Fic: Appearances (Part Eleven) by Mikey, brown cortina
Title: Appearances, Part Eleven
Authors: mikes_grrl, with angeweeks on ‘Gene dialogue duty’ and more than a little credit to draycevixen for plot assistance.
Rating: Brown Cortina (NC-17)
Pairing: Gene/Sam
Warnings: AU, naturally, and maybe specific spoilers mentioned in passing. Nonetheless, let’s just wing it and say “post-2.08” for the hell of it.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 50,000~ total (part Eleven, 2,300)
Summary: Sam tries to broaden Gene’s horizons but Gene won’t listen to reason (surprise) and sure as hell won’t ‘dialogue’. Meanwhile the city is experiencing a rash of hate crimes, a few of which are perpetrated against gay men, just as queer activism hits Manchester.
NOTES to Part Eleven: Nothing much to say about this part, other than you all saw it coming. *cringes*
Appearances:
Prologue; Part One; Part Two; Part Three; Part Four; Part Five; Part Six; Part Seven; Part Eight; Part Nine; Part Ten
(Undercover-AU:
I. Undercover
II. Exposed
III. Smirk
Appearances, Part Eleven
Gene got home first. He did not even go to the pub. He walked in and poured a drink, and wondered what in the hell he was going to say to Sam, who was not - NOT - going to let that day’s scrap go without a fight. Or worse, a ‘dialogue. That was not good, but right now nothing was good. He set himself up to wait for Sam, knowing that he would be by.
Sam walked in two hours later, and Gene managed not to ask where he had been in the meantime.
“You’re….cooking.”
“Bacon buttie.” Gene nodded as he flipped the bacon. “Hungry?” Gene glanced over at him.
“Yeah, actually. Yeah.” Sam came in and sat down and waited all of 2.3 seconds before starting in. “What happened today?”
“I lost me temper and you beat me down for it. Fair trade.”
“I hardly had the upper hand in that fight.”
“No, I think Cartwright took that honor.”
Sam laughed, but it sounded grim. “I hate your jealousy, Gene. You got no reason. I never done anything…”
“Not you.” Gene snapped.
“What?”
Gene patiently added more bacon to the pan. “You know about Mark.”
“I am not Mark.”
“…No..but I know other men and how they are - and I know they're wantin' to play.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna play back. Give me some credit, here.” Sam tapped the table. “I had something important to tell you about a case, and you backhanded me to the floor for personal reasons. Aside from the obvious fact that you were in the wrong, we can’t work like that. I won’t work like that.” Sam looked up at him and Gene nodded, taking his lumps like a big boy. Sam was right and Gene knew it. He hated his temper, and if Harry were still in charge of CID or hell anything he would have hammered Gene into the ground for acting like such a girl on the job. Harry suspected Gene’s ‘tastes’ and looked the other way (Gene had his own suspicions, there), but he would not tolerate what happened today, and righteously neither did Sam. Gene was enough of a man to know when he pushed over the line, and he appreciated a partner - even a picky pain DI of a partner - who was man enough to take him to task for it.
“You’re just standing there nodding. What does that mean?” Sam growled in aggravation.
“It means, you stupid sod, that I’m agreeing with you. Generally that is what a nod indicates. At least here; I don’ know what noddin’ might get you in Hyde, I’m afraid to ask.” He pulled the bacon out and made their sandwiches. “So then. What you got?”
He saw Sam relax, glad to be back to something impersonal. “Nothing is jumping at us yet. No real overlap that we can see. Dusty was a bookseller, though, he might been one of the extortion marks…They might’ve found out he was queer by accident. Tower? Maybe just a random hit but that doesn’t explain the prior vandalism. I’ve gone back to the families of Rami and Edwards - the other battery victims - and they do not recall any vandalism to homes or businesses prior to their attacks. Only Moore and Tower got that special treatment…”
“The queers.”
“Gays…yeah. I thought of that.”
