was about piecing it all together logically, just as he had done with every other kidnapping case. At least it would be if he could bloody think straight. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to get the image of the two little red shoes out of his head.
There was a soft noise and he glanced up to see that Annie had walked tentatively over and placed a cup of tea on his desk.
“You look stressed,” she said quietly. “Drink that and take five minutes.”
And he wanted to snap at her that of course he was fucking stressed and that it would take more than a bloody cup of tea, but she looked anxious and they had barely spoken since the had split up, their friendship fragile and awkward. So he leant back, closed his eyes briefly and forced out a calmer expression.
“Thanks, Annie. This case is just getting to me, that’s all.”
“You’ll work it out, Sam. I know you will,” she said, bounce in her voice that was supposed to be upbeat but came out a little bit pleading, and Sam was once more reminded of the fact that more often than not he was still relied on to be the one with the stroke of brilliance with cases: the one who saw that tiny detail that no one else would pick up.
But he couldn’t, not with this one. His emotions were ruling and he couldn’t concentrate long enough to get past the first sentence of the case notes. He rubbed a hand over his face.
“I hope we find her,” he murmured to Annie. “You should get to the canteen and check Sally and Chris are okay. Then if they have nothing, could you go through this with me? You’ve got an eye for detail that’s probably better than mine right now.”
She nodded and turned to leave, and because he knew that the cup of tea was there for more than simply revival, it was an effort to return things to normal, he made sure he called his gratitude as she exited. She smiled briefly over her shoulder and was gone.
And he was alone once more, churning things over in his mind. He drew the file towards him and opened it, trying to concentrate on the words and facts but finding that his brain was mush instead of the usual analytical machine.
He was further interrupted by the irritating ring of his phone, a sound that he had come to despise, and he slammed a hand down on the receiver and picked it up.
“What?”
“Follow the yellow brick road, Tyler, all the way back to the start.”
He felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been tipped over his head. “J-Jack?” he gasped out.
“C’mon, Tyler, you know the way.”
“Where are you? How’d you get this number? What have you done with the girl?”
“Follow the yellow brick road, and maybe you’ll find your way home. You’ve been here before. Tin Man, Scarecrow, Lion, Dorothy: which one are you, Sam?”
Then the line went dead. “King? KING?” Sam yelled, but there was of course no reply.
What did that mean? King said he knew where he was. But that was a lie, he didn’t have a clue.
Sam wrenched the folder open and rifled through the papers desperately trying to think what he might have missed. It was something small and obvious staring at him, he was sure, and King seemed to think he could work it out and…
Wait.
Brick Road, he lived in Brick Road. Now that was a ridiculous sodding coincidence. But he wouldn’t have taken her back to his house, surely?
Hang on.
In seconds he was tearing out of the office down to the canteen, bursting in and startling Chris, Annie and Sally.
“Sally, Killer’s Den,” he said frantically, “Where did you say it was?”
“At the end of Brick Road,” she said in confusion, “But DI Tyler, he wouldn’t have…”
Sam ignored her, barking orders at Annie in interruption. “Stay here and telephone the guv and tell him King’s down at the waste ground at the end of Brick Road. Tell him to hurry.”
“Where are you going?” Annie asked, wide-eyed.
“Brick Road, of course.”
“Sam, you should wait for back-up, or let me come with you and-”
But Sam was already tearing out of the door. “No time, Annie!”
***
This area was oddly familiar. Sam stumbled along the road, eyes narrowed as he tried to work out why he mad memories of these houses and cars. He caught sight of his own worried reflection in the wing mirror of one of the parked cars and had an odd sense of déjà-vu. He knew the chimney on that factory. He recognised the empty shell of what must have once been a block of flats. He even had memory of the acrid smell of burning rubbish.
It was only when he came to the end of Brick Road and saw the billboard that it was all confirmed in his shocked mind. It was still displaying the same message as it had all those months ago when he had stumbled into this mad world.
Coming soon…
Numb, he walked through the wooden gates and into the rubbish tip where he had first opened his eyes to 1973.
And standing there in the middle of the dump was Jack King.
“Hello, Sam.”
