Fic: Broken Mirror
“Got one.” Simmons jerked his thumb. “He’s in the bedroom. Alive like you said.”
Vic smiled. “Good.”
“Don’t see the point if you’re only going to kill him anyway.”
Vic cuffed him sharply on the head. “You don’t need to see the point.” It was one of the rules of this game: don’t answer to minions. The boss’s plan was the boss’s plan. They didn’t need to know the details.
Good thing. With this plan, they weren’t going to like the details.
He was going to take down Gene Hunt. Drag everything he cared for out in front of him, and destroy it. Make him regret that he’d ever crossed Vic Tyler. Make him lose everything.
The way Vic had lost everything when Hunt had started investigating him.
And the opening shot was going to be one of his men not just dead, but left in a condition that would set Hunt off worse than a red rag in front of a bull.
Vic stepped into the bedroom. They’d grabbed that nutter, Tyler. The DI. The sap. Tied up with tape over his mouth, squirming around on the bed.
Not Vic’s first choice for this kind of thing (that would have been the young DC: pretty and dim), but not a bad option. Shouldn’t be awake, though. He was supposed to be doped up enough to take the fight out of him.
Vic walked over to the bed, and ran his hand over the copper’s face. “Now you be good, and don’t fight me, and this won’t hurt more than it needs to. You’re not getting away, but it’ll be over soon. And no sense suffering when you don’t need to.” He peeled off the tape.
Tyler blinked. “Dad?”
Apparently he had been doped, then.
Still, this could make things easier. Vic wasn’t all that interested in making this poor bastard suffer; what he had in mind would hurt Hunt well enough as it was.
“Hey...son.” Vic ran a hand through the copper’s hair. “Sammy.”
It was too bad about the name. Unsettling. It kept making him think of his little Sammy.
He’d kill any bastard who did this sort of thing to his boy.
“Dad, I waited for you.” The copper sounded desperate. “I waited so long for you to come back. And I tried to fix everything. But there wasn’t...there wasn’t a way.”
“I know, Sam. It’s okay.” Vic reached down and unbuttoned the copper’s shirt. “I need you to be good, now. Do what I tell you.”
“Dad, I can’t wake up. I’ve tried everything. I thought if I sorted it out, and you could stay, then I could wake up. I don’t know what to do.” He sounded like he was ready to cry. His eyes darted around the room in an unfocused blur. “Dad, help.”
“Shush, Sammy.” Vic slid the copper’s shirt open. “I’ll help. Just be a good boy.”
The copper nodded.
Vic reached down and undid the copper’s trousers. There wasn’t a word of protest. Just those wide, staring eyes.
Eyes like little Sammy’s. The same color, at least.
His hair was a bit like Sam’s, too. What Sam’s might grow into.
Vic rolled the copper over on his stomach. It’d be easier that way.
“Now I’m going to cut your bonds. This isn’t going to hurt...Sammy.” Bloody hell, it was creepy calling him that. “Just be a good boy and don’t make trouble.”
The copper nodded into the mattress.
Vic slid the knife out of his pocket. This whole mess was making him nervous. This strange, daft copper was the spookiest part. When Vic had run the plan through his head, he’d thought of a copper fighting like hell or being out cold from the dope. Not just lying there, taking it.
And then there was...the other thing.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Sam?” Why did he have to be named Sam? Of all the lunatic coppers in the world, why this one?
“You’ll get me out of here, right? Out of this place?”
“Don’t worry, son.” Vic slit the ropes around the copper’s wrist. “I’ll take you quite out of this world.”
---
The copper let out a soft, unhappy groan as Vic slicked him up with Vaseline, but didn’t speak.
Vic had done this before, sort of. With birds. Willing ones, or willing enough. As willing as the women in the films got. He knew things needed to be slicked up properly or he stood a fair chance of hurting himself.
He’d never done this to a bloke, before. He’d been happy enough with women. But Hunt would learn about it from the autopsy.
And he could guess what it would to a man like Hunt to know one of his officers had been buggered before he died.
“Dad,” said the copper.
“Don’t!” Vic hissed. Did he need to keep going on about that?
