Fic: Steady As She Goes (11/86)
Title: Steady As She Goes (11/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1580 this part; [18,292 overall]
Summary For Whole: After Chris is shot by accident at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart as Ray takes out his anger on Sam, Annie makes a decision which jeopardizes Gene's career, and Sam gets involved with a murder.
Summary This Part: Gene and Sam start trying to piece things together.
Rating: Blue Cortina
Warnings: mild swearing this part; angst, violence, violent imagery for whole
Spoilers: none this part; very minor references to 1.04,1.08, and 2.06 in others
Pairing: mild hints at Sam/Annie
Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't.
A/N: I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel with this one, I think. The plot bunnies could have me completely fooled though. I might have it finished at 20 parts, but I'm nowhere near 100% certain.
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 Part 61 Part 62 Part 63 Part 64 Part 65 Part 66 Part 67 Part 68 Part 69 Part 70 Part 71 Part 72 Part 73 Part 74 Part 75 Part 76 Part 77 Part 78 Part 79 Part 80 Part 81 Part 82 Part 83 Part 84 Part 85 Part 86
“Take one in the morning, one before bed. Always with food. Never with alcohol.” The doctor handed Sam a bottle of pills. “If taken properly, these should last you exactly three weeks, during which time you are not to consume any alcoholic beverage. There is also a risk of dependency, so be sure to take them only as I have prescribed.”
Sam forced a grateful smile as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, fully dressed in the clothes he’d been admitted in, absentmindedly swinging his legs like a small child. Although he couldn’t necessarily describe his night in hospital as relaxing, it had cured his nausea and other stomach difficulties. However, he was pretty sure his headache was going to last until Maggie Thatcher became Prime Minister. The pills, the haughty doctor explained, were for the broken ribs.
“After three weeks, I will reassess your condition and determine whether further medication is necessary.”
Sam nodded. It didn’t hurt quite as much as speaking. The Guv would be thrilled. He started to slide himself off the bed, but the doctor put a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m afraid you need to wait for a friend or family member to collect you before you can be discharged. I’m sure someone will be along soon, won’t they?”
“About thirty-three years.” The doctor stared at him. “Minutes. Thirty-three...minutes.”
“Hm.” The doctor scribbled something on Sam’s chart, then hooked it back on the bed. “See you in three weeks, Mr. Tyler.”
Sam waited impatiently for another hour, pacing around his bed, making notes on some paper he’d convinced a nurse to get for him, until Gene casually strolled in around ten.
“Ready to do some real policing, ‘stead of all this girly fainting shit?” He handed Sam his black, leather jacket which Sam immediately slipped on.
“You said you’d be here at nine.” He dropped the pills in his coat pocket and grabbed his notes off the bed.
“Thought you might appreciate a little extra sleep. Certainly weren’t gettin’ any wandering ‘round the hospital like Boris Karloff, were you?”
“I got enough,” Sam lied as he walked to the nurses station to be discharged.
Gene and Sam said a quick goodbye to Chris who seemed to be sleeping relatively comfortably, then finally left the hospital much to Sam’s great relief. They sat down in the Cortina simultaneously and Sam pulled on his seat belt as he looked over his notes. Gene peered over at the papers as he backed out the car.
“New pages for your diary, Gladys?”
“I’ve been trying to piece together everything I can remember about Dom Sanders’ attack. Cat,” Sam pointed out.
“I saw it. The attack you said had nothin’ to do with you, because even in your drunken state you remember you din’t go to the canal.”
“Which I thought was true at the time I said it. Until the memories started coming back. That could’ve been someone’s pet.”
“Coulda jus’ been a stray. So, Chris gets shot, you get knackered.”
“Nelson kicks me out. I go buy a bottle of scotch from Sanders. Doesn’t matter. It’s still a living creature.”
“Got back to your flat, dropped the bottle, left the shit-hole. You’ve never gone hunting?”
“Walk to the canal, somehow get a concussion, walk to the hospital. Hunting is not the same as running pets down with your car. And no, I’ve never been.”
“Ray gets in a few good punches, I have to rescue your sorry arse. You spend the rest of the night puking your guts out in cells. Why do you need notes? It’s all up here,” Gene tapped the side of his head. “Still coulda been a stray.”
The Cortina pulled up to its normal spot outside the station and Gene and Sam exited and shut the doors in perfect synchronicity.
“Did the coroner determine time of death? I don’t remember seeing it in the report,” Sam asked as they walked up the steps.
“Believe it was around...three or four.” Gene thought as they passed through the double doors.
“And the body wasn’t found until after ten?”
“Weren’t the easiest spot to get to, was it?” Gene grabbed Sam by the collar and pushed him in front of Phyllis. “Apologize.”
Sam decided it was best not to fight. “Sorry.”
Gene shook him a little. Sam continued. “I’m sorry for sicking up in your cells, Desk Sergeant Dobbs.”
“S’alright, Boss,” Phyllis replied, not even looking up from her paperwork. “Mine’s a gin and tonic,” she smiled.
