Fic: The Kept Man (34/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (34/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1669 this part; [63,298 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Oh hello little angst monkey. Where have you been? Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
The Railway Arms was as it always was on a weekday evening, only slightly less raucous than a typical Friday or Saturday night. Ray and Clive were already engrossed in a less-than-intense darts match, Chris was trying and failing to chat up the barmaid, and Nelson was wincing as yet another glass was broken somewhere in the background.
It was all calm and relaxed, as per usual, except for the fidgeting man beside him. Tyler looked about ready to jump out of his skin as he stood next Hunt in the doorway, observing everything with a more suspicious eye than Gene.
“It’s just a pub,” he muttered to Sam as they moved to the bar.
“I know,” Sam retorted.
“So what’s the matter?” Gene leaned heavily on the counter, waiting for Nelson, who was serving down at the other end. He watched Sam, waiting for a reply. The pale man opened his mouth, shut it again, then rubbed the back of his head as he looked around the room once more. Gene was about to question him again, when the barman finally appeared.
“Good evening DCI Hunt. And what will it be tonight?” Nelson asked cheerily.
“Pint of bitter and a whisky chaser. Sam?”
Sam was still glancing nervously around the room, as if expecting a bomb to go off any second.
“Tyler,” Gene snapped and grabbed his attention.
“Oh, uhm, sorry. I, uhm, I don’t have any money,” he kept rubbing the back of his head, then dropped his hands and started wringing them together.
“Fine. What are you drinking?” Gene asked again, sitting still as much as Sam was twitching.
“Well, I guess, pint of bitter. A light one. Do you have a pale ale? I’ll take that,” Sam blurted out.
“No problem, mon brave,” Nelson eyed him warily as he moved to the pumps.
“Will you calm down?” Gene rolled his eyes. “You’re more nervous than a spackhead in a dance contest.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this,” Sam held out his hands, motioning to the revelry.
“You’re not used to a pub?”
“I’m not used to normality,” he sighed as the pints arrived just in time.
“Nelson. ‘Nother whisky.” A second tumbler was placed by Gene’s pint and he slid it over to Sam. “Get that down yeh. Nothin’ like a bit of Dutch courage to help relax even your wound up little arse.” Gene picked up his own glass and began to sip.
“You weren’t complaining about the tightness of my arse the other night,” Sam replied deftly as he threw back his own whisky, smirking slightly as he caused Gene to choke on his drink. “I think I’ll need more of those, if I’m going to unwind, though,” Sam said sadly as he stared into his now empty glass.
“DI Tyler!” Cartwright had finally spotted them and was waving Sam over. Tyler looked at Gene before moving.
“Go on,” the aggravated Guv sighed. “You do what you like. I’m not your keeper.”
“Yeah, but you’re the only one I trust,” Sam remarked off-handedly, before grabbing his pint, sitting with Annie, and causing Gene to choke on his drink for the second time that evening.
Hunt spent most of the evening as far away from Tyler as possible. It was good for him to mingle with his coworkers socially, it would help them work better as a team, and he didn’t want Sam to think he was watching his every move. A glance every now and then, just to make sure he was coping alright, that was fine, but Sam needed to get some mates.
The Guv was slightly disappointed that his new DI only chatted with WPC Cartwright all night, but if that was Sam’s choice, that was his choice. Cartwright had something about her, something that could put any man at ease, and she was using those skills to help settle Tyler’s continuously jittery nerves. So, as long as Tyler wasn’t pouting in the corner, all by himself, it had to be considered an improvement.
Though, that was what happened when Cartwright finally left for home. Gene observed him at first, waited to see what he would do. Chris was also sitting by himself now, and Hunt hoped Sam would join their DC at his table. No luck, though, as Sam, after sitting anxiously in the center of the pub where Annie had left him, picked up his half-empty pint and moved to the far corner.
Gene finished his round of darts, grabbed another couple of pints from Nelson, and joined the DI in the corner. “So?” He asked, setting the beer down on the table. “Nice pub, innit?”
“Jukebox isn’t bad,” the slightly intoxicated Sam mumbled.
“Fancy doin’ this more often?” Gene eyed him over his pint glass.
“Beats the alternative,” Sam shrugged with less hope than Gene would’ve liked.
