Fic: The Art of Being Lost and Found (61/62), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Art of Being Lost and Found (61/62)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2162 (this part); (91,032) in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: increased angst quotient, irresponsible drinking
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
A/N: It's almost over! There is only one more part of this one. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28
Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41
Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54
Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60
When Ray Carling was six-years-old, his mummy and daddy got into an awful fight. Daddy was upset because Mummy was spending so much time at Aunt Mary’s. Mummy was upset because Daddy was upset. Mummy was the only person Aunt Mary had left in the whole wide world, she said, and she had to take care of Aunt Mary because she was so very sick.
Ray had watched from the stairs as Mummy and Daddy fought and fought and fought in the kitchen. Then, when they were very loud, Daddy had shoved Mummy backwards. Mummy had slipped and hit her head on the counter. She fell to the floor. She wasn’t yelling anymore. She wasn’t even moving. Daddy had stepped over her on his way out of the kitchen and spotted Ray on the stairs.
“What’re you lookin’ at, boy?” he’d asked, then walked away.
Ray hadn’t been able to move. He’d sat on the staircase, fingers clasping the banister rails so tight, his little knuckles turned white. He watched and watched, unable to move, hoping Mummy would wake up. Later, Mummy’s friend Mrs. Ford came by. She found Mummy and helped her wake up.
Ray had been so angry with himself. He should have helped Mummy, but he’d been too scared. He swore he’d never let himself be so gripped by fear ever again.
Of course, Little Ray had never foreseen this.
Ray wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He just knew that during that time, Sam had not moved at all.
Ray blinked and suddenly realized what has happening. Sobriety had never hit him so hard. He ran to the hall bathroom and vomited everything from his stomach into the toilet. He splashed freezing cold water onto his face and finally began to react.
“Shit.”
He ran down the stairs, stepping over Sam, then knelt beside him. The Boss was lying on his belly, his face turned towards the stairs. He still wasn’t moving.
“Shit. Shit...”
Ray’s hands were shaking as he reached out to check for a pulse. He pressed two fingers against Tyler’s neck - it was warm. Of course it was warm. Even if he was...he’d still be warm. It was too early for the body...for him...
Ray couldn’t find the pulse. It’d been so long since he’d done this. When was the last time? When he was uniform? When he was in the service? He adjusted his fingers, stopping when he felt the steady thump, thump. At first, he wasn’t sure if it was his own heart he felt thudding away. Then, he saw that Sam was breathing. A small amount of relief worked its way through Ray’s body. A very small amount.
Sam could still be seriously injured. He could have broken bones - a broken arm, a broken neck, a broken skull?
“Shit,” he repeated. It was the only thing he could think to say.
Removing his fingers from Sam’s pulse, Ray carefully positioned his hands and rolled Sam onto his back. There was some blood, but it was only on Sam’s cut arm - where Ray had gripped him too tightly, earlier. Earlier. Before he’d tossed him down the stairs.
Ray cleared his head as best he could.
He needed to get Sam off the floor. It was freezing, the floor. Forcing his arms underneath Sam’s body, Ray slowly lifted him up. Despite how thin Tyler was nowadays, he was by no means a feather and, as sober as Ray was trying to be, he’d drunk too much to be fully functional this early into the night.
He staggered as he carried Sam to Gene’s couch, doing his best to lay him down carefully instead of just dropping him.
With Tyler laid out on the couch, Ray put one of the decorative sofa pillows behind his head and adjusted him into a comfortable looking position. Then, he had no idea what to do.
“Tyler?” he whispered.
Nothing.
“Sam?”
Nothing.
“Twonk?”
Not a peep.
“Shit. Shit. Shit”
Water. Maybe water would help. He had no idea how, but injured people were always given water, weren’t they? Ray stumbled into Gene’s kitchen, not bothering to find the light, and searched every cabinet for a glass. He found a chipped mug. That would do well enough.
He hurried to the sink and turned on the tap. As he was filling the mug, he heard the front door open and shut. Ray turned off the faucet and froze. The footsteps moved down the hallway then turned into the sitting room. The sitting room light was turned on. Ray took a shaky breath and left the kitchen, following the footsteps.
Gene stood there, facing Sam, his back to Ray. He turned round as soon as Ray came up behind him.
“What’re you doing?”
Ray opened his mouth but couldn’t speak.
“What is this?” He pointed to Sam.
Ray tried to make a sound but nothing came out.
“What is going on?” Gene huffed, hands on his hips.
“Erm...”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes,” Ray nodded. That was one question he could answer with absolute certainty.