The copper started to pull himself upright. “Dad, what are you doing?”
“Helping.” Vic rubbed more Vaseline on his own cock. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
The copper hiked himself up on one elbow, and looked back at Vic. The long stare seemed to take in Vic’s shiny, erect cock, the trousers bunched around the copper’s ankles, and even the knife on the corner of the bed.
Vic had to look away. Those eyes were just too much.
“Is this what you want?” the copper asked. “Is...this it, Dad?” He didn’t sound frightened or disgusted, just kind of sad.
“Yes,” said Vic. “It’ll be easier if you let me.”
There were a few deep breaths. “And you’ll help me, afterwards? Let me go home?”
“I will,” Vic replied, in the most confident voice he could muster. Home was probably something as daft as this ‘Dad’ business.
Still, it wouldn’t matter, soon.
The copper stared a moment longer, then dropped flat on the bed. “Make it quick. Please.”
Vic stood there a moment, gaping. The bloody lunatic was going to let him? Not even try to fight him?
Part of his mind put that together with the ‘Dad’ business, and his erection nearly wilted.
But Vic had got good at not thinking about things that could create problems. It was how he’d got so far.
---
It wasn’t that difficult in the end. Once he was in.
He fell into a rhythm. Forgot why he was doing it. Forgot everything that felt off.
Hell, he nearly forgot it was a bloke.
The daft copper stayed silent, his face buried in a pillow, just letting himself be buggered.
Vic came with a grunt, deep inside the copper, leaving the only mark of this that anyone could find.
It wasn’t until after, when Vic had pulled out, that the copper rolled over. And Vic saw the tears.
In those eyes. Those eyes too much like his little Sammy’s. Vic had to turn away and get dressed.
It was that or be sick.
---
The copper didn’t flinch when he saw the knife. Didn’t look frightened.
Just stared up at Vic with those same eyes. And tilted his head back, baring his neck.
“Boss!” There was a knock on the door.
Vic dropped the knife on the floor. “What?” He turned and stepped towards the door.
“The rozzers! They’re onto us! Jimmy says they’re on their way!”
Vic opened the door. “Okay. Stay calm. We need to clear out fast.”
Simmons peered past Vic. “That one dead?”
“No. Lucky that. You want them finding a dead cop when they’re this hot on our tail?” It would be suicide. Particularly after what Vic had done.
If he was lucky, the copper would be too dopey to remember. Or too ashamed to talk about it. Or too mad to make sense.
If not...well, Vic wouldn’t get anything out of killing him anyway. And he’d rather not face those eyes again.
“So what do we do about him?”
“Leave him. Run.”
---
“He’s in here, sir!” Annie’s voice.
Sam blinked his eyes. His head still felt fuzzy, but less off. More real.
Whatever they’d drugged him with must be wearing off.
He sat up slowly, his body telling him exactly how real all of that had been.
His dad - Vic, he corrected himself; Vic - had been surprisingly careful. So it wasn’t really painful, physically. Just a bit sore.
He looked up at Annie.
He was able to meet her eyes for nearly a second before looking away.
“Are you all right, sir?” she asked. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”
Sam shook his head. “I’m fine. Tired. They drugged me.” He held out his arm, pointing to the needle mark.
“Why would they do that?” Annie stepped closer, noticing his shirt and trousers in a heap by the bed.
“Not sure. I think,” he said, “they were arguing about killing me. One of them might have wanted a police hostage. But I might not remember right.”
The dope was definitely wearing off. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to lie this well.
He bent over sideways and picked up his shirt. “No idea why they stripped me down to my vest and pants.”
Gene stepped through the door. “Probably looking for your tits, Gladys. Imagine their disappointment in learning you weren’t really a woman.”
Sam slipped his shirt on and began buttoning it.
“Sam...sir, do you need to go to the hospital?” Annie looked back at Gene. “He’s been drugged.”
Sam shook his head. “No. It’s pretty much worn off. I just need to go home and sleep.” Maybe throw up. Shower several dozen times. Get stinking drunk. Argue with the girl from the test card. Try to forget what just happened. Tell himself it was just a particularly nasty twist in a long, strange hallucination.