“Right.” He wanted to say something more encouraging, but the alcohol had slowed his brain and he couldn’t think of a single thing that might help cheer Sam up.
“Is nice, though,” Sam sighed. “Nice to go out and enjoy myself and not...not have to perform.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
It was another question any other bloke would have answered immediately. Sam, though, had to think on it carefully. Gene could see him analyzing every scrap of information in his brain, before he decided upon an answer.
“I would like to say yes,” he finally announced.
“But?”
“No. No buts,” he stared enigmatically into the distance. Gene decided to leave it at that.
The fresh pints finished a half hour later, Gene knew it was time to get the wobbly Inspector home. He hoisted the compliant Sam out of the chair by his collar, and half-dragged, half-carried him out into the fresh night air.
“Right, Gladys. Get in the car. Let’s get you home.”
“I...I would like to go back to my flat. The flat. And I would like to go back alone,” Sam proclaimed as Gene tried to load him into the Cortina.
“Alright. Best let me drive yeh there though, or you’ll never get there on those rubber legs of yours.”
Sam carefully thought about it. “Okay. Yeah. I’m going to allow you to drive me home,” he nodded and got in the car.
“Well, thank you, Miss Manners,” Gene rolled his eyes.
The drive was quiet, as Sam wasn’t up for much conversation after so many drinks, and Gene wasn’t one for conversation period. He pulled up to the building and put the car in park, waiting for Tyler to unload himself.
“Sam. We’re here.”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks,” he stirred in the seat, then cautiously put his hand on Gene’s, which was still resting on the gear shift. “Thank you. For letting me come along. I think I did enjoy myself,” Sam stared at their hands and smiled, rubbing his thumb gently across the exposed flesh peaking out from Gene’s driving gloves. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he quickly drew back his hand and exited the car. Gene needed a minute to compose himself before speeding off to his own home.
*
Hangovers were something he was not used to, at least not on days when he had to work. The times he had allowed himself to get drunk, at home, he always made sure it was on a Friday or Saturday when he didn’t have to work the next day. His adventure to the pub had been a day too early.
He shoved a few pieces of stale bread down his throat and drank as much water as he could handle, hoping the canteen would have some sort of drinkable juice, and maybe some oatmeal. The oatmeal had been surprisingly decent yesterday.
The brisk walk to the station helped cleared his fuzzy brain, but he could remember everything and knew he had nothing to regret. Nothing that he regretted come morning. That was certainly a new feeling. By the time he reached the station, Sam realized he was in something dangerously close to a good mood. He even decided to take the stairs to CID, which was when he first heard the commotion from above.
Dashing up the final flight, he emerged on the corridor to see a crowd of officers at the other end in what appeared to be a struggle with a suspect. Gene was standing just back from the throng and, only by chance, spotted Sam’s arrival. He hurried over and took him gently by the arm, pushing him to the side of the hall.
“Gene, what...”
“Traffic plod picked ‘im up this morning for speeding. Recognized ‘im and brought ‘im in,” he explained calmly.
“Who?”
Gene took a deep breath. “Edwards.”
Instead of pain, Sam allowed numbness to fill him as he shrugged off Gene’s hand and stepped into the center of the hall. The crowd was parting and a fuming Charlie Edwards was forced forward by a handful of officers.
“YOU!” Edwards bellowed the second he spotted Sam standing there. He fought to get to him, but the officers held him back. “You cock-sucking, little prick! You killed ‘im you fucking, used up arsehole! He gave you everything, he saved you, an’ you killed ‘im! All you ‘ad to do was bend over an’ let ‘im fuck you. What? That get too hard for yeh? Or din’t it get yeh hard enough, anymore? Fucking, twisted, little queer! You filthy, bastard, buggered, rent boy!”
Sam closed his eyes. When he came round, he was sitting in Gene’s office. There was a blanket over his shoulders, and his hands were shaking. His bruised and bloodied hands, the skin broken at the knuckles, couldn’t stop shaking. The rest of him couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He had never been so paralyzed by fear. It would be the perfect time to wake from this dream.
He didn’t. Gene calmly entered the office, closed the door, and stared down at him, an unreadable expression covering his face. Sam looked up, helpless, and waited for the end.