Gene frowned as he set the sandwiches down. Hitting the ethnics, that made sense, even an odd queer bashing or two fit the M.O. But to pick out the homosexuals for extra attention meant something else was going on, and that meant Gene needed to get involved and use his own contacts. He hated very little more in life than stepping into the underworld he belonged to by default, because it was dangerous, in so many ways he could not even figure out how to explain to Sam. He looked up from his own thoughts, realizing that Sam was still prattering on about the gang.
“…No chance goin’ undercover, but surveillance might get us something once…did you butter the bread?” Sam stared at his sandwich as though it might start squirming.
“’Course.”
“Well, ‘course. Can’t ever have too much artery clogging grease.” Sam grimaced as he bit in.
Gene watched him eat, keeping his face impassive. Sam was too quick to leave the personal issues and jump back into shop talk, far too quick for Sam Tyler. Gene knew, somehow, that Sam was not being totally honest about something - Larry? - but Gene shoved that thought aside. It was not an easy thing to do.
---------------
“So glad you could make it, Sam.”
“Interested in what you have to say.”
They were sitting at Chez Jacques, a posh French restaurant that Sam had eyed longingly for over a year, but could not get Gene into to save - or in exchange for - his arse.
“I’ll cut to it. I’m backing a gay newspaper venture.”
Sam nearly spit out his water, but Larry looked over the menu as if he did not notice.
“Thanks for keeping Gene off the radar, I don’t want to…”
“No problem. This would not be something he’s interested in anyway.” Sam sat back in his chair, looking at Larry in amazement.
“Somehow that does not surprise me. What surprises me is that you are.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
“Yet you’re still sitting here with the menu in your hands. Try the coq au vin.” Larry waved a hand at him, nonplussed by Sam’s reaction. Sam looked carefully over the menu, remembering the joys of French cuisine but noting the prices with chagrin. Even 1975 prices hurt, on a 1975 salary.
“My treat, Sam. Please.”
“No, against regulations to accept favors. Might compromise me.”
“With your job or with Gene?” Larry smiled.
Sam ignored the jibe. “So why am I here?”
“I don’t expect much community support, as I am sure you can imagine. And frankly Dusty’s death was a bit of blow….
“Dusty? Dusty Moore?”
Larry nodded sadly. “He was going to be the editor, have the newspaper office right upstairs from his bookstore. He’s my own rare book dealer, we’ve known…I knew him for years. A real tragedy, he kept a few magnificent works in his home, including incunabula. Simply cannot be replaced…”
Sam vaguely remembered that the term referred to rare, early print books, but other than that, he was out of his league and focused on other matters. “Larry, how long were you two working on this idea?”
“To be honest, not long, at least not seriously. An idea we bantered about after picking up the Gay News in London, at the antiquarian book fair last year. It’s available here at the anarchist bookstore, but that is not a place most of us can drop by and visit without…risk. And it is not available by post.”
“Never even seen it.” Sam shook his head impatiently.
“Been around a few years, but hard to find sometimes. And mostly national news, and articles about New York City. We thought to do a local publication, not large, press run of 3,000 issues or so. And available by subscription, in an unmarked envelope, of course. Pipe dreams, I thought, but Dusty was devoted to the project, and...” Larry trailed off looking uncomfortable, and Sam leaned in.
“What?”
“I was not exactly…er, honest with you about Tower.”
The cogs clicked into place before Larry could continue. “He’s a journalism student. Dusty hired him on to write for the paper.”
Larry nodded again, more than sad: angry. “Fine lad. Of course in the closet but trying to break the cycle, eventually. He talked about it and was quite excited to work with Dusty. Not any money in it, naturally, but…boys have dreams, you know.”
“I’m sure he still does.”
They both sat silently while Sam’s mind reeled from the implications. These were hardly random hits, now, and it put a disturbing spin on everything. Sam was throwing pieces together in his brain, attacking the jigsaw, and he barely registered Larry’s presence anymore, wanting Gene to be there, to talk to and to work this out with. He needed Gene’s mind and contacts on this, but he could not bring up this line of inquiry without admitting that he secretly arranged to meet Larry for lunch. The only good to come of that would be…well, nothing that Sam could figure.
“Sam?”
Sam blinked and dragged himself back to the present.