Sam stood there facing him silently for a long time, taking it all in. My God, even the car was still there, it’s windows long since smashed, but there nonetheless. He swallowed hard and looked up at Jack, his mind penetrating the shock just enough for him to remember why he was there.
“Jack, where’s Judy?”
“She’s safe.”
“You haven’t hurt her?”
“I love the kid, I wouldn’t harm a hair on her head,” Jack spat scornfully. “Coppers on the other hand are a completely different matter.” In one swift movement, he had withdrawn a pistol and was aiming it at Sam’s head.
Sam froze, his eyes fixed on the gun as he processed this turn of events. The area was empty: there wouldn’t be any witnesses about. No help. It was just him and Jack.
Jack’s gaze flicked from Sam to the gun and back again, and he smirked. “Police issue. Could easily pass it off as yours if I put your prints on it.” Sam’s eyes widened as he guessed Jack’s intentions, and yes, Jack was wearing gloves. “Everyone knows you’re a disturbed individual. Tried to jump off a roof once, I heard. They’ll all think you just couldn’t take it, topped yourself.”
“It was all a trap,” Sam said croakily as it all came together in one sickening realisation. “The phone call to the station was a red herring I suppose to get Gene away…”
“Surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner,” Jack shrugged. “Surprised you came at all.”
Sam put his hands up very slowly, trying not to panic, all his 2007 training coming into play. “Jack, you don’t want to kill a copper,” he said carefully.
“I’ve hardly had any qualms about it before, have I?” King shrugged, a maniacal look in his eyes. “They won’t catch me if the evidence points to suicide.”
Sam shook his head, desperate to keep King talking and just as desperate to get answers. “I don’t get it. Why me? What have I done to you, Jack?”
Jack shrugged and grimaced. “It’s nothing personal, Tyler. Morgan just taught me to clear up after myself a bit too well. You should have taken his offer, Sam, and exposed Hunt as the bastard he is.”
“Gene Hunt is a good copper,” Sam snapped automatically.
“Gene Hunt is scum,” Jack spat back, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted. “And he will slip up and expose himself as just that as soon as you’re not there to stop him.”
Sam didn’t understand. “Why are you so interested in Gene?”
“Mars, Sam.”
“Mars? What, the planet?”
King gave him a funny look. “M.A.R.S.S,” he enunciated. “Each crime was a trap, you idiot, a trap designed by Morgan to wait for Gene to storm his way into doing something obviously stupid just to stop me. Do you not think that I didn’t tape our interview? That we’ve been waiting for Hunt to drag in Letts and Pricey and beat them to a pulp?”
“But he didn’t,” Sam said, with a smug smile, ridiculously proud of the DCI.
“No, he fucking hasn’t done anymore than maybe stick a toe over the line, and I’m tired and bored of waiting for an opportunity. Morgan’s a fool to delay. You’re just too dangerous to have around, Tyler, for more ways than one. So I’m going to have to dispose of you. Second time lucky, eh?”
“What?” Sam asked in spite of himself.
“You’re a difficult problem to deal with: trust me, I’ve tried before. I couldn’t believe you survived the little ‘accident’ I set up.”
“Accident? What accident?”
“That would be when I hit you with my car. This car, in fact,” he said as he indicated over his shoulder. “I thought you were dead. Bloody seemed to be, what with the lack of pulse and all. But lo and behold, Sam Williams survived, got up, and walked into the arranged undercover operation as Sam Tyler. Miraculous.”
Sam went completely blank, not wanting to consider the possibilities that entailed. His accident had been a murder attempt? He had been hit by a car, just as in 2007?
“Why not kill me after I survived?” he managed to croak out.
“I was going to, but it would have been a bit trickier with you sitting under Gene Hunt’s nose. Then my sources told me that you seemed to have concussion: no memory at all.”
“Lucky you,” Sam muttered.
“It was rather lucky, given the fact that you had enough evidence against me that if you managed to piece it all together you would have linked the Alice crimes back to me and probably realised Morgan’s involvement too. You knew something was off, got too close for comfort. You always were a bright little spark, weren’t you Sam? A bit too clever, I think.”