“That explains your brilliant park job outside, then,” Gene sighed. “Now what the bloody hell is going on?”
“I...Where’s Dorothy?”
“At her aunt’s. Now, am I speaking a language you’re unfamiliar with, Carling? Should I try Gaelic? What is going on here?” He demanded, that familiar fire in his eyes.
“You don’t have a sister.”
It should not have been the first thought that popped into his head, but Ray was still very drunk. Gene rolled his eyes.
“Her mother’s sister.”
Sam groaned. Gene’s head snapped round, Ray momentarily forgotten. Sam did not wake, though. His head merely flopped to the side. Gene turned back to Ray.
“What’s he doing down here?”
“...He...”
“How’d he get out of the cuffs?”
“...Don’t...”
“Do you know anything?”
“...Erm...”
“Bloody useless,” Gene sneered, giving up on Ray and going to Sam’s side.
It could have been the drink or the fact Ray already knew he was dead soon as Gene found out the truth, but whatever it was, he still surprised himself when he started speaking.
“’M not useless. I’m...I do a lot o’ things. Things for you.”
“Yeah?” Gene asked with derision. That only strengthened Ray’s resolve.
“Yeah. I...take you home when you’re pissed. I lie to Vera. Tell her you’re at mine when you’re not.”
Gene kept silent, so Ray continued.
“I pick up the crims you can’t be bothered to find. I get the confessions you can’t get for yourself. I keep Chris out of your way. Out of trouble. Help him out when he needs it. Fact, I kept the whole team together when you left. When you abandoned them, I was the one that defended you! Yeah, that’s right. You abandoned them. Us. You might not see it like that, but that’s how they saw it, so what’s it matter what you think? I told ‘em you’d be back. I kept ‘em working. Kept their morale up when all the leads dried up. When even I was giving up. So, you know what? You need me. And not just for me fists. Sure, tell yourself that. Say it all you want, but it ain’t true. You know it ain’t true. Are you even listening to me?”
There was a long silence.
“His head is bleeding,” Gene said very quietly.
“What?”
“Sam. His head is bleeding. At the back. Help me sit him up.”
There was no anger in Gene’s voice. This wasn’t an order. It was a request. Ray obliged, setting down the mug and helping to prop up Sam’s torso while Gene examined the back of his head.
“Looks like he bumped it hard. Probably concussion. Get us a flannel. Damp one.”
Again, a quiet request. Ray agreed, returning moments later with the damp cloth. He handed it to Gene who began dabbing at the wound. Sam groaned again, but other than his cries, the men in the room remained silent.
“Plonk’s job, this is,” Gene eventually sighed, still cleaning the wound. Ray said nothing. “Dorothy is at her aunt’s because it’s better for her. Lydia’s a good girl. I remember when she was on the force. Can’t say that about most of the plonks that pass through. She’ll be a good mother to her. Dorothy’ll have a good home - mother and father who’ll love her much as they care about each other. That man of Lydia’s makes good wages, too. Dorothy won’t want for nowt.” Gene set the damp and bloodied flannel on the lamp stand behind him. “Beats the hell out of growing up with an unreliable copper and a marriage broken at both ends.”
With Ray’s help, Gene laid Sam back down on the couch.
“Lawrence Hynes?” Ray asked. Gene chuckled.
“Try Mabel,” he sighed.
“Hang on. You mean...”
“Tyler found that one out. Didn’t want him to. But, you know how he is. Terrier with a rat.”
“Still, Guv. Jackie Queen?”
“Better than shacking up with some diseased prozzie. ‘Sides, convenient for both us. We both get what we need out of it. More than I can say about this marriage.”
“She was worried about you.”
“She didn’t print anything, did she?”
“No.”
“Good girl.”
They stood side by side, their eyes locked on Tyler.
“Gene, why didn’t...”
“I tell you?”
Gene reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of Marlboro’s, offering one to Ray. Ray accepted. Gene took one for himself and returned the pack to his pocket. He lit his own, then handed the lighter to Ray. Ray lit up and handed the lighter back. Gene dropped it into his pocket, then continued speaking.
“There are things I don’t want people to know. Not you. Not Tyler. Plenty of things neither of you know about, something you have in common, and I plan on keeping it that way. Thing is, Tyler gets a whiff of something, he won’t give it up till he knows everything. You...” Gene took a long drag, then slowly exhaled the smoke. Ray waited. “You get a whiff, you figure I’ll tell you if I need to. You accept it is what it is and leave it at that. Sam could never be that...blindly trusting. I don’t know what I’ve done to earn that trust from you, but...” Gene twirled the fag in his fingers. “It’s something I need, much as I need his constant questioning. Think it keeps us all balanced.”