“One reason I wanted to talk to you is that... I’m more determined than ever to see this through. I’ll have to find a different editor but I have a few contacts. Still, it will be risky, and the publication will be…targeted. I thought you might be sympathetic, and you are…” Larry paused delicately, looking at his wine.
“A gay cop,” Sam said quietly, and Larry nodded in resignation.
“I need some long term connections, to keep an eye and ear out for possible trouble on the horizon. We all know what the Chief Constable is like, and I need someone on the force who actually cares, who doesn’t run under his desk at the mention of the word ‘homosexual.’”
The implicit reference to Gene hurt, but it was on the mark, and Sam could not argue.
“Anyway, I figure…” Larry stopped and Sam realized that he was not a man used to asking for help. “You seem a bit more open minded. Jimmy adores you and…”
“Jimmy?” Sam sat up quickly.
Larry smiled. “You’re worried about him, I see it. Utterly charming but entirely misplaced, I assure you. He’s…a special boy. Special.” Larry stared determinedly at his food for a second and Sam tried not to smile, realizing that perhaps Jimmy was not the only one gob smacked that day at the Student Union. Larry looked up, the picture of composed professionalism. “He was the one who encouraged me to call you about Dan, and he really believes that you will help with my little labor of love. In fact he’s the one who is driving this whole idea in a lot of ways now. Boys today - they think anything is possible.” Larry smiled. “To me it was a far fetched notion, something I’ve seen in New York and London. But why not Manchester? The lesbians have owned Canal Street for years, and now we’ve got more than two clubs there ourselves. But I know this is a backwater, in a lot of ways, and there will be opposition, and the police won’t help and won’t even care…”
“You don’ trust the police?” Sam sat back, affronted.
“I trust them not to put much effort in protecting the offices of a gay news publication. We both know Brothers could burn to the ground in a riot before any police showed up who were not already at the bar.”
Sam wanted to argue, but it was true. Even Gene would put more effort into protecting his reputation than in protecting a gay club. He nodded, and they talked further about a few random issues, but Sam was mostly distracted by the new information linking Tower and Moore. Sam tried to sound encouraging anyway and they agreed to meet again at the restaurant the following week to discuss it further, but although Sam did not say it, he imagined the offices to Larry’s ‘alternative community newspaper’ would be burned down at least once before the Seventies were out.
---------------
Gene did not follow Sam. He would not do it, no matter how much he thought about it. He knew what was happening and that knowledge did not need visuals, so he did not try to track Sam down during his mysterious afternoon ‘appointments’ or when he ran ‘errands’ for lunch. Therefore he was surprised to find himself spying on Sam that afternoon.
He was out near a tobacconists that he frequented irregularly, but they got a special case of rare cigars in and set three aside for him. He made the purchase, stomping on his inner childish glee, and walked out of the store a pleased man to see Sam walking into Chez Jacques. It was a Tyler kind of joint, all clean and poncey and fancy with items on the menu a normal man could not even pronounce, and Gene never ate there, although he knew the owner. Of course he knew the owner, because the owner was a goddamn flaming queer who was probably giving Sam free lunches in exchange for watching his tight arse prance through the joint. He was going to barge over and amuse himself with shocking the hell out of Sam by showing up, because a shocked Sam Tyler was always a joy to toy with, when he saw Sam sit down at a window table with Larry. Gene backed up and stood next to a phone box, watching, but there was not much to see. They were talking and Sam was smiling as if he did not know the sun set on him, and Larry was as charming as ever, and the black snarling monster in Gene’s gut wanted to destroy heaven and earth.
Forcing himself to walk, Gene turned his back on them. It was all he could do, because to keep watching would be to invite the jealous rage out for tea and biscuits. He knew his own temper, and he knew all about ‘lunch dates,’ and Larry was rich enough to make them fancy and seductive before enjoying Sam for dessert. Offering Sam more than cold-cut dinners and drinks in a dirty pub and a ride in a Cortina, Larry was playing all the right cards, and every card was one Gene could not match. He was not out-manned, but he was out-classed, and Gene stood on a street corner two blocks over, realizing that he forgot where he parked.
