Knocked About
Title: Knocked About
Fandom: Life On Mars
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Length/ Word Count: 656
Rating: T+
Summary: Somebody gets whumped. Gene comes to the rescue.
Warning: Mentions of torture and violence
The warehouse was dark, illuminated only by a single flickering 20-watt light bulb. The man tied to the chair had been there for at least three days, and his body bore the signs of various items: wrenches banged about his legs, knives sliced into his arms, cigarette burns red and angry on his back and upper chest, a bloodied screwdriver lying on the floor a few feet away that had been pressed into his wounds and twisted to make him scream. His face was swollen, his nose broken and his eyes blackened, blood dribbling down from his scalp. He had been stoic and strong at first, refusing to talk, to communicate. He had cried later, like a child lost and desperate, but he still hadn’t spoken. Finally he had stopped responding at all, only twitching when they hit him or crying out mindlessly, his body spasming.
The men had left hours ago, tipped off with new information. They had left him there, ropes cutting into his flesh, wrists bound by unbreakable plastic ties that bit into his skin.
The door opened, and a gun was cocked. It sounded loud in the silence of the warehouse, echoing off the damp walls.
“Police! You are surrounded by armed bastards!”
The man in the chair made a noise, unintelligible and pained. The door closed slowly of it’s own volition as
loafers pounded towards the sound. The policeman cursed and dropped to his knees. “Oh, what’ve they done to you?”
Gene knelt beside the chair, pulling a pocketknife out of his jacket and hastily sawing at the plastic ties around the man’s bloodied wrists. He took the younger man’s face in his hands, wiping the red from his eyes.
“Hey, Sam, c’mon, we have to get you out of here.”
Sam groaned low in his throat and pitched forward. Gene caught him with a curse.
“Sam. Sammy, you awake in there?” His head lolled against Gene’s shirt, smearing blood onto the dark blue lapel.
“Christ. Okay, I’m gonna pick you up.”
Gene scooped the small figure into his arms, wary of broken bones. Sam keened as one of the detective’s large hands brushed over his purple, bruise-mottled ribs, letting out a chocked, half-conscious sob. He shuddered in Gene’s arms.
“Fuckin’ Hell, Gladys.” He muttered, moving towards the sliver of light that marked the exit. “You can’t go a week without getting into some sort of mess, can you? Got a bloody death wish, you have.” He shouldered the heavy metal door open all the way, squinting in the sudden daylight, Sam whimpering and deliriously burying his face in Gene’s shoulder. “Right, ’m gonna call for back-up. Phyllis’ll send help faster than you can shimmy into those tight pants of yours in the morning, not that that’s hard.” He glanced down at his DI. Sam looked even worse outside, his skin pale and clammy and his naked torso looking like the palette of an artist going through a black, purple, and red phase. Gene swore.
“Jus’ hang in there, Sammy. Help’s on its way, you’ll see.” He opened the door of the Cortina precariously, setting Sam down on the back seat before reaching for the police radio and shouting their address at Phyllis, followed by a sharp, barked “Ambulance! Now!”
He perched beside Sam in the back seat, gently shifting him so that he was lying on his side. “We’ve been looking for you for days now, Sammy-boy. Had us right worried, you did.” He reached down, pressing his sleeve to a cut on the smaller man’s stomach that was oozing blood. “I’m sayin’ this right now, you go off on your own again without telling anyone your location and I’ll break both your skinny legs like so many toothpicks. Got me?” Sam inhaled shallowly, air hissing in his throat. Gene frowned, stroking his DI’s hair. “Good. ‘M not letting anything happen to you, Sammy.”
A siren wailed a few streets away.
Fandom: Life On Mars
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Length/ Word Count: 656
Rating: T+
Summary: Somebody gets whumped. Gene comes to the rescue.
Warning: Mentions of torture and violence
The warehouse was dark, illuminated only by a single flickering 20-watt light bulb. The man tied to the chair had been there for at least three days, and his body bore the signs of various items: wrenches banged about his legs, knives sliced into his arms, cigarette burns red and angry on his back and upper chest, a bloodied screwdriver lying on the floor a few feet away that had been pressed into his wounds and twisted to make him scream. His face was swollen, his nose broken and his eyes blackened, blood dribbling down from his scalp. He had been stoic and strong at first, refusing to talk, to communicate. He had cried later, like a child lost and desperate, but he still hadn’t spoken. Finally he had stopped responding at all, only twitching when they hit him or crying out mindlessly, his body spasming.
The men had left hours ago, tipped off with new information. They had left him there, ropes cutting into his flesh, wrists bound by unbreakable plastic ties that bit into his skin.
The door opened, and a gun was cocked. It sounded loud in the silence of the warehouse, echoing off the damp walls.
“Police! You are surrounded by armed bastards!”
The man in the chair made a noise, unintelligible and pained. The door closed slowly of it’s own volition as
loafers pounded towards the sound. The policeman cursed and dropped to his knees. “Oh, what’ve they done to you?”
Gene knelt beside the chair, pulling a pocketknife out of his jacket and hastily sawing at the plastic ties around the man’s bloodied wrists. He took the younger man’s face in his hands, wiping the red from his eyes.
“Hey, Sam, c’mon, we have to get you out of here.”
Sam groaned low in his throat and pitched forward. Gene caught him with a curse.
“Sam. Sammy, you awake in there?” His head lolled against Gene’s shirt, smearing blood onto the dark blue lapel.
“Christ. Okay, I’m gonna pick you up.”
Gene scooped the small figure into his arms, wary of broken bones. Sam keened as one of the detective’s large hands brushed over his purple, bruise-mottled ribs, letting out a chocked, half-conscious sob. He shuddered in Gene’s arms.
“Fuckin’ Hell, Gladys.” He muttered, moving towards the sliver of light that marked the exit. “You can’t go a week without getting into some sort of mess, can you? Got a bloody death wish, you have.” He shouldered the heavy metal door open all the way, squinting in the sudden daylight, Sam whimpering and deliriously burying his face in Gene’s shoulder. “Right, ’m gonna call for back-up. Phyllis’ll send help faster than you can shimmy into those tight pants of yours in the morning, not that that’s hard.” He glanced down at his DI. Sam looked even worse outside, his skin pale and clammy and his naked torso looking like the palette of an artist going through a black, purple, and red phase. Gene swore.
“Jus’ hang in there, Sammy. Help’s on its way, you’ll see.” He opened the door of the Cortina precariously, setting Sam down on the back seat before reaching for the police radio and shouting their address at Phyllis, followed by a sharp, barked “Ambulance! Now!”
He perched beside Sam in the back seat, gently shifting him so that he was lying on his side. “We’ve been looking for you for days now, Sammy-boy. Had us right worried, you did.” He reached down, pressing his sleeve to a cut on the smaller man’s stomach that was oozing blood. “I’m sayin’ this right now, you go off on your own again without telling anyone your location and I’ll break both your skinny legs like so many toothpicks. Got me?” Sam inhaled shallowly, air hissing in his throat. Gene frowned, stroking his DI’s hair. “Good. ‘M not letting anything happen to you, Sammy.”
A siren wailed a few streets away.