Ray had no idea what to say, but he was very, very glad he was drunk.
“You and him got into a scrap, didn’t you?” Gene asked.
“Yes,” he admitted - just like that - and waited for death.
“Had a bit of a rough and tumble and forgot he ain’t what he used to be?”
“How’d you know?”
“How long have I known you, Raymondo?” Gene sighed. “Plus, you’re more pissed than me old man on his worst days. Don’t take a genius detective like meself to piece it all together.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Ray waited for the blow. Gene took another long drag before answering.
“Thought about it. Seriously considered bashing your brains against the floor while you were getting that flannel. Twice now you’ve put him in harm’s way. Twice he’ll land in hospital because of what you’ve done. I could rip off your scrotum, shove it down your throat, then run you over with me car for that. But,” he sighed wearily. “I’m too tired for murder. Too tired of it. You will pay for this, Sergeant. Make no mistake about that. You owe me and, more importantly, you owe him, and you’ll be paying us back for the rest of your miserable life.”
“Yes, Guv.” He was going to live. “Cheers, Guv.”
“And?”
“And I’m sorry, Guv.”
“Good,” Gene turned away, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table. “Your first order of business then, is to ride with him to hospital, after ringing the ambulance. No bloody way you’re driving him ‘round in your state. Stay up with him once he’s allowed visitors. Make sure he don’t cop it or run off. I’ll be round in the morning. Right now, I need some bloody kip.”
Gene dragged his weary body towards the stairs.
“Guv?
Gene stopped and waited.
“Are you really going to let Chris quit?”
“Skelton needs to do right by himself. If that means leaving us, so be it.”
The disappointment must have shown on Ray’s face.
“What happened to Tyler, it weren’t because he was weak. It was because he put himself under more stress than any man can rightly handle. Chris’s starting to put himself under that same pressure. You want to see the same happen to him?”
“Least Chris could have someone decent to room with.”
Gene smirked, but it faded quickly.
“Keep an eye on him. Call that ambulance.”
“Yes, Guv.”
“Good-night, Sergeant Carling.”
“Night, Guv.”
Author: dak
Word Count: 2162 (this part); (91,032) in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: increased angst quotient, irresponsible drinking
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
A/N: It's almost over! There is only one more part of this one. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28
Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41
Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54
Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60
When Ray Carling was six-years-old, his mummy and daddy got into an awful fight. Daddy was upset because Mummy was spending so much time at Aunt Mary’s. Mummy was upset because Daddy was upset. Mummy was the only person Aunt Mary had left in the whole wide world, she said, and she had to take care of Aunt Mary because she was so very sick.
Ray had watched from the stairs as Mummy and Daddy fought and fought and fought in the kitchen. Then, when they were very loud, Daddy had shoved Mummy backwards. Mummy had slipped and hit her head on the counter. She fell to the floor. She wasn’t yelling anymore. She wasn’t even moving. Daddy had stepped over her on his way out of the kitchen and spotted Ray on the stairs.
“What’re you lookin’ at, boy?” he’d asked, then walked away.
Ray hadn’t been able to move. He’d sat on the staircase, fingers clasping the banister rails so tight, his little knuckles turned white. He watched and watched, unable to move, hoping Mummy would wake up. Later, Mummy’s friend Mrs. Ford came by. She found Mummy and helped her wake up.
Ray had been so angry with himself. He should have helped Mummy, but he’d been too scared. He swore he’d never let himself be so gripped by fear ever again.
Of course, Little Ray had never foreseen this.
Ray wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He just knew that during that time, Sam had not moved at all.
Ray blinked and suddenly realized what has happening. Sobriety had never hit him so hard. He ran to the hall bathroom and vomited everything from his stomach into the toilet. He splashed freezing cold water onto his face and finally began to react.
“Shit.”
He ran down the stairs, stepping over Sam, then knelt beside him. The Boss was lying on his belly, his face turned towards the stairs. He still wasn’t moving.
“Shit. Shit...”
Ray’s hands were shaking as he reached out to check for a pulse. He pressed two fingers against Tyler’s neck - it was warm. Of course it was warm. Even if he was...he’d still be warm. It was too early for the body...for him...
