Fic: Appearances (Part Seventeen) by Mikey, brown cortina
Title: Appearances, Part Seventeen
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, post-2.08, and probably not in character.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 50,000~ total (part Seventeen, 1,300)
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 Seventeen:
Appearances:
Prologue; Part One; Part Two; Part Three; Part Four; Part Five; Part Six; Part Seven; Part Eight; Part Nine; Part Ten; Part Eleven; Part Twelve; Part Thirteen; Part Fourteen; Part Fifteen; Part Sixteen
(Undercover-AU:
I. Undercover
II. Exposed
III. Smirk)
Appearances, Part Seventeen
After cleaning up the mess in his office, Gene marched over and dumped the rest of the files on Sam’s desk. Sam stared at him coolly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing the destruction he had caused. They exchange a long, cold second of mutual hostility before Gene turned and walked out, yelling at Ray to follow him or run after the car like a dog.
Over the next few days, Sam was left working on the Tower case by himself, for the most part. He pulled Chris in to review their notes and the files, now that Gene had tied Ray to him with a short leash. Ray did not question the abrupt turn of events and Sam was on the outside looking in as CID ground on in uncomfortable silence around the broken core of Gene and Sam’s very apparent animosity.
Worse, even with a clear idea of what happened to Moore, Tower, Rami and Edwards, Sam had no evidence and no way to bring in any suspects. Frustrated with Gene and wondering when his life became a soap opera - he thought it worked better as medical drama, in all honesty - Sam went home the following nights with full bottles of wine because he was not going to allow Gene’s habits to infect his life anymore. Whisky was Gene’s drink, and if Gene was done with him and Sam was drinking alone, then he was going back to wine. Hell he was “gay” now anyway, wine fit the stereotype better.
The next week was spent in a haze of denial and rage, but short of kidnapping Gene and plying him with mind altering drugs - the idea did have its appeal - Sam knew there was nothing he could do to change Gene’s mind. Jealousy tipped Gene over the edge into some kind of paranoid delusion about Larry, and while Sam knew at an intellectual level that his own actions did lend themselves to suspicion, he refused to accept responsibility for this disastrous denouement.
In fact he tried to convince himself it was for the best. He was never really gay before, or even moderately bisexual that he could remember, so this was just an aberrant sexual exploration he really should have gotten out of his system in his teens. He did not want nor need Gene the Neanderthal and he certainly did not want to spend the rest of his life in the closet. Any closet. And clearly, he and Gene could not do ‘that’ and work together, anyway.
All of which was sound logic and totally futile.
The days were spent in a haze of polite professionalism. The entire office reacted to the falling out between their Guv and their Boss by shutting down. The place was as quiet at the morgue. Sam overheard bits and pieces of conversations that revealed to him just how out of hand the rumor mill was, and (fortunately) how inaccurate. Speculation was running the gamut from Sam scratching the Cortina to Sam having sex with Gene’s as-yet-unidentified mistress in the Cortina to Gene having sex with Sam’s as-yet-unidentified mistress in the Cortina, and Sam mostly wondered why the Cortina seemed to be at the heart of everything. A fact confirmed by Annie.
“Ray really thinks it’s because you threw up in the Cortina…” She said over lunch at the canteen, looking around as if spilling state secrets.
“I have never, ever thrown up in the Cortina.”
“Well it has to be something, Sam. You and the Guv are going around like love sick teenagers…”
“I cannot believe you just said that.” Sam lowered his fork and looked at her, appalled, because if anything it was probably true and the worst rumor that could possibly get started. She blinked.
“No! I didn’t mean…oh come on, Sam.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. The Guv really relies on you, and now you two are barely talking.”
“Annie, this is a personal matter. Not quite that personal but still…it’s just…destroyed our friendship. I can’t tell you more than that.” Sam rubbed his eyes, knowing it was just that personal and starting to feel sick to his stomach.
“You were his best friend, what could possibly happen that…”
“Annie, enough. Leave me the hell alone.” Sam got up and walked away, leaving her stunned to silence behind him.
He tried to lose himself in the job but it was almost impossible when the majority of his job involved Gene at some level. Most of the time they specifically worked at not being in each other’s space at all, but finally one afternoon DC Pinkerton brought in a long-sought for suspect in a jewelry store blag that Sam ran lead on for a while. Because of implications that the job and the suspect were somehow tied to Freddie “The Dog” Higgins and his small time ring of thieves, Gene felt called upon to lead the interrogation. Sam tried to back out and leave Pinkerton to do it with him, but Gene told him it was his damn job so they handled it together.