>------------
Authors: mikes_grrl, with angeweeks on ‘Gene dialogue duty’ and more than a little credit to draycevixen for plot assistance.
Rating: Brown Cortina (NC-17)
Pairing: Gene/Sam
Warnings: AU, naturally, and maybe specific spoilers mentioned in passing. Nonetheless, let’s just wing it and say “post-2.08” for the hell of it.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 50,000~ total (part Eleven, 2,300)
Summary: Sam tries to broaden Gene’s horizons but Gene won’t listen to reason (surprise) and sure as hell won’t ‘dialogue’. Meanwhile the city is experiencing a rash of hate crimes, a few of which are perpetrated against gay men, just as queer activism hits Manchester.
NOTES to Part Eleven: Nothing much to say about this part, other than you all saw it coming. *cringes*
Appearances:
Prologue; Part One; Part Two; Part Three; Part Four; Part Five; Part Six; Part Seven; Part Eight; Part Nine; Part Ten
(Undercover-AU:
I. Undercover
II. Exposed
III. Smirk
Appearances, Part Eleven
Gene got home first. He did not even go to the pub. He walked in and poured a drink, and wondered what in the hell he was going to say to Sam, who was not - NOT - going to let that day’s scrap go without a fight. Or worse, a ‘dialogue. That was not good, but right now nothing was good. He set himself up to wait for Sam, knowing that he would be by.
Sam walked in two hours later, and Gene managed not to ask where he had been in the meantime.
“You’re….cooking.”
“Bacon buttie.” Gene nodded as he flipped the bacon. “Hungry?” Gene glanced over at him.
“Yeah, actually. Yeah.” Sam came in and sat down and waited all of 2.3 seconds before starting in. “What happened today?”
“I lost me temper and you beat me down for it. Fair trade.”
“I hardly had the upper hand in that fight.”
“No, I think Cartwright took that honor.”
Sam laughed, but it sounded grim. “I hate your jealousy, Gene. You got no reason. I never done anything…”
“Not you.” Gene snapped.
“What?”
Gene patiently added more bacon to the pan. “You know about Mark.”
“I am not Mark.”
“…No..but I know other men and how they are - and I know they're wantin' to play.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna play back. Give me some credit, here.” Sam tapped the table. “I had something important to tell you about a case, and you backhanded me to the floor for personal reasons. Aside from the obvious fact that you were in the wrong, we can’t work like that. I won’t work like that.” Sam looked up at him and Gene nodded, taking his lumps like a big boy. Sam was right and Gene knew it. He hated his temper, and if Harry were still in charge of CID or hell anything he would have hammered Gene into the ground for acting like such a girl on the job. Harry suspected Gene’s ‘tastes’ and looked the other way (Gene had his own suspicions, there), but he would not tolerate what happened today, and righteously neither did Sam. Gene was enough of a man to know when he pushed over the line, and he appreciated a partner - even a picky pain DI of a partner - who was man enough to take him to task for it.
“You’re just standing there nodding. What does that mean?” Sam growled in aggravation.
“It means, you stupid sod, that I’m agreeing with you. Generally that is what a nod indicates. At least here; I don’ know what noddin’ might get you in Hyde, I’m afraid to ask.” He pulled the bacon out and made their sandwiches. “So then. What you got?”
He saw Sam relax, glad to be back to something impersonal. “Nothing is jumping at us yet. No real overlap that we can see. Dusty was a bookseller, though, he might been one of the extortion marks…They might’ve found out he was queer by accident. Tower? Maybe just a random hit but that doesn’t explain the prior vandalism. I’ve gone back to the families of Rami and Edwards - the other battery victims - and they do not recall any vandalism to homes or businesses prior to their attacks. Only Moore and Tower got that special treatment…”
“The queers.”
“Gays…yeah. I thought of that.”
Gene frowned as he set the sandwiches down. Hitting the ethnics, that made sense, even an odd queer bashing or two fit the M.O. But to pick out the homosexuals for extra attention meant something else was going on, and that meant Gene needed to get involved and use his own contacts. He hated very little more in life than stepping into the underworld he belonged to by default, because it was dangerous, in so many ways he could not even figure out how to explain to Sam. He looked up from his own thoughts, realizing that Sam was still prattering on about the gang.