Ray couldn’t find the pulse. It’d been so long since he’d done this. When was the last time? When he was uniform? When he was in the service? He adjusted his fingers, stopping when he felt the steady thump, thump. At first, he wasn’t sure if it was his own heart he felt thudding away. Then, he saw that Sam was breathing. A small amount of relief worked its way through Ray’s body. A very small amount.
Sam could still be seriously injured. He could have broken bones - a broken arm, a broken neck, a broken skull?
“Shit,” he repeated. It was the only thing he could think to say.
Removing his fingers from Sam’s pulse, Ray carefully positioned his hands and rolled Sam onto his back. There was some blood, but it was only on Sam’s cut arm - where Ray had gripped him too tightly, earlier. Earlier. Before he’d tossed him down the stairs.
Ray cleared his head as best he could.
He needed to get Sam off the floor. It was freezing, the floor. Forcing his arms underneath Sam’s body, Ray slowly lifted him up. Despite how thin Tyler was nowadays, he was by no means a feather and, as sober as Ray was trying to be, he’d drunk too much to be fully functional this early into the night.
He staggered as he carried Sam to Gene’s couch, doing his best to lay him down carefully instead of just dropping him.
With Tyler laid out on the couch, Ray put one of the decorative sofa pillows behind his head and adjusted him into a comfortable looking position. Then, he had no idea what to do.
“Tyler?” he whispered.
Nothing.
“Sam?”
Nothing.
“Twonk?”
Not a peep.
“Shit. Shit. Shit”
Water. Maybe water would help. He had no idea how, but injured people were always given water, weren’t they? Ray stumbled into Gene’s kitchen, not bothering to find the light, and searched every cabinet for a glass. He found a chipped mug. That would do well enough.
He hurried to the sink and turned on the tap. As he was filling the mug, he heard the front door open and shut. Ray turned off the faucet and froze. The footsteps moved down the hallway then turned into the sitting room. The sitting room light was turned on. Ray took a shaky breath and left the kitchen, following the footsteps.
Gene stood there, facing Sam, his back to Ray. He turned round as soon as Ray came up behind him.
“What’re you doing?”
Ray opened his mouth but couldn’t speak.
“What is this?” He pointed to Sam.
Ray tried to make a sound but nothing came out.
“What is going on?” Gene huffed, hands on his hips.
“Erm...”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes,” Ray nodded. That was one question he could answer with absolute certainty.
“That explains your brilliant park job outside, then,” Gene sighed. “Now what the bloody hell is going on?”
“I...Where’s Dorothy?”
“At her aunt’s. Now, am I speaking a language you’re unfamiliar with, Carling? Should I try Gaelic? What is going on here?” He demanded, that familiar fire in his eyes.
“You don’t have a sister.”
It should not have been the first thought that popped into his head, but Ray was still very drunk. Gene rolled his eyes.
“Her mother’s sister.”
Sam groaned. Gene’s head snapped round, Ray momentarily forgotten. Sam did not wake, though. His head merely flopped to the side. Gene turned back to Ray.
“What’s he doing down here?”
“...He...”
“How’d he get out of the cuffs?”
“...Don’t...”
“Do you know anything?”
“...Erm...”
“Bloody useless,” Gene sneered, giving up on Ray and going to Sam’s side.
It could have been the drink or the fact Ray already knew he was dead soon as Gene found out the truth, but whatever it was, he still surprised himself when he started speaking.
“’M not useless. I’m...I do a lot o’ things. Things for you.”
“Yeah?” Gene asked with derision. That only strengthened Ray’s resolve.
“Yeah. I...take you home when you’re pissed. I lie to Vera. Tell her you’re at mine when you’re not.”
Gene kept silent, so Ray continued.
“I pick up the crims you can’t be bothered to find. I get the confessions you can’t get for yourself. I keep Chris out of your way. Out of trouble. Help him out when he needs it. Fact, I kept the whole team together when you left. When you abandoned them, I was the one that defended you! Yeah, that’s right. You abandoned them. Us. You might not see it like that, but that’s how they saw it, so what’s it matter what you think? I told ‘em you’d be back. I kept ‘em working. Kept their morale up when all the leads dried up. When even I was giving up. So, you know what? You need me. And not just for me fists. Sure, tell yourself that. Say it all you want, but it ain’t true. You know it ain’t true. Are you even listening to me?”
There was a long silence.
“His head is bleeding,” Gene said very quietly.
“What?”
“Sam. His head is bleeding. At the back. Help me sit him up.”
There was no anger in Gene’s voice. This wasn’t an order. It was a request. Ray obliged, setting down the mug and helping to prop up Sam’s torso while Gene examined the back of his head.