It was a disaster. Ray and Pinkerton watched in shock as Sam and Gene missed each other’s signals, talked over each other, and generally gave the suspect every reason in the world not to say a thing. By the time Gene was getting ready to beat the suspect to within an inch of his life while Sam stood by unwilling to touch either man, a solicitor showed up and pulled rank. The interview ended in a stale mate. Ray and Pinkerton shuffled the suspect and his brief out of the room while Gene sat back down, resting his arms on the table as he frowned. Sam rested against the table, facing the other way.
“That…did not work.”
“No shit, Sherlock. What tipped you off?”
“You want a list?”
“…No.” Gene looked at the table, then over at Sam. Staring down at him, Sam realized for the first time that Gene was not - exactly - sober.
“Shit. How much you had to drink today?”
“You ain’t my missus, Gladys.” Gene looked away and rubbed his eyes, his movements artificially slow and measured.
Sam shook his head. He reached down and cupped Gene’s face in his right hand, pulling him over to look at him again. “Gene.”
The spark of something hot in Gene’s eyes snapped Sam’s judgment and he leaned over to kiss him, to make it all better, to feel Gene against him again. The past week and a half had been filled with angry days and cold nights and Sam hated every minute of it, and he pressed his lips against Gene longingly. Gene tasted strongly of whisky, his breath sharp and acidic. He did process the thought that Gene might shove him off but he did not care. Instead Gene stood up while they kissed and pushed Sam backwards onto the table, laying right on top of him, his motions awkward and disjointed. The table was not built to hold two full grown men about to rut on it and groaned in protest.
“Wait…wait…the table…” Sam laughed, pleased with his conquest but preferring to take it to the floor or better yet home or hell he was willing to settle for a dark corner of the basement at this point. He held Gene’s arms as Gene looked around then tensed up ominously and scrambled off, tripping over a chair.
“Fuck.”
“Gene…c’mon…” Sam stood up and reached for him but Gene slapped his hand away.
“You…you always do this. This is our JOB, I ain’t a daddy to shag on the side.” Gene ran his hands through his hair, then turned and walked out on unsteady legs.
Speechless, Sam stood with his hand still out, and it was as the door closed behind Gene that Sam really understood that whatever it was they had was gone.
>-----------
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, post-2.08, and probably not in character.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 50,000~ total (part Seventeen, 1,300)
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 Seventeen:
Appearances:
Prologue; Part One; Part Two; Part Three; Part Four; Part Five; Part Six; Part Seven; Part Eight; Part Nine; Part Ten; Part Eleven; Part Twelve; Part Thirteen; Part Fourteen; Part Fifteen; Part Sixteen
(Undercover-AU:
I. Undercover
II. Exposed
III. Smirk)
Appearances, Part Seventeen
After cleaning up the mess in his office, Gene marched over and dumped the rest of the files on Sam’s desk. Sam stared at him coolly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing the destruction he had caused. They exchange a long, cold second of mutual hostility before Gene turned and walked out, yelling at Ray to follow him or run after the car like a dog.
Over the next few days, Sam was left working on the Tower case by himself, for the most part. He pulled Chris in to review their notes and the files, now that Gene had tied Ray to him with a short leash. Ray did not question the abrupt turn of events and Sam was on the outside looking in as CID ground on in uncomfortable silence around the broken core of Gene and Sam’s very apparent animosity.
Worse, even with a clear idea of what happened to Moore, Tower, Rami and Edwards, Sam had no evidence and no way to bring in any suspects. Frustrated with Gene and wondering when his life became a soap opera - he thought it worked better as medical drama, in all honesty - Sam went home the following nights with full bottles of wine because he was not going to allow Gene’s habits to infect his life anymore. Whisky was Gene’s drink, and if Gene was done with him and Sam was drinking alone, then he was going back to wine. Hell he was “gay” now anyway, wine fit the stereotype better.
The next week was spent in a haze of denial and rage, but short of kidnapping Gene and plying him with mind altering drugs - the idea did have its appeal - Sam knew there was nothing he could do to change Gene’s mind. Jealousy tipped Gene over the edge into some kind of paranoid delusion about Larry, and while Sam knew at an intellectual level that his own actions did lend themselves to suspicion, he refused to accept responsibility for this disastrous denouement.