That in reality...Vic hadn’t done...that to him. And that he hadn’t just rolled over and taken it.
“Sir, I think we should have DI Tyler looked at by a doctor.”
“If Marjorie here doesn’t want to see a doctor, no sense making him. You all right, DI?” Gene gave Sam a penetrating stare.
Sam was getting better at the eye contact thing. Maybe two seconds. Long enough to say, “Yes,” before looking away.
At this rate, he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror inside a fortnight.
“Good man. Go sleep it off.” Gene rested a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Clear out, sweetheart. Let the man get dressed in peace.”
Annie gave him one more worried look. “Sam, who was it?”
Sam shook his head. “No idea. Didn’t recognize them.”
“I heard it was Vic Tyler.” It was the first time any of them had said that name since the day Sam pulled a gun on Gene.
“Might have been. I didn’t see him.” Sam didn’t have to look up to feel her eyes move across his face.
“That’s enough, now. I know you birds go wild for a look at his scrawny arse, but not while we’re working.” Gene steered Annie out of the room.
When the door was safely shut, Sam climbed out of bed. He slid his trousers on, and then his shoes.
It was tying his shoes that made him notice the knife. The one Vic was ready to cut his throat with.
“An hour earlier or a minute later,” Sam muttered. He bent down and picked it up.
“Were you a good boy for Daddy, Sam?”
Sam looked up. She couldn’t be here. There wasn’t a television in the room.
But there was a mirror. A large one over the wardrobe. And she was there, holding her clown.
“That’s cheating,” he said.
“You always wanted your daddy to love you, Sam. Didn’t you like it?”
He flung the knife at the mirror. It shattered in a satisfying fashion.
“Sam!” Annie shouted, from the other side of the door.
“It’s nothing,” he called. “I’m fine. Thought I saw a rat.” He stood up, and tucked his belt into place.
Down on the floor, the hundreds of glass splinters all held tiny images of the little girl.
“That wasn’t nice, Sammy. I thought you wanted your daddy to love you.”
Sam took particular satisfaction in grinding a splinter under his feet.
Vic smiled. “Good.”
“Don’t see the point if you’re only going to kill him anyway.”
Vic cuffed him sharply on the head. “You don’t need to see the point.” It was one of the rules of this game: don’t answer to minions. The boss’s plan was the boss’s plan. They didn’t need to know the details.
Good thing. With this plan, they weren’t going to like the details.
He was going to take down Gene Hunt. Drag everything he cared for out in front of him, and destroy it. Make him regret that he’d ever crossed Vic Tyler. Make him lose everything.
The way Vic had lost everything when Hunt had started investigating him.
And the opening shot was going to be one of his men not just dead, but left in a condition that would set Hunt off worse than a red rag in front of a bull.
Vic stepped into the bedroom. They’d grabbed that nutter, Tyler. The DI. The sap. Tied up with tape over his mouth, squirming around on the bed.
Not Vic’s first choice for this kind of thing (that would have been the young DC: pretty and dim), but not a bad option. Shouldn’t be awake, though. He was supposed to be doped up enough to take the fight out of him.
Vic walked over to the bed, and ran his hand over the copper’s face. “Now you be good, and don’t fight me, and this won’t hurt more than it needs to. You’re not getting away, but it’ll be over soon. And no sense suffering when you don’t need to.” He peeled off the tape.
Tyler blinked. “Dad?”
Apparently he had been doped, then.
Still, this could make things easier. Vic wasn’t all that interested in making this poor bastard suffer; what he had in mind would hurt Hunt well enough as it was.
“Hey...son.” Vic ran a hand through the copper’s hair. “Sammy.”
It was too bad about the name. Unsettling. It kept making him think of his little Sammy.
He’d kill any bastard who did this sort of thing to his boy.
“Dad, I waited for you.” The copper sounded desperate. “I waited so long for you to come back. And I tried to fix everything. But there wasn’t...there wasn’t a way.”
“I know, Sam. It’s okay.” Vic reached down and unbuttoned the copper’s shirt. “I need you to be good, now. Do what I tell you.”