“Morgan wanted me dead,” Sam stated flatly, trying to get his head around all of this.
“Oh no, Morgan adored you, thought you were a good little copper, and if he could only bring you round to his way of thinking you would have been a perfect little team, or so he thought. You took some persuading though, and hell I never trusted you. I was rather shocked that you agreed to go undercover after the fire that killed Ramsay. Of course, you never knew it was deliberate, but I had thought you would have pieced it all together and turned against Morgan. Why didn’t you?”
“I d-don’t know… You mean I didn’t know the fire was arson?”
“No,” King said, regarding him coolly. “Oh well. Doesn’t matter now. You’ll get your memory back eventually and I’m not taking the risk. Kill you, and Hunt won’t have his little moral conscience anymore. He’ll break down, slip up, and the department will collapse. So you see: a dead clever boy is much better for me than a living one.”
Sam was visibly shaking now out of both fear and anger. “I don’t understand. What do you care for bent coppers?”
“That’s none of your fucking business. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Sam.” King considered him lightly and tilted his head. “Can I ask you a question?”
Sam snorted in something like amusement and rubbed his eyes. “Given that you’re calling the shots, I wonder why you feel the need to ask.”
“Why’d you call yourself Tyler still? Why not Williams, now you remember it all and Hunt knows you were undercover?”
Sam paused and looked at Jack intently. “Because I don’t remember and I’m not DI Williams.”
“What?” Jack asked, perturbed.
“Whoever I was - or may have been - then, is not me now.”
Jack clearly was confused by this, but after a minute of trying to calculate it, he shrugged. “Oh well. Tyler, Williams, it makes no difference. You won’t be anybody after today, I’m sorry you had to choose the wrong side, Sam. Goodbye.”
Title: Follow the yellow brick road (Part Eight)
Rating: Brown Cortina (Slash and swearing)
Pairings: Sam/Gene
Spoilers: 2.02, 2.07 and 2.08 are the important ones.
Summary: Sam's day off does not go as planned.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine.
A/N: The end is in sight (finally)! I predict another two parts, if I can stick to a word limit. Oh, and I take some MASSIVE geographical liberties here, so apologies to anyone who actually does live in Manchester. Once again, thanks to everybody who's still reading. All reviews critical or otherwise are gratefully received.
“Gene, you lazy bastard, you have to get up for work.”
“Sod off,” came the muffled answer.
“Gene!”
A head slowly popped up from under the covers and Gene blinked irritably at him. “You’re no good at this, Tyler. We do not wake people up by wittering at them and annoying them. We do it nice and gently with a cup of coffee, maybe complete with a morning shag if I look like I’m in the mood.”
Sam snorted and levelled a glare at the DCI. “How about a slap, a reminder that you have a bloody case to be getting on with, and you can make your own sodding coffee?”
“Nope, you haven’t grasped the basics at all, Sammy-boy. Go on, chop chop, coffee now, there’s a good boy.”
“What part of you seriously thinks that patronising me is the best way of getting coffee?”
“The part that’s watching your lovely pert little arse go into the kitchen right now.”
Sam looked down in some surprise and realised that his legs were indeed carrying him towards the cupboard where he kept the coffee. He sighed in surrender and found a mug. He’d slept surprisingly well, given the fact that he was squashed into his tiny bed with Gene’s snores in his ear, but he’d woken up early, restless and aimless in the knowledge that it wasn’t necessary to sail into work. He didn’t really know what he was going to do with himself. On the plus side, he thought wryly, he seemed to have acquired a new career as a bloody maid.
The coffee was plonked down on the shelving above Sam’s bed.
“C’mere, Tyler,” Gene mumbled, eyes still closed and one hand blindly flailing to try and catch his DI’s shirt.
Sam dodged the hand and looked disapprovingly down on Gene. “Yes…because you’re painting such an attractive picture right now,” he said sarcastically.
Gene opened one eye slowly and then a fist shot out to grab the bottom of Sam’s untucked shirt, jerking him forwards to fall onto the bed. “You know you want me,” he murmured huskily.
“Not really, right now,” Sam replied coolly, shifting so he was no longer at a weird angle. “I just got dressed.”