____
Part 35
Author: dak
Word Count: 1669 this part; [63,298 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Oh hello little angst monkey. Where have you been? Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
The Railway Arms was as it always was on a weekday evening, only slightly less raucous than a typical Friday or Saturday night. Ray and Clive were already engrossed in a less-than-intense darts match, Chris was trying and failing to chat up the barmaid, and Nelson was wincing as yet another glass was broken somewhere in the background.
It was all calm and relaxed, as per usual, except for the fidgeting man beside him. Tyler looked about ready to jump out of his skin as he stood next Hunt in the doorway, observing everything with a more suspicious eye than Gene.
“It’s just a pub,” he muttered to Sam as they moved to the bar.
“I know,” Sam retorted.
“So what’s the matter?” Gene leaned heavily on the counter, waiting for Nelson, who was serving down at the other end. He watched Sam, waiting for a reply. The pale man opened his mouth, shut it again, then rubbed the back of his head as he looked around the room once more. Gene was about to question him again, when the barman finally appeared.
“Good evening DCI Hunt. And what will it be tonight?” Nelson asked cheerily.
“Pint of bitter and a whisky chaser. Sam?”
Sam was still glancing nervously around the room, as if expecting a bomb to go off any second.
“Tyler,” Gene snapped and grabbed his attention.
“Oh, uhm, sorry. I, uhm, I don’t have any money,” he kept rubbing the back of his head, then dropped his hands and started wringing them together.
“Fine. What are you drinking?” Gene asked again, sitting still as much as Sam was twitching.
“Well, I guess, pint of bitter. A light one. Do you have a pale ale? I’ll take that,” Sam blurted out.
“No problem, mon brave,” Nelson eyed him warily as he moved to the pumps.
“Will you calm down?” Gene rolled his eyes. “You’re more nervous than a spackhead in a dance contest.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this,” Sam held out his hands, motioning to the revelry.
“You’re not used to a pub?”
“I’m not used to normality,” he sighed as the pints arrived just in time.
“Nelson. ‘Nother whisky.” A second tumbler was placed by Gene’s pint and he slid it over to Sam. “Get that down yeh. Nothin’ like a bit of Dutch courage to help relax even your wound up little arse.” Gene picked up his own glass and began to sip.
“You weren’t complaining about the tightness of my arse the other night,” Sam replied deftly as he threw back his own whisky, smirking slightly as he caused Gene to choke on his drink. “I think I’ll need more of those, if I’m going to unwind, though,” Sam said sadly as he stared into his now empty glass.
“DI Tyler!” Cartwright had finally spotted them and was waving Sam over. Tyler looked at Gene before moving.
“Go on,” the aggravated Guv sighed. “You do what you like. I’m not your keeper.”
“Yeah, but you’re the only one I trust,” Sam remarked off-handedly, before grabbing his pint, sitting with Annie, and causing Gene to choke on his drink for the second time that evening.
Hunt spent most of the evening as far away from Tyler as possible. It was good for him to mingle with his coworkers socially, it would help them work better as a team, and he didn’t want Sam to think he was watching his every move. A glance every now and then, just to make sure he was coping alright, that was fine, but Sam needed to get some mates.
The Guv was slightly disappointed that his new DI only chatted with WPC Cartwright all night, but if that was Sam’s choice, that was his choice. Cartwright had something about her, something that could put any man at ease, and she was using those skills to help settle Tyler’s continuously jittery nerves. So, as long as Tyler wasn’t pouting in the corner, all by himself, it had to be considered an improvement.
Though, that was what happened when Cartwright finally left for home. Gene observed him at first, waited to see what he would do. Chris was also sitting by himself now, and Hunt hoped Sam would join their DC at his table. No luck, though, as Sam, after sitting anxiously in the center of the pub where Annie had left him, picked up his half-empty pint and moved to the far corner.
Gene finished his round of darts, grabbed another couple of pints from Nelson, and joined the DI in the corner. “So?” He asked, setting the beer down on the table. “Nice pub, innit?”
“Jukebox isn’t bad,” the slightly intoxicated Sam mumbled.
“Fancy doin’ this more often?” Gene eyed him over his pint glass.
“Beats the alternative,” Sam shrugged with less hope than Gene would’ve liked.