“…No chance goin’ undercover, but surveillance might get us something once…did you butter the bread?” Sam stared at his sandwich as though it might start squirming.
“’Course.”
“Well, ‘course. Can’t ever have too much artery clogging grease.” Sam grimaced as he bit in.
Gene watched him eat, keeping his face impassive. Sam was too quick to leave the personal issues and jump back into shop talk, far too quick for Sam Tyler. Gene knew, somehow, that Sam was not being totally honest about something - Larry? - but Gene shoved that thought aside. It was not an easy thing to do.
---------------
“So glad you could make it, Sam.”
“Interested in what you have to say.”
They were sitting at Chez Jacques, a posh French restaurant that Sam had eyed longingly for over a year, but could not get Gene into to save - or in exchange for - his arse.
“I’ll cut to it. I’m backing a gay newspaper venture.”
Sam nearly spit out his water, but Larry looked over the menu as if he did not notice.
“Thanks for keeping Gene off the radar, I don’t want to…”
“No problem. This would not be something he’s interested in anyway.” Sam sat back in his chair, looking at Larry in amazement.
“Somehow that does not surprise me. What surprises me is that you are.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
“Yet you’re still sitting here with the menu in your hands. Try the coq au vin.” Larry waved a hand at him, nonplussed by Sam’s reaction. Sam looked carefully over the menu, remembering the joys of French cuisine but noting the prices with chagrin. Even 1975 prices hurt, on a 1975 salary.
“My treat, Sam. Please.”
“No, against regulations to accept favors. Might compromise me.”
“With your job or with Gene?” Larry smiled.
Sam ignored the jibe. “So why am I here?”
“I don’t expect much community support, as I am sure you can imagine. And frankly Dusty’s death was a bit of blow….
“Dusty? Dusty Moore?”
Larry nodded sadly. “He was going to be the editor, have the newspaper office right upstairs from his bookstore. He’s my own rare book dealer, we’ve known…I knew him for years. A real tragedy, he kept a few magnificent works in his home, including incunabula. Simply cannot be replaced…”
Sam vaguely remembered that the term referred to rare, early print books, but other than that, he was out of his league and focused on other matters. “Larry, how long were you two working on this idea?”
“To be honest, not long, at least not seriously. An idea we bantered about after picking up the Gay News in London, at the antiquarian book fair last year. It’s available here at the anarchist bookstore, but that is not a place most of us can drop by and visit without…risk. And it is not available by post.”
“Never even seen it.” Sam shook his head impatiently.
“Been around a few years, but hard to find sometimes. And mostly national news, and articles about New York City. We thought to do a local publication, not large, press run of 3,000 issues or so. And available by subscription, in an unmarked envelope, of course. Pipe dreams, I thought, but Dusty was devoted to the project, and...” Larry trailed off looking uncomfortable, and Sam leaned in.
“What?”
“I was not exactly…er, honest with you about Tower.”
The cogs clicked into place before Larry could continue. “He’s a journalism student. Dusty hired him on to write for the paper.”
Larry nodded again, more than sad: angry. “Fine lad. Of course in the closet but trying to break the cycle, eventually. He talked about it and was quite excited to work with Dusty. Not any money in it, naturally, but…boys have dreams, you know.”
“I’m sure he still does.”
They both sat silently while Sam’s mind reeled from the implications. These were hardly random hits, now, and it put a disturbing spin on everything. Sam was throwing pieces together in his brain, attacking the jigsaw, and he barely registered Larry’s presence anymore, wanting Gene to be there, to talk to and to work this out with. He needed Gene’s mind and contacts on this, but he could not bring up this line of inquiry without admitting that he secretly arranged to meet Larry for lunch. The only good to come of that would be…well, nothing that Sam could figure.
“Sam?”
Sam blinked and dragged himself back to the present.
