Fic: Taken 7/10 (Life on Mars, Gene, Sam)
Fic: Taken (Chapter 7/10)
Author: amproof
Words: 2280
Rating: Blue Cortina, just to be safe, this chapter
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I sure wouldn't
do this to them.
Characters: Gene, Sam
Notes: We move closer to slash with this chapter, but still not there.
Summary: Sam attacks Gene in a violent and terrible way. The next morning, he doesn't remember anything, and the Guv isn't about to remind him--or tell him why he thinks Sam needs to spend more time in the boot of the Cortina. Just as Sam thinks the Guv has gone off his rocker, someone he loves dies, his prospect of getting home is practically destroyed, and in 2006 he's getting a visitor no one wants. Oh, and the Guv has started having uncomfortably pleasant dreams of Sam, even as he wonders if his DI is a psychopath.
Previously:
1. A favor gone wrong. Red Cortina (Rape, Violence)
2. A bad joke interpreted…badly. Blue Cortina (language, some violence)
3. Driving in circles. Blue Cortina (Language)
4. An action out of character. Blue Cortina (Language)
5. Understanding the unspoken. Blue Cortina (mild het!sex)
6. The wrong mystery solved…sort of. Blue Cortina (language, death of a minor character)
Chapter 7
At some point, the ponce started talking to himself. He was doing it so convincingly that Gene checked that it was just the two of them trapped. One Gene Genie, one psycho DI, all present and accounted for. Sam was still squeezing Gene's foot. His toes had gone numb from the pressure, but he didn't shake him off. He could handle that-he knew what physical contact could do for someone on the verge of insanity. But the yammering on…that he could do without. A man needed a moment of peace, didn't he? Just as Gene was starting to think that Sam was going to babble himself to death-a death helped along by Gene's hand over his mouth to get him to shut the hell up-the lid of the dumpster was wrenched open and Carling's oversized head grinned down at them.
"'Bout bloody time," Gene said. Then, the sudden exposure of fresh air arousing in him a new worry: "How's my girl?"
Ray glanced over at Tyler and grinned. "You tell me, Guv. You're the one's spent the day with her."
Sam, stretching carefully to his feet, glared. Gene was too overwhelmed with worry to enjoy the moment. "I meant the car, you div."
"Eh, I was only teasin'. Cortina's fine, Guv. Not a speck o' dust on 'er."
Gene closed his eyes as relief washed over him. Small miracles be praised. He grabbed Carling's outstretched hand and together they leveraged him out. He landed on top of Carling and looked over to see Sam climbing nimbly over the side. Gene told himself that if he wasn't injured, he'd be doing the same, but he knew it wasn't true. His days of climbing nimbly had ended in his twenties (and possibly never started). Without the adrenaline pumping through him that had gotten him and, amazingly, Sam, into the dumpster, there was no way he was getting out of it without help. Didn't mean he was jolly from being heaped on top of Carling like a couple of fallen ice dancers. A DCI had to maintain some dignity… Unlike his DI, apparently. Sam was on his knees next to the dumpster picking bits of stone and brick away, practically caressing each one before he tossed it aside.
If Carling noticed, he didn't ask what Sam was doing. Since the answer to that question, any time it was posed, often led to more confusion, Gene thought Carling had made the wise decision to keep his nose out of it. Gene certainly wasn't interested in explaining that Sam was wasting his energy unburying a corpse that was dead before the explosion.
Gene rolled off Carling and got to his feet, every move eliciting a different throbbing discomfort. He brushed himself off, loosening strands of still-wet spaghetti from his trousers, and did a quick calculation. Less than 40 hours had passed since Sam had attacked him. Less than 40 hours. Felt like days since everything he'd understood had been turned upside down, since he'd had to reassess his opinions on what was normal and what wasn't.
"Cor, Guv, ya smell like a…" Gene's thunderous glare stopped Carling cold.
"Smell like a what, Ray? Like I've been in a dumpster the past hour? Whose fault is that, eh? Yeh might've had a team out here a mite quicker."
"Sorry, Guv. We figured you was safe, like, so long as we could hear ya on the radio, so we diverted all the teams over to Hyde PD to do what good they could."