“Dad, I can’t wake up. I’ve tried everything. I thought if I sorted it out, and you could stay, then I could wake up. I don’t know what to do.” He sounded like he was ready to cry. His eyes darted around the room in an unfocused blur. “Dad, help.”
“Shush, Sammy.” Vic slid the copper’s shirt open. “I’ll help. Just be a good boy.”
The copper nodded.
Vic reached down and undid the copper’s trousers. There wasn’t a word of protest. Just those wide, staring eyes.
Eyes like little Sammy’s. The same color, at least.
His hair was a bit like Sam’s, too. What Sam’s might grow into.
Vic rolled the copper over on his stomach. It’d be easier that way.
“Now I’m going to cut your bonds. This isn’t going to hurt...Sammy.” Bloody hell, it was creepy calling him that. “Just be a good boy and don’t make trouble.”
The copper nodded into the mattress.
Vic slid the knife out of his pocket. This whole mess was making him nervous. This strange, daft copper was the spookiest part. When Vic had run the plan through his head, he’d thought of a copper fighting like hell or being out cold from the dope. Not just lying there, taking it.
And then there was...the other thing.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Sam?” Why did he have to be named Sam? Of all the lunatic coppers in the world, why this one?
“You’ll get me out of here, right? Out of this place?”
“Don’t worry, son.” Vic slit the ropes around the copper’s wrist. “I’ll take you quite out of this world.”
---
The copper let out a soft, unhappy groan as Vic slicked him up with Vaseline, but didn’t speak.
Vic had done this before, sort of. With birds. Willing ones, or willing enough. As willing as the women in the films got. He knew things needed to be slicked up properly or he stood a fair chance of hurting himself.
He’d never done this to a bloke, before. He’d been happy enough with women. But Hunt would learn about it from the autopsy.
And he could guess what it would to a man like Hunt to know one of his officers had been buggered before he died.
“Dad,” said the copper.
“Don’t!” Vic hissed. Did he need to keep going on about that?
The copper started to pull himself upright. “Dad, what are you doing?”
“Helping.” Vic rubbed more Vaseline on his own cock. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
The copper hiked himself up on one elbow, and looked back at Vic. The long stare seemed to take in Vic’s shiny, erect cock, the trousers bunched around the copper’s ankles, and even the knife on the corner of the bed.
Vic had to look away. Those eyes were just too much.
“Is this what you want?” the copper asked. “Is...this it, Dad?” He didn’t sound frightened or disgusted, just kind of sad.
“Yes,” said Vic. “It’ll be easier if you let me.”
There were a few deep breaths. “And you’ll help me, afterwards? Let me go home?”
“I will,” Vic replied, in the most confident voice he could muster. Home was probably something as daft as this ‘Dad’ business.
Still, it wouldn’t matter, soon.
The copper stared a moment longer, then dropped flat on the bed. “Make it quick. Please.”
Vic stood there a moment, gaping. The bloody lunatic was going to let him? Not even try to fight him?
Part of his mind put that together with the ‘Dad’ business, and his erection nearly wilted.
But Vic had got good at not thinking about things that could create problems. It was how he’d got so far.
---
It wasn’t that difficult in the end. Once he was in.
He fell into a rhythm. Forgot why he was doing it. Forgot everything that felt off.
Hell, he nearly forgot it was a bloke.
The daft copper stayed silent, his face buried in a pillow, just letting himself be buggered.
Vic came with a grunt, deep inside the copper, leaving the only mark of this that anyone could find.
It wasn’t until after, when Vic had pulled out, that the copper rolled over. And Vic saw the tears.
In those eyes. Those eyes too much like his little Sammy’s. Vic had to turn away and get dressed.
It was that or be sick.
---
The copper didn’t flinch when he saw the knife. Didn’t look frightened.
Just stared up at Vic with those same eyes. And tilted his head back, baring his neck.
“Boss!” There was a knock on the door.
Vic dropped the knife on the floor. “What?” He turned and stepped towards the door.
“The rozzers! They’re onto us! Jimmy says they’re on their way!”