“One reason I wanted to talk to you is that... I’m more determined than ever to see this through. I’ll have to find a different editor but I have a few contacts. Still, it will be risky, and the publication will be…targeted. I thought you might be sympathetic, and you are…” Larry paused delicately, looking at his wine.
“A gay cop,” Sam said quietly, and Larry nodded in resignation.
“I need some long term connections, to keep an eye and ear out for possible trouble on the horizon. We all know what the Chief Constable is like, and I need someone on the force who actually cares, who doesn’t run under his desk at the mention of the word ‘homosexual.’”
The implicit reference to Gene hurt, but it was on the mark, and Sam could not argue.
“Anyway, I figure…” Larry stopped and Sam realized that he was not a man used to asking for help. “You seem a bit more open minded. Jimmy adores you and…”
“Jimmy?” Sam sat up quickly.
Larry smiled. “You’re worried about him, I see it. Utterly charming but entirely misplaced, I assure you. He’s…a special boy. Special.” Larry stared determinedly at his food for a second and Sam tried not to smile, realizing that perhaps Jimmy was not the only one gob smacked that day at the Student Union. Larry looked up, the picture of composed professionalism. “He was the one who encouraged me to call you about Dan, and he really believes that you will help with my little labor of love. In fact he’s the one who is driving this whole idea in a lot of ways now. Boys today - they think anything is possible.” Larry smiled. “To me it was a far fetched notion, something I’ve seen in New York and London. But why not Manchester? The lesbians have owned Canal Street for years, and now we’ve got more than two clubs there ourselves. But I know this is a backwater, in a lot of ways, and there will be opposition, and the police won’t help and won’t even care…”
“You don’ trust the police?” Sam sat back, affronted.
“I trust them not to put much effort in protecting the offices of a gay news publication. We both know Brothers could burn to the ground in a riot before any police showed up who were not already at the bar.”
Sam wanted to argue, but it was true. Even Gene would put more effort into protecting his reputation than in protecting a gay club. He nodded, and they talked further about a few random issues, but Sam was mostly distracted by the new information linking Tower and Moore. Sam tried to sound encouraging anyway and they agreed to meet again at the restaurant the following week to discuss it further, but although Sam did not say it, he imagined the offices to Larry’s ‘alternative community newspaper’ would be burned down at least once before the Seventies were out.
---------------
Gene did not follow Sam. He would not do it, no matter how much he thought about it. He knew what was happening and that knowledge did not need visuals, so he did not try to track Sam down during his mysterious afternoon ‘appointments’ or when he ran ‘errands’ for lunch. Therefore he was surprised to find himself spying on Sam that afternoon.
He was out near a tobacconists that he frequented irregularly, but they got a special case of rare cigars in and set three aside for him. He made the purchase, stomping on his inner childish glee, and walked out of the store a pleased man to see Sam walking into Chez Jacques. It was a Tyler kind of joint, all clean and poncey and fancy with items on the menu a normal man could not even pronounce, and Gene never ate there, although he knew the owner. Of course he knew the owner, because the owner was a goddamn flaming queer who was probably giving Sam free lunches in exchange for watching his tight arse prance through the joint. He was going to barge over and amuse himself with shocking the hell out of Sam by showing up, because a shocked Sam Tyler was always a joy to toy with, when he saw Sam sit down at a window table with Larry. Gene backed up and stood next to a phone box, watching, but there was not much to see. They were talking and Sam was smiling as if he did not know the sun set on him, and Larry was as charming as ever, and the black snarling monster in Gene’s gut wanted to destroy heaven and earth.
Forcing himself to walk, Gene turned his back on them. It was all he could do, because to keep watching would be to invite the jealous rage out for tea and biscuits. He knew his own temper, and he knew all about ‘lunch dates,’ and Larry was rich enough to make them fancy and seductive before enjoying Sam for dessert. Offering Sam more than cold-cut dinners and drinks in a dirty pub and a ride in a Cortina, Larry was playing all the right cards, and every card was one Gene could not match. He was not out-manned, but he was out-classed, and Gene stood on a street corner two blocks over, realizing that he forgot where he parked.
>------------