Gene looked over at the plume of black smoke still hovering over the former PD. "Was there anything…"
"It's gone. Building's turned to rubble, rubble's turned to dust-" He glanced at Gene. "Poetic for me, I know." A sharp laugh cut off before it began. "You want me to do anything, Guv? Else I'd rather get back to the rescue team."
"No, you go on."
Ray nodded and trotted off. Gene wasn't sure if his pleased expression came from being excused to do something exciting-not every day an explosion happened-or from relief at not having to stand next to the cesspool of stench that Gene was impersonating any longer.
"What about my da-Vic Tyler?" Sam said. "You don't think he's worth mentioning?"
"Didn't want to interrupt your love-in with the rubble."
Sam glared.
"Oh, all right. Ray!"
Ray came trotting back, looking none too pleased. "Yeh?"
"We got a body here. Vic Tyler. He was here before the explosion. Have some plod dig him out and get him down the morgue."
"No, we need forensics in," Sam said.
Gene gestured at the pile of rubble under which, he assumed, Vic Tyler was buried. "There's no evidence left, Sammy boy. We'll have to rely on your memory."
"Mine?"
"Yeh. You were close enough to see if he died natural or not, weren't ya? Not that what you were doing was natural…"
Seeing the look in Sam's eyes, Gene barked at Ray, and the other man smoothly stepped between him and Sam, who collided with Ray and bounced back, holding his fist to his chest. "Can't do your own fighting any more, Guv?"
Gene started to walk away, calling instructions over his shoulder. "Get forensics if there's anybody who can be spared from the explosion. If not-that's one less nonce on the street and I'll not be losing any sleep over 'im."
He marched towards the smoke with no idea who was heading up the investigation-if it was a first come first served, in which case he'd call himself the boss, or if someone from Division had arrived. There wasn't any order at first glance, just a bunch of uniforms treading over the rubble with rakes and dogs. Some civilians were clustered around the police barricades, staring; a few were crying or talking to officers. Gene waved his badge at one of the plods and asked who was in charge. He was pointed towards a tall, thin man standing on top of a particularly high pile of debris, long coat waving in the wind, pointing and barking orders. Gene was instantly scornful of the god-like display. Work to be done and he's playing Zeus up there. The knowledge that he'd be doing the same thing, had been counting on getting to do it, and was irate that he wasn't, only served to increase his dislike for this supposed leader.
And then the man turned around and Gene's burgeoning hatred surged into full, raging form. He charged up the pile, nimble as a mountain goat, forceful as a ram. "Morgan. What did you do to survive? Make a pact with the devil?"
DCI Frank Morgan turned, not seeming to mind that Gene had left him no space to do so, and regarded him with the polite, if disinterested, gaze that Gene had come to know and hate. "I was at brunch with my mother when we heard the explosion."
"Any survivors?" From this vantage point, Gene could see separate plumes of smoke wafting upwards from amongst the ruins.
"Not as yet."
"You don't seem overly torn up about it."
"The field is no place for emotion, Mr. Hunt. If you'll excuse me… The air is a bit stagnant up here. Perhaps you should go see to your men from your own pile of rubble."
Gene got the hint and brushed against Morgan, who wrinkled his nose, as he clambered back down, taking care to not to hit a loose rock and go sliding.
He found Ray watching the coroner’s van drive away. “Tyler went with ‘im. He were a right mess,” Ray said. “ME weren’t too happy neither, having someone as stunk worse ‘n the d.o.a. in wi’ ‘im.”
Gene absorbed this without much interest. He tossed Ray the keys to the Cortina. “Drive ‘er back to the office, Raymundo.”
“What about you, Guv?”
“I’ll catch a ride with plod. I’m not gettin’ in my girl smelling like a horse shat on me.”
Ray nodded. “You treat your women well, Guv.”
“Bugger off.”
Grinning, Ray headed for the car.
“Oi, you!” Gene set upon the first plod who turned around and soon had himself a ride back to CID with a young man whose ashen face Gene took to be the result of fear at being in his vicinity rather than a physical reaction to the stench wafting off him. Still, he felt the urge to be kind as they pulled into the driveway.
“Take the rest of the day off, son.” He tossed him a fiver. “Have a few pints on me.”
“Thank you, sir.” The kid paused in his coughing to beam.