“So?” Gene asked pointedly and pulled him forward by the collar to kiss him.
Sam drew back and made a face. “You taste of whiskey.”
“Again, so? You liked the taste last night.”
Gene pulled Sam down properly onto the bed, shifting so the DI was lying underneath him. Sam made a little noise of protest, frowning heavily. Gene quickly took the opportunity at his silence to lean down and kiss him again, coaxing until Sam surrendered into it and opened his mouth. They kissed leisurely until Sam pulled back, glancing pointedly at his watch.
“You’re going to be late.”
“Oh shut up, Gladys.”
Gene lowered his head to find the sensitive spot on Sam’s neck and sucked, teeth gently scraping. Sam moaned in spite of himself, his body arching up into Gene’s warmth so their hips met and rubbed together.
“Not fair. That’s going to mark, you bastard. I’ll be sporting a lovebite like I’m bloody sixteen again,” Sam panted out, meshing his hands in Gene’s hair in spite of himself.
“Never said I played fair,” Gene purred against his skin. “Besides, you love having my mark on you, you little tart. Now which button do I press to make you stop yapping?”
His hands teased buttons open and moved Sam’s shirt aside to slide fingers over his chest, moving down to unbuckle trousers and urging Sam’s hips up so he could move them down.
“Looks like you’re in the mood after all, Sammy-boy,” Gene grinned as he looked at Sam’s straining erection.
“Gene,” Sam ground out warningly, breathing out when Gene’s hand closed around him.
But Gene seemed in no hurry at all, despite his waiting CID department, and he stroked Sam slowly with a smirk plastered on his face as the DI tried to buck up, telling him to go faster. One hand quickly moved to grip Sam’s hip to stop him from pushing up, eliciting a groan of frustration.
“Gene, you sod…”
“Now, now, ask nicely, Sam,” Gene murmured huskily.
“You utter bastard, I’m not going to beg and ohhhhh…” Sam couldn’t help the escaping moan.
“C’mon, Inspector,” Gene urged. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”
Sam opened his eyes to glare but they rolled back in his head as Gene tightened his grip. “Please.”
Gene grinned his triumph and increased his speed, edging Sam headlong into a searing climax. While Sam recovered, Gene shifted his weight off of him and wiped his hand casually on the bedspread, much to Sam’s vague annoyance.
“I’m gonna have to change the sheets now,” he sighed.
“Oh I’m sorry for making you come, Gladys,” Gene said with a roll of his eyes, turning away from Sam to search for the lube. “Belt up now and be a good lad and turn over.”
“Romantic, aren’t you?” Sam grumbled.
But he did so anyway in an uncharacteristic display of subordination, gritting his teeth as Gene worked his way inside and gasping out desperate, incoherent words as he was fucked bodily into the mattress, Gene apparently not keen on leisurely pace and holding back when it came to his own pleasure. Sam’s name spilled from the DCI’s lips finally as he came, slumping and finally rolling off Sam to lie on his back, sated and happy. Sam moved on his side to face Gene, one hand trailing over the broad chest and they lay like for as long as it took for their heart rates to return.
Gene’s bliss was however temporary.
“Gene?”
“Hmm?”
“You have to get up for work.”
“Jesus, Tyler, don’t you ever stop? Why’d you ruin the moment?”
“Because you’re late,” Sam replied, and with a cheeky grin he had heaved and rolled Gene over and out of the bed.
“Bugger!” Gene said furiously from the floor. “You’ll pay for that, you little sod!”
“Later, maybe. Now go and shower.”
Gene grumbled and got up off the floor, stretching and wandering out to the bathroom. “Tyler?” he called over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Coffee will have gone cold. You’re gonna have to make another cup.”
***
The flat was empty and lonely once Gene had finally gone through the door. Sam’s contentment seemed to flee with the retreat of the camel-coated back. God, Sam had felt like a little housewife trying to get the man to work, but as exasperated as he had been, he was a bit lost as to what to do now. Everything smelt of Gene, a mixture of cigarettes and alcohol and Brut, especially his own skin, and it somehow made him feel even more alone. He showered and redressed, then turned his attention to the untidy flat and spent a good hour cleaning up, all the time scowling and feeling even more like he was Gene’s sodding wife.