“Right.” He wanted to say something more encouraging, but the alcohol had slowed his brain and he couldn’t think of a single thing that might help cheer Sam up.
“Is nice, though,” Sam sighed. “Nice to go out and enjoy myself and not...not have to perform.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
It was another question any other bloke would have answered immediately. Sam, though, had to think on it carefully. Gene could see him analyzing every scrap of information in his brain, before he decided upon an answer.
“I would like to say yes,” he finally announced.
“But?”
“No. No buts,” he stared enigmatically into the distance. Gene decided to leave it at that.
The fresh pints finished a half hour later, Gene knew it was time to get the wobbly Inspector home. He hoisted the compliant Sam out of the chair by his collar, and half-dragged, half-carried him out into the fresh night air.
“Right, Gladys. Get in the car. Let’s get you home.”
“I...I would like to go back to my flat. The flat. And I would like to go back alone,” Sam proclaimed as Gene tried to load him into the Cortina.
“Alright. Best let me drive yeh there though, or you’ll never get there on those rubber legs of yours.”
Sam carefully thought about it. “Okay. Yeah. I’m going to allow you to drive me home,” he nodded and got in the car.
“Well, thank you, Miss Manners,” Gene rolled his eyes.
The drive was quiet, as Sam wasn’t up for much conversation after so many drinks, and Gene wasn’t one for conversation period. He pulled up to the building and put the car in park, waiting for Tyler to unload himself.
“Sam. We’re here.”
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks,” he stirred in the seat, then cautiously put his hand on Gene’s, which was still resting on the gear shift. “Thank you. For letting me come along. I think I did enjoy myself,” Sam stared at their hands and smiled, rubbing his thumb gently across the exposed flesh peaking out from Gene’s driving gloves. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he quickly drew back his hand and exited the car. Gene needed a minute to compose himself before speeding off to his own home.
*
Hangovers were something he was not used to, at least not on days when he had to work. The times he had allowed himself to get drunk, at home, he always made sure it was on a Friday or Saturday when he didn’t have to work the next day. His adventure to the pub had been a day too early.
He shoved a few pieces of stale bread down his throat and drank as much water as he could handle, hoping the canteen would have some sort of drinkable juice, and maybe some oatmeal. The oatmeal had been surprisingly decent yesterday.
The brisk walk to the station helped cleared his fuzzy brain, but he could remember everything and knew he had nothing to regret. Nothing that he regretted come morning. That was certainly a new feeling. By the time he reached the station, Sam realized he was in something dangerously close to a good mood. He even decided to take the stairs to CID, which was when he first heard the commotion from above.
Dashing up the final flight, he emerged on the corridor to see a crowd of officers at the other end in what appeared to be a struggle with a suspect. Gene was standing just back from the throng and, only by chance, spotted Sam’s arrival. He hurried over and took him gently by the arm, pushing him to the side of the hall.
“Gene, what...”
“Traffic plod picked ‘im up this morning for speeding. Recognized ‘im and brought ‘im in,” he explained calmly.
“Who?”
Gene took a deep breath. “Edwards.”
Instead of pain, Sam allowed numbness to fill him as he shrugged off Gene’s hand and stepped into the center of the hall. The crowd was parting and a fuming Charlie Edwards was forced forward by a handful of officers.
“YOU!” Edwards bellowed the second he spotted Sam standing there. He fought to get to him, but the officers held him back. “You cock-sucking, little prick! You killed ‘im you fucking, used up arsehole! He gave you everything, he saved you, an’ you killed ‘im! All you ‘ad to do was bend over an’ let ‘im fuck you. What? That get too hard for yeh? Or din’t it get yeh hard enough, anymore? Fucking, twisted, little queer! You filthy, bastard, buggered, rent boy!”
Sam closed his eyes. When he came round, he was sitting in Gene’s office. There was a blanket over his shoulders, and his hands were shaking. His bruised and bloodied hands, the skin broken at the knuckles, couldn’t stop shaking. The rest of him couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He had never been so paralyzed by fear. It would be the perfect time to wake from this dream.
He didn’t. Gene calmly entered the office, closed the door, and stared down at him, an unreadable expression covering his face. Sam looked up, helpless, and waited for the end.
____
Part 35