There were a couple of plods in the locker room when Gene tore in. "Oi, quit slackin' and get to work!" They grabbed their things and ran. Gene eased out of his clothes. With a mournful farewell, he binned his trousers and shirt. The white loafers were placed on a bench. He'd find a shop to clean them properly if it killed him. Naked, he walked into the empty shower room. The walls were still wet and the room was pleasantly warm from the previous occupants. He turned the middle showerhead on and let the water wash the filth off him. There were no mirrors, so he couldn't give himself a proper inspection, but at a glance he saw purpling marks on his chest and collarbone. Phantom fingers, preserved in blue and red, squeezed his hips and inner thighs. He had a cut on his forehead, just at the hairline. He danced his fingers carefully over the thin scab.
"I couldn't get any information. No one would come near me. You have the same problem?" Gene could hear rustling over the water and guessed that Sam was disrobing.
"You think anyone's going to tell me I'm not smellin' like sunshine and roses? Yeh ain't are comin' in here, are ya?"
"No-I thought I'd just let myself air out from here."
"Good."
"'Course I'm coming in there."
"Can't a man get some privacy?" Gene cranked the heat up on the shower. If he didn't have time to heat up the room enough to give him a cover of steam, he could at least try to turn his unblemished skin red enough to match the rest of him. “Five minutes, Tyler.”
“That long and this smell will soak into the walls out here,” Sam said. He came in, clutching a towel around his waist. “Don’t remember you giving me any privacy when I was handcu…” He trailed off. Gene turned quickly, trying to angle himself so the worst of the bruises couldn’t be seen, but it was an impossible endeavor. He could feel Sam staring at him, practically hear his little brain clicking away, filing every single blemish, cataloguing it against the ones he’d seen before in Hyde, slotting it into a category. And as he felt Sam watching him, Gene started to get aroused.
“Tyler, get out.”
“Gene…”
Gene flung himself forward, attacking the wall because he wasn’t going to turn around and attack Sam in his current condition of interest. He threw his fists against the slick ceramic like a six foot three year old. “Goddammit, Tyler. Get out.”
He heard Sam start to move, finally, and he started to relax. Then he realized the div wasn’t leaving. He had stepped closer.
“You been to a hospital, Gene?”
“I don’t need to go to a bloody hospital.”
“It’s just…you could have internal injuries.”
Gene turned and glared. Sam’s eyes glanced down automatically and popped up again just as quickly. “What makes you think I would?”
“Just…the pattern of bruises, it indicates…”
“What, Tyler?”
“I…” He stretched his hand out, like he was going to touch him. Gene glowered him back.
“You should get checked over is all,” Sam said, faltering.
“How about you keep yourself to yourself, Gladys?”
Sam backed off, nodding. He turned one of the showerheads on.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m showering. I’ve seen what you’ve been hidin’. I can’t unsee it, can I? So I may as well shower.”
Gene didn’t know if he was talking about the bruises or the hardon. He wasn’t chuffed about Tyler seeing either.
“You get Vic Tyler to the morgue alright?” Gene said because Sam was still staring at him.
“His face was bashed in. I couldn’t… recognize him.” Tyler’s voice hitched in the middle of the sentence, but he got control of himself to finish.
“Christ, Gladys, yer not crying over a nonce, are ya?”
Sam shook his head almost violently. He immersed himself under the water, suddenly taking an interest in getting clean.
“Shit,” Gene said. “Ya are.”
“What the hell do you care about it anyway?” Sam glared at him, dripping.
“Don’t. Just. You get weirder by the second, don’t you?”
Sam turned the water off. “His face was as good as gone, Gene. I knew the guy. I…”
Tyler’s face crumpled and he sagged forward. Gene, from instinct more than concern, took the few steps forward to catch him. Tyler hung onto him, his slick body a little too close for comfort. Gene tried to angle himself away, but merely ended up poking Tyler’s hip with his cock. The ponce cried for two incredibly confusing minutes before he pulled away.
“Sorry,” he said. “Please don’t tell anyone I cried.”
Gene stared at him as he left and figured he didn’t need to say, “Please don’t tell anyone my erection was poking into your leg.” Something like that, a man just understood.