Gene’s sodding wife… That made Sam pause to think. Gene hadn’t mentioned his missus since this…thing…had started, nor had he considered last night that Gene should probably go back to her instead of staying with him. He hardly talked about her at all, actually. Sam wondered what would happen if he asked Gene about her. Not a lot, he guessed grimly, apart from the fact that Gene would likely as not clam up for days.
With both himself and the flat finally clean, the sheets and his shirt changed, Sam sat on the edge of his bed gnawing his thumb, at a loss as to what to do with himself. With the restlessness came the realisation that his work was his whole bloody life. He really needed a hobby.
He thought about going out to clear his head. Maybe he could go for a leisurely browse in the music store, as he always had loved to do in his teens, and treat himself to some new records, reminisce about his childhood in the 70s and 80s. Then again, he mused bitterly, the past was not exactly something he was on friendly terms with right now. He could just go for a walk then. Maybe do some jogging.
Or he could, could go to King’s house and search it for clues.
That thought stuck and Sam was momentarily exasperated with himself. Gene was right. He really was obsessed.
Then again, no one would be home, with Sally with a friend and Jack on the run.
No. Today was supposed to be about having a break and sorting his head out.
But it wouldn’t hurt, would it? He wouldn’t do anything stupid. Gene would never know. It was his call. The fresh air would do him good, he reasoned.
He was just getting up to pull on his jacket and go when the phone rang. Sam eyed it guiltily, wondering if Gene was psychic after all, and chided himself for his racing heartbeat, moving to pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Sam?”
“Guv?”
“Don’t get too pompous and excited, but we might need you after all.”
Gene sounded concerned beneath the deadpan tone and Sam swallowed thickly. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Judy, Sally’s little girl. She’s been taken. We need you down here, Sam.”
Fuck. Sam stared at the receiver blankly. How had that happened? Sally and her little girl were supposed to be protected, but King had just waltzed in and taken her? This was madness, and why the hell would King take his own niece?
Sam was only jerked out of his stupor when the tinny bellows of Gene through the phone got louder and more irritated.
“Sam! Are you there? Get your arse down here, and when you do, you better bloody behave and obey my every command, d’you hear me? Tyler!”
“Yes, guv,” Sam said automatically.
“Right. Now move!”
There was a click as the receiver was put down at the other end. Sam sat very still for a moment before he was grabbing his jacket, professional and determined. The feeling of uselessness was gone: he was back doing what he did best. And King would not win, not this time. He half flew over to the door and wrenched it open, only to stop dead.
There on his doorstep was a pair of red shoes. Little girl’s shoes.
This had gone too far.
***
Sam banged through the doors of CID with a wild look on his face, blazing into Gene’s office and chucking the red shoes onto his guv’s desk.
“He’s fucking with me, Gene!”
Gene stared at the shoes. “Where’d you get those?”
“My bloody doorstep! He’s playing with me and I can’t bloody do anything!”
“For Christ’s sake, Tyler, if you’re gonna act like a hysterical girl you can damn well go back home! Now calm down!” Gene snapped, getting to his feet and planting two hands on his desk.
Sam deflated at Gene harsh tone and sank into the nearest chair, head in his hands. “I can’t deal with this.”
Gene looked long and hard at him. Then he moved to his cabinet and withdrew a bottle of Scotch, pouring them both a glass. Sam stared at the whiskey before he knocked it back. For all his previous scolding, he had to admit that it did help just a little.
“Right. Those shoes need to get dusted for prints, although we both know it will come back with nothing. Where would he have taken her, for god’s sake? I’ve got patrols out all over Manchester, but that won’t be productive unless we have some idea of where he’ll go. He’s left us clues everywhere else, so he must have done for this too.”
“Unless he doesn’t intend to be found,” Sam shrugged helplessly. “How’s Sally?”
“Devastated, obviously, but she says King won’t hurt the girl. She’s more scared that he won’t give her back, now that he’s taken off with her.”
“Does she know where he might go?”
“She says she doesn’t, and she’s not in any fit state for me to push her about it. Fancy a go at coaxing something out, what with your ways with women?”