In fact he tried to convince himself it was for the best. He was never really gay before, or even moderately bisexual that he could remember, so this was just an aberrant sexual exploration he really should have gotten out of his system in his teens. He did not want nor need Gene the Neanderthal and he certainly did not want to spend the rest of his life in the closet. Any closet. And clearly, he and Gene could not do ‘that’ and work together, anyway.
All of which was sound logic and totally futile.
The days were spent in a haze of polite professionalism. The entire office reacted to the falling out between their Guv and their Boss by shutting down. The place was as quiet at the morgue. Sam overheard bits and pieces of conversations that revealed to him just how out of hand the rumor mill was, and (fortunately) how inaccurate. Speculation was running the gamut from Sam scratching the Cortina to Sam having sex with Gene’s as-yet-unidentified mistress in the Cortina to Gene having sex with Sam’s as-yet-unidentified mistress in the Cortina, and Sam mostly wondered why the Cortina seemed to be at the heart of everything. A fact confirmed by Annie.
“Ray really thinks it’s because you threw up in the Cortina…” She said over lunch at the canteen, looking around as if spilling state secrets.
“I have never, ever thrown up in the Cortina.”
“Well it has to be something, Sam. You and the Guv are going around like love sick teenagers…”
“I cannot believe you just said that.” Sam lowered his fork and looked at her, appalled, because if anything it was probably true and the worst rumor that could possibly get started. She blinked.
“No! I didn’t mean…oh come on, Sam.” She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. The Guv really relies on you, and now you two are barely talking.”
“Annie, this is a personal matter. Not quite that personal but still…it’s just…destroyed our friendship. I can’t tell you more than that.” Sam rubbed his eyes, knowing it was just that personal and starting to feel sick to his stomach.
“You were his best friend, what could possibly happen that…”
“Annie, enough. Leave me the hell alone.” Sam got up and walked away, leaving her stunned to silence behind him.
He tried to lose himself in the job but it was almost impossible when the majority of his job involved Gene at some level. Most of the time they specifically worked at not being in each other’s space at all, but finally one afternoon DC Pinkerton brought in a long-sought for suspect in a jewelry store blag that Sam ran lead on for a while. Because of implications that the job and the suspect were somehow tied to Freddie “The Dog” Higgins and his small time ring of thieves, Gene felt called upon to lead the interrogation. Sam tried to back out and leave Pinkerton to do it with him, but Gene told him it was his damn job so they handled it together.
It was a disaster. Ray and Pinkerton watched in shock as Sam and Gene missed each other’s signals, talked over each other, and generally gave the suspect every reason in the world not to say a thing. By the time Gene was getting ready to beat the suspect to within an inch of his life while Sam stood by unwilling to touch either man, a solicitor showed up and pulled rank. The interview ended in a stale mate. Ray and Pinkerton shuffled the suspect and his brief out of the room while Gene sat back down, resting his arms on the table as he frowned. Sam rested against the table, facing the other way.
“That…did not work.”
“No shit, Sherlock. What tipped you off?”
“You want a list?”
“…No.” Gene looked at the table, then over at Sam. Staring down at him, Sam realized for the first time that Gene was not - exactly - sober.
“Shit. How much you had to drink today?”
“You ain’t my missus, Gladys.” Gene looked away and rubbed his eyes, his movements artificially slow and measured.
Sam shook his head. He reached down and cupped Gene’s face in his right hand, pulling him over to look at him again. “Gene.”
The spark of something hot in Gene’s eyes snapped Sam’s judgment and he leaned over to kiss him, to make it all better, to feel Gene against him again. The past week and a half had been filled with angry days and cold nights and Sam hated every minute of it, and he pressed his lips against Gene longingly. Gene tasted strongly of whisky, his breath sharp and acidic. He did process the thought that Gene might shove him off but he did not care. Instead Gene stood up while they kissed and pushed Sam backwards onto the table, laying right on top of him, his motions awkward and disjointed. The table was not built to hold two full grown men about to rut on it and groaned in protest.
“Wait…wait…the table…” Sam laughed, pleased with his conquest but preferring to take it to the floor or better yet home or hell he was willing to settle for a dark corner of the basement at this point. He held Gene’s arms as Gene looked around then tensed up ominously and scrambled off, tripping over a chair.
“Fuck.”
“Gene…c’mon…” Sam stood up and reached for him but Gene slapped his hand away.
“You…you always do this. This is our JOB, I ain’t a daddy to shag on the side.” Gene ran his hands through his hair, then turned and walked out on unsteady legs.
Speechless, Sam stood with his hand still out, and it was as the door closed behind Gene that Sam really understood that whatever it was they had was gone.
>-----------