Gene pushed himself under the water again, turned the cold up and stayed put until every nerve screamed.
Author: amproof
Words: 2280
Rating: Blue Cortina, just to be safe, this chapter
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I sure wouldn't
do this to them.
Characters: Gene, Sam
Notes: We move closer to slash with this chapter, but still not there.
Summary: Sam attacks Gene in a violent and terrible way. The next morning, he doesn't remember anything, and the Guv isn't about to remind him--or tell him why he thinks Sam needs to spend more time in the boot of the Cortina. Just as Sam thinks the Guv has gone off his rocker, someone he loves dies, his prospect of getting home is practically destroyed, and in 2006 he's getting a visitor no one wants. Oh, and the Guv has started having uncomfortably pleasant dreams of Sam, even as he wonders if his DI is a psychopath.
Previously:
1. A favor gone wrong. Red Cortina (Rape, Violence)
2. A bad joke interpreted…badly. Blue Cortina (language, some violence)
3. Driving in circles. Blue Cortina (Language)
4. An action out of character. Blue Cortina (Language)
5. Understanding the unspoken. Blue Cortina (mild het!sex)
6. The wrong mystery solved…sort of. Blue Cortina (language, death of a minor character)
Chapter 7
At some point, the ponce started talking to himself. He was doing it so convincingly that Gene checked that it was just the two of them trapped. One Gene Genie, one psycho DI, all present and accounted for. Sam was still squeezing Gene's foot. His toes had gone numb from the pressure, but he didn't shake him off. He could handle that-he knew what physical contact could do for someone on the verge of insanity. But the yammering on…that he could do without. A man needed a moment of peace, didn't he? Just as Gene was starting to think that Sam was going to babble himself to death-a death helped along by Gene's hand over his mouth to get him to shut the hell up-the lid of the dumpster was wrenched open and Carling's oversized head grinned down at them.
"'Bout bloody time," Gene said. Then, the sudden exposure of fresh air arousing in him a new worry: "How's my girl?"
Ray glanced over at Tyler and grinned. "You tell me, Guv. You're the one's spent the day with her."
Sam, stretching carefully to his feet, glared. Gene was too overwhelmed with worry to enjoy the moment. "I meant the car, you div."
"Eh, I was only teasin'. Cortina's fine, Guv. Not a speck o' dust on 'er."
Gene closed his eyes as relief washed over him. Small miracles be praised. He grabbed Carling's outstretched hand and together they leveraged him out. He landed on top of Carling and looked over to see Sam climbing nimbly over the side. Gene told himself that if he wasn't injured, he'd be doing the same, but he knew it wasn't true. His days of climbing nimbly had ended in his twenties (and possibly never started). Without the adrenaline pumping through him that had gotten him and, amazingly, Sam, into the dumpster, there was no way he was getting out of it without help. Didn't mean he was jolly from being heaped on top of Carling like a couple of fallen ice dancers. A DCI had to maintain some dignity… Unlike his DI, apparently. Sam was on his knees next to the dumpster picking bits of stone and brick away, practically caressing each one before he tossed it aside.
If Carling noticed, he didn't ask what Sam was doing. Since the answer to that question, any time it was posed, often led to more confusion, Gene thought Carling had made the wise decision to keep his nose out of it. Gene certainly wasn't interested in explaining that Sam was wasting his energy unburying a corpse that was dead before the explosion.
Gene rolled off Carling and got to his feet, every move eliciting a different throbbing discomfort. He brushed himself off, loosening strands of still-wet spaghetti from his trousers, and did a quick calculation. Less than 40 hours had passed since Sam had attacked him. Less than 40 hours. Felt like days since everything he'd understood had been turned upside down, since he'd had to reassess his opinions on what was normal and what wasn't.
"Cor, Guv, ya smell like a…" Gene's thunderous glare stopped Carling cold.
"Smell like a what, Ray? Like I've been in a dumpster the past hour? Whose fault is that, eh? Yeh might've had a team out here a mite quicker."
"Sorry, Guv. We figured you was safe, like, so long as we could hear ya on the radio, so we diverted all the teams over to Hyde PD to do what good they could."