Sam couldn’t pinpoint Gene’s tone, unable to tell whether it was scathing or serious, so he simply shook his head. “I can’t face her, not right now. We should have protected them better, should have…”
“Should have what? Guarded her with fifty policemen? We don’t have the resources, Sam. I thought she’d be okay in hospital with Chris. Didn’t think he’d go for the kid.” Gene sighed and sank into a chair opposite Sam. “This case is a sodding nightmare.”
Sam snorted his agreement, staring blankly at the floor. “Gene, I need to go out there. I need to find her.”
“You’re not going anywhere, sunshine. You’re staying here with me and working it through, just like you bloody well taught me. This is not the time to go flying off the handle,” Gene snapped.
“But there’s no time-”
Sam was cut off by a sharp knock and Ray poked his head around the door. “Guv, we’ve just had a phone call. Photo that you gave to be shown around has apparently got a reaction - someone just called in, said King was spotted in the Cleavelands Estate.”
“Right Raymondo, let’s get down there now,” Gene said immediately, standing up and grabbing his coat.
“Let me come,” Sam demanded, standing up too.
Gene considered him briefly, but shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I need someone back here in case it turns out to be a false lead. Stay here and keep everything under control.”
“But Gene…”
“Did you not hear me? I said stay here. You’re my sodding DI, now act like it!” Gene growled warningly. “Raymondo, with me.”
The look Sam threw him was of pure hatred, but Gene ignored it and swept out of the room with Ray in tow. Sam stalked out after them to sit at his desk, scowling menacingly as Gene barked out orders.
“Cartwright, talk to Sally and see if you can get anything else useful out. She’s in the canteen with Chris. Ray, get Phyllis to put a call out to all officers in the Cleavelands area to keep an eye out until we get there and meet me at the Cortina.” They all scurried to obey him and Gene finally turned to his DI, leaning on his desk and getting up close so Sam had no choice but to meet his DCI’s eyes. “Tyler, stay here and work this through like the picky pain you are and get me something useful like I know you bloody can. And if you even dare set foot outside this station, I will take you off duty for the next month faster than you can click your bleeding heels, understand? Good.”
And he swept out of the room, Ray trailing behind him. Sam rocked back and forth in his chair for a minute, trying to contain his frustration. He needed to be out there searching, not sitting idle at his desk.
And yet deep down he knew Gene was right. This was not about tearing around Manchester, this was about piecing it all together logically, just as he had done with every other kidnapping case. At least it would be if he could bloody think straight. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to get the image of the two little red shoes out of his head.
There was a soft noise and he glanced up to see that Annie had walked tentatively over and placed a cup of tea on his desk.
“You look stressed,” she said quietly. “Drink that and take five minutes.”
And he wanted to snap at her that of course he was fucking stressed and that it would take more than a bloody cup of tea, but she looked anxious and they had barely spoken since the had split up, their friendship fragile and awkward. So he leant back, closed his eyes briefly and forced out a calmer expression.
“Thanks, Annie. This case is just getting to me, that’s all.”
“You’ll work it out, Sam. I know you will,” she said, bounce in her voice that was supposed to be upbeat but came out a little bit pleading, and Sam was once more reminded of the fact that more often than not he was still relied on to be the one with the stroke of brilliance with cases: the one who saw that tiny detail that no one else would pick up.
But he couldn’t, not with this one. His emotions were ruling and he couldn’t concentrate long enough to get past the first sentence of the case notes. He rubbed a hand over his face.
“I hope we find her,” he murmured to Annie. “You should get to the canteen and check Sally and Chris are okay. Then if they have nothing, could you go through this with me? You’ve got an eye for detail that’s probably better than mine right now.”
She nodded and turned to leave, and because he knew that the cup of tea was there for more than simply revival, it was an effort to return things to normal, he made sure he called his gratitude as she exited. She smiled briefly over her shoulder and was gone.
And he was alone once more, churning things over in his mind. He drew the file towards him and opened it, trying to concentrate on the words and facts but finding that his brain was mush instead of the usual analytical machine.