Vic opened the door. “Okay. Stay calm. We need to clear out fast.”
Simmons peered past Vic. “That one dead?”
“No. Lucky that. You want them finding a dead cop when they’re this hot on our tail?” It would be suicide. Particularly after what Vic had done.
If he was lucky, the copper would be too dopey to remember. Or too ashamed to talk about it. Or too mad to make sense.
If not...well, Vic wouldn’t get anything out of killing him anyway. And he’d rather not face those eyes again.
“So what do we do about him?”
“Leave him. Run.”
---
“He’s in here, sir!” Annie’s voice.
Sam blinked his eyes. His head still felt fuzzy, but less off. More real.
Whatever they’d drugged him with must be wearing off.
He sat up slowly, his body telling him exactly how real all of that had been.
His dad - Vic, he corrected himself; Vic - had been surprisingly careful. So it wasn’t really painful, physically. Just a bit sore.
He looked up at Annie.
He was able to meet her eyes for nearly a second before looking away.
“Are you all right, sir?” she asked. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”
Sam shook his head. “I’m fine. Tired. They drugged me.” He held out his arm, pointing to the needle mark.
“Why would they do that?” Annie stepped closer, noticing his shirt and trousers in a heap by the bed.
“Not sure. I think,” he said, “they were arguing about killing me. One of them might have wanted a police hostage. But I might not remember right.”
The dope was definitely wearing off. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to lie this well.
He bent over sideways and picked up his shirt. “No idea why they stripped me down to my vest and pants.”
Gene stepped through the door. “Probably looking for your tits, Gladys. Imagine their disappointment in learning you weren’t really a woman.”
Sam slipped his shirt on and began buttoning it.
“Sam...sir, do you need to go to the hospital?” Annie looked back at Gene. “He’s been drugged.”
Sam shook his head. “No. It’s pretty much worn off. I just need to go home and sleep.” Maybe throw up. Shower several dozen times. Get stinking drunk. Argue with the girl from the test card. Try to forget what just happened. Tell himself it was just a particularly nasty twist in a long, strange hallucination.
That in reality...Vic hadn’t done...that to him. And that he hadn’t just rolled over and taken it.
“Sir, I think we should have DI Tyler looked at by a doctor.”
“If Marjorie here doesn’t want to see a doctor, no sense making him. You all right, DI?” Gene gave Sam a penetrating stare.
Sam was getting better at the eye contact thing. Maybe two seconds. Long enough to say, “Yes,” before looking away.
At this rate, he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror inside a fortnight.
“Good man. Go sleep it off.” Gene rested a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Clear out, sweetheart. Let the man get dressed in peace.”
Annie gave him one more worried look. “Sam, who was it?”
Sam shook his head. “No idea. Didn’t recognize them.”
“I heard it was Vic Tyler.” It was the first time any of them had said that name since the day Sam pulled a gun on Gene.
“Might have been. I didn’t see him.” Sam didn’t have to look up to feel her eyes move across his face.
“That’s enough, now. I know you birds go wild for a look at his scrawny arse, but not while we’re working.” Gene steered Annie out of the room.
When the door was safely shut, Sam climbed out of bed. He slid his trousers on, and then his shoes.
It was tying his shoes that made him notice the knife. The one Vic was ready to cut his throat with.
“An hour earlier or a minute later,” Sam muttered. He bent down and picked it up.
“Were you a good boy for Daddy, Sam?”
Sam looked up. She couldn’t be here. There wasn’t a television in the room.
But there was a mirror. A large one over the wardrobe. And she was there, holding her clown.
“That’s cheating,” he said.
“You always wanted your daddy to love you, Sam. Didn’t you like it?”
He flung the knife at the mirror. It shattered in a satisfying fashion.
“Sam!” Annie shouted, from the other side of the door.
“It’s nothing,” he called. “I’m fine. Thought I saw a rat.” He stood up, and tucked his belt into place.
Down on the floor, the hundreds of glass splinters all held tiny images of the little girl.
“That wasn’t nice, Sammy. I thought you wanted your daddy to love you.”
Sam took particular satisfaction in grinding a splinter under his feet.