Gene looked over at the plume of black smoke still hovering over the former PD. "Was there anything…"
"It's gone. Building's turned to rubble, rubble's turned to dust-" He glanced at Gene. "Poetic for me, I know." A sharp laugh cut off before it began. "You want me to do anything, Guv? Else I'd rather get back to the rescue team."
"No, you go on."
Ray nodded and trotted off. Gene wasn't sure if his pleased expression came from being excused to do something exciting-not every day an explosion happened-or from relief at not having to stand next to the cesspool of stench that Gene was impersonating any longer.
"What about my da-Vic Tyler?" Sam said. "You don't think he's worth mentioning?"
"Didn't want to interrupt your love-in with the rubble."
Sam glared.
"Oh, all right. Ray!"
Ray came trotting back, looking none too pleased. "Yeh?"
"We got a body here. Vic Tyler. He was here before the explosion. Have some plod dig him out and get him down the morgue."
"No, we need forensics in," Sam said.
Gene gestured at the pile of rubble under which, he assumed, Vic Tyler was buried. "There's no evidence left, Sammy boy. We'll have to rely on your memory."
"Mine?"
"Yeh. You were close enough to see if he died natural or not, weren't ya? Not that what you were doing was natural…"
Seeing the look in Sam's eyes, Gene barked at Ray, and the other man smoothly stepped between him and Sam, who collided with Ray and bounced back, holding his fist to his chest. "Can't do your own fighting any more, Guv?"
Gene started to walk away, calling instructions over his shoulder. "Get forensics if there's anybody who can be spared from the explosion. If not-that's one less nonce on the street and I'll not be losing any sleep over 'im."
He marched towards the smoke with no idea who was heading up the investigation-if it was a first come first served, in which case he'd call himself the boss, or if someone from Division had arrived. There wasn't any order at first glance, just a bunch of uniforms treading over the rubble with rakes and dogs. Some civilians were clustered around the police barricades, staring; a few were crying or talking to officers. Gene waved his badge at one of the plods and asked who was in charge. He was pointed towards a tall, thin man standing on top of a particularly high pile of debris, long coat waving in the wind, pointing and barking orders. Gene was instantly scornful of the god-like display. Work to be done and he's playing Zeus up there. The knowledge that he'd be doing the same thing, had been counting on getting to do it, and was irate that he wasn't, only served to increase his dislike for this supposed leader.
And then the man turned around and Gene's burgeoning hatred surged into full, raging form. He charged up the pile, nimble as a mountain goat, forceful as a ram. "Morgan. What did you do to survive? Make a pact with the devil?"
DCI Frank Morgan turned, not seeming to mind that Gene had left him no space to do so, and regarded him with the polite, if disinterested, gaze that Gene had come to know and hate. "I was at brunch with my mother when we heard the explosion."
"Any survivors?" From this vantage point, Gene could see separate plumes of smoke wafting upwards from amongst the ruins.
"Not as yet."
"You don't seem overly torn up about it."
"The field is no place for emotion, Mr. Hunt. If you'll excuse me… The air is a bit stagnant up here. Perhaps you should go see to your men from your own pile of rubble."
Gene got the hint and brushed against Morgan, who wrinkled his nose, as he clambered back down, taking care to not to hit a loose rock and go sliding.
He found Ray watching the coroner’s van drive away. “Tyler went with ‘im. He were a right mess,” Ray said. “ME weren’t too happy neither, having someone as stunk worse ‘n the d.o.a. in wi’ ‘im.”
Gene absorbed this without much interest. He tossed Ray the keys to the Cortina. “Drive ‘er back to the office, Raymundo.”
“What about you, Guv?”
“I’ll catch a ride with plod. I’m not gettin’ in my girl smelling like a horse shat on me.”
Ray nodded. “You treat your women well, Guv.”
“Bugger off.”
Grinning, Ray headed for the car.
“Oi, you!” Gene set upon the first plod who turned around and soon had himself a ride back to CID with a young man whose ashen face Gene took to be the result of fear at being in his vicinity rather than a physical reaction to the stench wafting off him. Still, he felt the urge to be kind as they pulled into the driveway.
“Take the rest of the day off, son.” He tossed him a fiver. “Have a few pints on me.”
“Thank you, sir.” The kid paused in his coughing to beam.