He was further interrupted by the irritating ring of his phone, a sound that he had come to despise, and he slammed a hand down on the receiver and picked it up.
“What?”
“Follow the yellow brick road, Tyler, all the way back to the start.”
He felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been tipped over his head. “J-Jack?” he gasped out.
“C’mon, Tyler, you know the way.”
“Where are you? How’d you get this number? What have you done with the girl?”
“Follow the yellow brick road, and maybe you’ll find your way home. You’ve been here before. Tin Man, Scarecrow, Lion, Dorothy: which one are you, Sam?”
Then the line went dead. “King? KING?” Sam yelled, but there was of course no reply.
What did that mean? King said he knew where he was. But that was a lie, he didn’t have a clue.
Sam wrenched the folder open and rifled through the papers desperately trying to think what he might have missed. It was something small and obvious staring at him, he was sure, and King seemed to think he could work it out and…
Wait.
Brick Road, he lived in Brick Road. Now that was a ridiculous sodding coincidence. But he wouldn’t have taken her back to his house, surely?
Hang on.
In seconds he was tearing out of the office down to the canteen, bursting in and startling Chris, Annie and Sally.
“Sally, Killer’s Den,” he said frantically, “Where did you say it was?”
“At the end of Brick Road,” she said in confusion, “But DI Tyler, he wouldn’t have…”
Sam ignored her, barking orders at Annie in interruption. “Stay here and telephone the guv and tell him King’s down at the waste ground at the end of Brick Road. Tell him to hurry.”
“Where are you going?” Annie asked, wide-eyed.
“Brick Road, of course.”
“Sam, you should wait for back-up, or let me come with you and-”
But Sam was already tearing out of the door. “No time, Annie!”
***
This area was oddly familiar. Sam stumbled along the road, eyes narrowed as he tried to work out why he mad memories of these houses and cars. He caught sight of his own worried reflection in the wing mirror of one of the parked cars and had an odd sense of déjà-vu. He knew the chimney on that factory. He recognised the empty shell of what must have once been a block of flats. He even had memory of the acrid smell of burning rubbish.
It was only when he came to the end of Brick Road and saw the billboard that it was all confirmed in his shocked mind. It was still displaying the same message as it had all those months ago when he had stumbled into this mad world.
Coming soon…
Numb, he walked through the wooden gates and into the rubbish tip where he had first opened his eyes to 1973.
And standing there in the middle of the dump was Jack King.
“Hello, Sam.”
Sam stood there facing him silently for a long time, taking it all in. My God, even the car was still there, it’s windows long since smashed, but there nonetheless. He swallowed hard and looked up at Jack, his mind penetrating the shock just enough for him to remember why he was there.
“Jack, where’s Judy?”
“She’s safe.”
“You haven’t hurt her?”
“I love the kid, I wouldn’t harm a hair on her head,” Jack spat scornfully. “Coppers on the other hand are a completely different matter.” In one swift movement, he had withdrawn a pistol and was aiming it at Sam’s head.
Sam froze, his eyes fixed on the gun as he processed this turn of events. The area was empty: there wouldn’t be any witnesses about. No help. It was just him and Jack.
Jack’s gaze flicked from Sam to the gun and back again, and he smirked. “Police issue. Could easily pass it off as yours if I put your prints on it.” Sam’s eyes widened as he guessed Jack’s intentions, and yes, Jack was wearing gloves. “Everyone knows you’re a disturbed individual. Tried to jump off a roof once, I heard. They’ll all think you just couldn’t take it, topped yourself.”
“It was all a trap,” Sam said croakily as it all came together in one sickening realisation. “The phone call to the station was a red herring I suppose to get Gene away…”
“Surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner,” Jack shrugged. “Surprised you came at all.”
Sam put his hands up very slowly, trying not to panic, all his 2007 training coming into play. “Jack, you don’t want to kill a copper,” he said carefully.
“I’ve hardly had any qualms about it before, have I?” King shrugged, a maniacal look in his eyes. “They won’t catch me if the evidence points to suicide.”
Sam shook his head, desperate to keep King talking and just as desperate to get answers. “I don’t get it. Why me? What have I done to you, Jack?”