“Looks like he bumped it hard. Probably concussion. Get us a flannel. Damp one.”
Again, a quiet request. Ray agreed, returning moments later with the damp cloth. He handed it to Gene who began dabbing at the wound. Sam groaned again, but other than his cries, the men in the room remained silent.
“Plonk’s job, this is,” Gene eventually sighed, still cleaning the wound. Ray said nothing. “Dorothy is at her aunt’s because it’s better for her. Lydia’s a good girl. I remember when she was on the force. Can’t say that about most of the plonks that pass through. She’ll be a good mother to her. Dorothy’ll have a good home - mother and father who’ll love her much as they care about each other. That man of Lydia’s makes good wages, too. Dorothy won’t want for nowt.” Gene set the damp and bloodied flannel on the lamp stand behind him. “Beats the hell out of growing up with an unreliable copper and a marriage broken at both ends.”
With Ray’s help, Gene laid Sam back down on the couch.
“Lawrence Hynes?” Ray asked. Gene chuckled.
“Try Mabel,” he sighed.
“Hang on. You mean...”
“Tyler found that one out. Didn’t want him to. But, you know how he is. Terrier with a rat.”
“Still, Guv. Jackie Queen?”
“Better than shacking up with some diseased prozzie. ‘Sides, convenient for both us. We both get what we need out of it. More than I can say about this marriage.”
“She was worried about you.”
“She didn’t print anything, did she?”
“No.”
“Good girl.”
They stood side by side, their eyes locked on Tyler.
“Gene, why didn’t...”
“I tell you?”
Gene reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of Marlboro’s, offering one to Ray. Ray accepted. Gene took one for himself and returned the pack to his pocket. He lit his own, then handed the lighter to Ray. Ray lit up and handed the lighter back. Gene dropped it into his pocket, then continued speaking.
“There are things I don’t want people to know. Not you. Not Tyler. Plenty of things neither of you know about, something you have in common, and I plan on keeping it that way. Thing is, Tyler gets a whiff of something, he won’t give it up till he knows everything. You...” Gene took a long drag, then slowly exhaled the smoke. Ray waited. “You get a whiff, you figure I’ll tell you if I need to. You accept it is what it is and leave it at that. Sam could never be that...blindly trusting. I don’t know what I’ve done to earn that trust from you, but...” Gene twirled the fag in his fingers. “It’s something I need, much as I need his constant questioning. Think it keeps us all balanced.”
Ray had no idea what to say, but he was very, very glad he was drunk.
“You and him got into a scrap, didn’t you?” Gene asked.
“Yes,” he admitted - just like that - and waited for death.
“Had a bit of a rough and tumble and forgot he ain’t what he used to be?”
“How’d you know?”
“How long have I known you, Raymondo?” Gene sighed. “Plus, you’re more pissed than me old man on his worst days. Don’t take a genius detective like meself to piece it all together.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Ray waited for the blow. Gene took another long drag before answering.
“Thought about it. Seriously considered bashing your brains against the floor while you were getting that flannel. Twice now you’ve put him in harm’s way. Twice he’ll land in hospital because of what you’ve done. I could rip off your scrotum, shove it down your throat, then run you over with me car for that. But,” he sighed wearily. “I’m too tired for murder. Too tired of it. You will pay for this, Sergeant. Make no mistake about that. You owe me and, more importantly, you owe him, and you’ll be paying us back for the rest of your miserable life.”
“Yes, Guv.” He was going to live. “Cheers, Guv.”
“And?”
“And I’m sorry, Guv.”
“Good,” Gene turned away, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table. “Your first order of business then, is to ride with him to hospital, after ringing the ambulance. No bloody way you’re driving him ‘round in your state. Stay up with him once he’s allowed visitors. Make sure he don’t cop it or run off. I’ll be round in the morning. Right now, I need some bloody kip.”
Gene dragged his weary body towards the stairs.
“Guv?
Gene stopped and waited.
“Are you really going to let Chris quit?”
“Skelton needs to do right by himself. If that means leaving us, so be it.”
The disappointment must have shown on Ray’s face.
“What happened to Tyler, it weren’t because he was weak. It was because he put himself under more stress than any man can rightly handle. Chris’s starting to put himself under that same pressure. You want to see the same happen to him?”
“Least Chris could have someone decent to room with.”
Gene smirked, but it faded quickly.
“Keep an eye on him. Call that ambulance.”
“Yes, Guv.”
“Good-night, Sergeant Carling.”
“Night, Guv.”