There were a couple of plods in the locker room when Gene tore in. "Oi, quit slackin' and get to work!" They grabbed their things and ran. Gene eased out of his clothes. With a mournful farewell, he binned his trousers and shirt. The white loafers were placed on a bench. He'd find a shop to clean them properly if it killed him. Naked, he walked into the empty shower room. The walls were still wet and the room was pleasantly warm from the previous occupants. He turned the middle showerhead on and let the water wash the filth off him. There were no mirrors, so he couldn't give himself a proper inspection, but at a glance he saw purpling marks on his chest and collarbone. Phantom fingers, preserved in blue and red, squeezed his hips and inner thighs. He had a cut on his forehead, just at the hairline. He danced his fingers carefully over the thin scab.
"I couldn't get any information. No one would come near me. You have the same problem?" Gene could hear rustling over the water and guessed that Sam was disrobing.
"You think anyone's going to tell me I'm not smellin' like sunshine and roses? Yeh ain't are comin' in here, are ya?"
"No-I thought I'd just let myself air out from here."
"Good."
"'Course I'm coming in there."
"Can't a man get some privacy?" Gene cranked the heat up on the shower. If he didn't have time to heat up the room enough to give him a cover of steam, he could at least try to turn his unblemished skin red enough to match the rest of him. “Five minutes, Tyler.”
“That long and this smell will soak into the walls out here,” Sam said. He came in, clutching a towel around his waist. “Don’t remember you giving me any privacy when I was handcu…” He trailed off. Gene turned quickly, trying to angle himself so the worst of the bruises couldn’t be seen, but it was an impossible endeavor. He could feel Sam staring at him, practically hear his little brain clicking away, filing every single blemish, cataloguing it against the ones he’d seen before in Hyde, slotting it into a category. And as he felt Sam watching him, Gene started to get aroused.
“Tyler, get out.”
“Gene…”
Gene flung himself forward, attacking the wall because he wasn’t going to turn around and attack Sam in his current condition of interest. He threw his fists against the slick ceramic like a six foot three year old. “Goddammit, Tyler. Get out.”
He heard Sam start to move, finally, and he started to relax. Then he realized the div wasn’t leaving. He had stepped closer.
“You been to a hospital, Gene?”
“I don’t need to go to a bloody hospital.”
“It’s just…you could have internal injuries.”
Gene turned and glared. Sam’s eyes glanced down automatically and popped up again just as quickly. “What makes you think I would?”
“Just…the pattern of bruises, it indicates…”
“What, Tyler?”
“I…” He stretched his hand out, like he was going to touch him. Gene glowered him back.
“You should get checked over is all,” Sam said, faltering.
“How about you keep yourself to yourself, Gladys?”
Sam backed off, nodding. He turned one of the showerheads on.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m showering. I’ve seen what you’ve been hidin’. I can’t unsee it, can I? So I may as well shower.”
Gene didn’t know if he was talking about the bruises or the hardon. He wasn’t chuffed about Tyler seeing either.
“You get Vic Tyler to the morgue alright?” Gene said because Sam was still staring at him.
“His face was bashed in. I couldn’t… recognize him.” Tyler’s voice hitched in the middle of the sentence, but he got control of himself to finish.
“Christ, Gladys, yer not crying over a nonce, are ya?”
Sam shook his head almost violently. He immersed himself under the water, suddenly taking an interest in getting clean.
“Shit,” Gene said. “Ya are.”
“What the hell do you care about it anyway?” Sam glared at him, dripping.
“Don’t. Just. You get weirder by the second, don’t you?”
Sam turned the water off. “His face was as good as gone, Gene. I knew the guy. I…”
Tyler’s face crumpled and he sagged forward. Gene, from instinct more than concern, took the few steps forward to catch him. Tyler hung onto him, his slick body a little too close for comfort. Gene tried to angle himself away, but merely ended up poking Tyler’s hip with his cock. The ponce cried for two incredibly confusing minutes before he pulled away.
“Sorry,” he said. “Please don’t tell anyone I cried.”
Gene stared at him as he left and figured he didn’t need to say, “Please don’t tell anyone my erection was poking into your leg.” Something like that, a man just understood.
Gene pushed himself under the water again, turned the cold up and stayed put until every nerve screamed.