FIC: Tethered (1/?), White Cortina, Sam/Gene, Crossover: Ashes to Ashes, by cyaxares (ruleroffallen)
Title: Tethered (1/?)
Rating: White Cortina (eventually Blue or Brown)
Pairing: Sam/Gene (some Gene/Alex later)
Word Count: 532
Notes: Whoo. I vanished for a while. Life happening. But I missed you guys! Here, have some fic!
Warning: Character death and spoilers for Ashes to Ashes.
Summary: It's been three years since Sam died, and Gene still can't let go. But he's not the only one holding on.
It started small. Insignificant little things. A cold spot in the room that made one of them shiver. Static on the television when no one had been up to turn it on. A flicker of lights. Things that could easily be brushed off as bad wiring, cheap air conditioning.
He wouldn't think twice about it until later.
But then a file would appear on his desk. Just the one he needed to point him in the right direction. A pin he didn't remember placing would show up on the map. A note on the whiteboard.
THE SECRETARY
No one fessed up to writing it. But Gene's gut told him to follow it. The case came to a close twelve hours later with the secretary confessing and being led out in cuffs.
As the others headed out to celebrate. Gene stayed behind at the office, staring at the white board, at the words that had led him to investigate. He knew the writing. He was certain of it. The last time he'd seen it was... three years ago. Sam had left him a note in the fridge, telling him that he'd made his lunch for him. It couldn't be, though... maybe he was just mistaken.
Or maybe he was going mad.
He grabbed the board eraser, wiping away the case notes in front of him, and the big blue letters that had helped him solve the case. He headed to his office, grabbing a bottle of alcohol and popping it open with his teeth. He spit the cork out and took a deep swig.
Gene sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair, attempting to ignore the ever-present ache in his chest. He moved to take another drink from the bottle when the window suddenly flew open, a huge gust of wind pushing through.
"Fucking 'ell!" the DCI jerked up from his seat as papers flew about. He rushed to the window to shove it closed, dazed. He'd never opened that window once since coming to London.
Muscles filled with tension, he peered around once more, searching for someone. Anyone to prove that he didn't belong in the loony bin. But as he moved back behind the desk, something caught his eye.
COLLEAGUE TRIBUTE TO DI SAM TYLER
Gene froze, his eyes shooting to the wall where the clipping had only just been hanging. No. No, it couldn't be.. It had been securely pinned, some gust of wind can't have simply knocked it down. And how could it possibly just land right on his desk.
Mad. He was going mad.
But there was a feeling. Right in the pit of his stomach. His gut telling him that this wasn't some coincidence, even as his mind told him it was impossible. And Gene Hunt had always come to trust his gut even over his own mind.
His eyes rose, landing on a figure standing across from him. Pale, much to pale, and shimmering, flickering like static on the television, lips blue like those of so many drowning victims he'd seen on the morgue tables. He looked somehow wrong. Missing that leather jacket he'd always worn. The one they'd found in that bloody car and locked away as evidence.
Gene exhaled shakily.
"... Sam?"
Rating: White Cortina (eventually Blue or Brown)
Pairing: Sam/Gene (some Gene/Alex later)
Word Count: 532
Notes: Whoo. I vanished for a while. Life happening. But I missed you guys! Here, have some fic!
Warning: Character death and spoilers for Ashes to Ashes.
Summary: It's been three years since Sam died, and Gene still can't let go. But he's not the only one holding on.
It started small. Insignificant little things. A cold spot in the room that made one of them shiver. Static on the television when no one had been up to turn it on. A flicker of lights. Things that could easily be brushed off as bad wiring, cheap air conditioning.
He wouldn't think twice about it until later.
But then a file would appear on his desk. Just the one he needed to point him in the right direction. A pin he didn't remember placing would show up on the map. A note on the whiteboard.
THE SECRETARY
No one fessed up to writing it. But Gene's gut told him to follow it. The case came to a close twelve hours later with the secretary confessing and being led out in cuffs.
As the others headed out to celebrate. Gene stayed behind at the office, staring at the white board, at the words that had led him to investigate. He knew the writing. He was certain of it. The last time he'd seen it was... three years ago. Sam had left him a note in the fridge, telling him that he'd made his lunch for him. It couldn't be, though... maybe he was just mistaken.
Or maybe he was going mad.
He grabbed the board eraser, wiping away the case notes in front of him, and the big blue letters that had helped him solve the case. He headed to his office, grabbing a bottle of alcohol and popping it open with his teeth. He spit the cork out and took a deep swig.
Gene sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair, attempting to ignore the ever-present ache in his chest. He moved to take another drink from the bottle when the window suddenly flew open, a huge gust of wind pushing through.
"Fucking 'ell!" the DCI jerked up from his seat as papers flew about. He rushed to the window to shove it closed, dazed. He'd never opened that window once since coming to London.
Muscles filled with tension, he peered around once more, searching for someone. Anyone to prove that he didn't belong in the loony bin. But as he moved back behind the desk, something caught his eye.
COLLEAGUE TRIBUTE TO DI SAM TYLER
Gene froze, his eyes shooting to the wall where the clipping had only just been hanging. No. No, it couldn't be.. It had been securely pinned, some gust of wind can't have simply knocked it down. And how could it possibly just land right on his desk.
Mad. He was going mad.
But there was a feeling. Right in the pit of his stomach. His gut telling him that this wasn't some coincidence, even as his mind told him it was impossible. And Gene Hunt had always come to trust his gut even over his own mind.
His eyes rose, landing on a figure standing across from him. Pale, much to pale, and shimmering, flickering like static on the television, lips blue like those of so many drowning victims he'd seen on the morgue tables. He looked somehow wrong. Missing that leather jacket he'd always worn. The one they'd found in that bloody car and locked away as evidence.
Gene exhaled shakily.
"... Sam?"