Jack shrugged and grimaced. “It’s nothing personal, Tyler. Morgan just taught me to clear up after myself a bit too well. You should have taken his offer, Sam, and exposed Hunt as the bastard he is.”
“Gene Hunt is a good copper,” Sam snapped automatically.
“Gene Hunt is scum,” Jack spat back, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted. “And he will slip up and expose himself as just that as soon as you’re not there to stop him.”
Sam didn’t understand. “Why are you so interested in Gene?”
“Mars, Sam.”
“Mars? What, the planet?”
King gave him a funny look. “M.A.R.S.S,” he enunciated. “Each crime was a trap, you idiot, a trap designed by Morgan to wait for Gene to storm his way into doing something obviously stupid just to stop me. Do you not think that I didn’t tape our interview? That we’ve been waiting for Hunt to drag in Letts and Pricey and beat them to a pulp?”
“But he didn’t,” Sam said, with a smug smile, ridiculously proud of the DCI.
“No, he fucking hasn’t done anymore than maybe stick a toe over the line, and I’m tired and bored of waiting for an opportunity. Morgan’s a fool to delay. You’re just too dangerous to have around, Tyler, for more ways than one. So I’m going to have to dispose of you. Second time lucky, eh?”
“What?” Sam asked in spite of himself.
“You’re a difficult problem to deal with: trust me, I’ve tried before. I couldn’t believe you survived the little ‘accident’ I set up.”
“Accident? What accident?”
“That would be when I hit you with my car. This car, in fact,” he said as he indicated over his shoulder. “I thought you were dead. Bloody seemed to be, what with the lack of pulse and all. But lo and behold, Sam Williams survived, got up, and walked into the arranged undercover operation as Sam Tyler. Miraculous.”
Sam went completely blank, not wanting to consider the possibilities that entailed. His accident had been a murder attempt? He had been hit by a car, just as in 2007?
“Why not kill me after I survived?” he managed to croak out.
“I was going to, but it would have been a bit trickier with you sitting under Gene Hunt’s nose. Then my sources told me that you seemed to have concussion: no memory at all.”
“Lucky you,” Sam muttered.
“It was rather lucky, given the fact that you had enough evidence against me that if you managed to piece it all together you would have linked the Alice crimes back to me and probably realised Morgan’s involvement too. You knew something was off, got too close for comfort. You always were a bright little spark, weren’t you Sam? A bit too clever, I think.”
“Morgan wanted me dead,” Sam stated flatly, trying to get his head around all of this.
“Oh no, Morgan adored you, thought you were a good little copper, and if he could only bring you round to his way of thinking you would have been a perfect little team, or so he thought. You took some persuading though, and hell I never trusted you. I was rather shocked that you agreed to go undercover after the fire that killed Ramsay. Of course, you never knew it was deliberate, but I had thought you would have pieced it all together and turned against Morgan. Why didn’t you?”
“I d-don’t know… You mean I didn’t know the fire was arson?”
“No,” King said, regarding him coolly. “Oh well. Doesn’t matter now. You’ll get your memory back eventually and I’m not taking the risk. Kill you, and Hunt won’t have his little moral conscience anymore. He’ll break down, slip up, and the department will collapse. So you see: a dead clever boy is much better for me than a living one.”
Sam was visibly shaking now out of both fear and anger. “I don’t understand. What do you care for bent coppers?”
“That’s none of your fucking business. I’m sorry it has to be this way, Sam.” King considered him lightly and tilted his head. “Can I ask you a question?”
Sam snorted in something like amusement and rubbed his eyes. “Given that you’re calling the shots, I wonder why you feel the need to ask.”
“Why’d you call yourself Tyler still? Why not Williams, now you remember it all and Hunt knows you were undercover?”
Sam paused and looked at Jack intently. “Because I don’t remember and I’m not DI Williams.”
“What?” Jack asked, perturbed.
“Whoever I was - or may have been - then, is not me now.”
Jack clearly was confused by this, but after a minute of trying to calculate it, he shrugged. “Oh well. Tyler, Williams, it makes no difference. You won’t be anybody after today, I’m sorry you had to choose the wrong side, Sam. Goodbye.”