Sam was released from the Guv’s grasp and fixed his jacket collar as they ascended the staircase. “What time did I leave the pub Wednesday?”
“Got the call after one. Spoke with our dead blode jus’ before two, which is when I got to your flat.”
“And I was already gone.”
“More ways than one.”
They entered the third floor corridor.
“What time did I arrive at St. Mary’s?”
“Carling started handin’ you your arse on a plate ‘bout eight, ‘ccording to Cartwright’s radio broadcast.”
“So between the hours of two and eight...”
They stopped outside the CID entrance.
“You were off with the fairies.”
“Six hours unaccounted for,” Sam sighed. He was about to enter the office when he glanced through the blinds and noticed the state of the staff. Everyone was at their own desk not talking, but not working either.
They sat frozen, occasionally sneaking a glance at Gene through the windows. To Sam they looked as if they weren’t sure whether they should be there or not. Annie seemed especially terrified. Sam turned to Gene. “What did you do to them?”
Gene stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I may have overreacted a bit yesterday.”
“You?” Sam replied, voice simply oozing with sarcasm. They both looked at their detectives, then back at each other. “Apologize,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest, the new drugs finally allowing him to complete the motion without cursing in pain.
Gene lit a cigarette. “The Gene Genie doesn’t do apologies.”
Sam raised his eyebrows as Gene pushed open the wooden doors. The Guv swept down the center aisle, not looking or speaking to anyone, Sam following directly behind.
“Cartwright,” Annie closed her eyes, bracing for the final blow. “Tell Jackie Queen Chris’s awake then you an’ Ray get your notes on our dead liquor clerk an’ meet me in my office.” Gene disappeared into his room, while Sam froze beside Annie’s desk.
“Jackie Queen?”
*
It looked like something a cat sicked up, and didn’t smell much better. He poked it with a spoon, half expecting it to move on its own.
“ M’really not that hungry,” Chris mumbled to the kind-looking nurse.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the doctors say the sooner you start eating, the better it’ll be for you.”
“I was only shot two days ago. What’s the rush?” He asked as he poked it again.
“Just try a few bites, for me love?”
Chris took as deep a breath as he could muster and scooped up a little of the concoction with his spoon. Well, if he could stomach the food from canteen...
“DC Skelton.”
Chris lurched forward in shock as DCI Litton appeared at the foot of his bed. His sudden movement pulled at the stitches on his belly and Chris could feel his delicate insides shifting in painful protest. He dropped the spoon and grabbed his stomach.
“DCI Litton. Sir.”
The smell of the so-called food started to upset his fragile stomach. The color drained from his face as he fought against dry-heaving over the side of the bed. The nurse quickly removed the tray and helped Chris lay back down.
“Good to see you awake, Detective Constable. Healing just fine, aren’t you?”
Chris closed his eyes to try and still the pain. “Well I was.”
“Good. Good.” Litton pulled out his notepad and pen. “Now, Skelton, RCS is running the investigation into your incident. Since you’re conscious I’m going to ask some questions regarding your involvement.”
“Uhm, alright. I guess.” Chris rubbed his hand across his aching belly.
“What were you doing outside the Collator’s Den at the time of the incident?”
“You mean the shootin’? Uhm, fetchin’ some files for DI Tyler.”
“Mm-hm.” Litton made a note on his pad. “And what did you do to provoke the suspect?”
“Sorry?” Chris asked in surprise.
“Why did he shoot you?” Litton asked more forcefully.
“What-I don’ know. I jus’, I opened the door, an’ ‘e was there...”
“You made no attempt to restrain him or disarm him?”
“I din’t know who ‘e was. I-I jus’ opened the door...”
“And you were shot.” Litton stated disbelievingly.
“I guess. I-It’s all fuzzy. I don’...”
“So it is possible you could have provoked the suspect into shooting you?”
“That don’ sound like me...” Chris muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly groggy. Fortunately, his parents chose that moment to arrive at his bedside. Chris sighed in relief. “Mr. Litton, me mum an’ dad are here an’ if you don’ mind, I’d like to talk to them a bit.”
Litton tried to appear unruffled as he snapped shut his notebook and slid it inside his inner jacket pocket.
“Very well, DC Skelton. We’ll continue this conversation at a later time. Mr. and Mrs. Skelton.” Litton nodded at the couple then scurried out of the room. When he was safely away, Chris turned to his parents.
“Dad, can you call me Guv an’ tell’em Litton was ‘ere?”
_______
Part 12
Author: dak
Word Count: 1580 this part; [18,292 overall]
Summary For Whole: After Chris is shot by accident at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart as Ray takes out his anger on Sam, Annie makes a decision which jeopardizes Gene's career, and Sam gets involved with a murder.
Summary This Part: Gene and Sam start trying to piece things together.
Rating: Blue Cortina
Warnings: mild swearing this part; angst, violence, violent imagery for whole
Spoilers: none this part; very minor references to 1.04,1.08, and 2.06 in others
Pairing: mild hints at Sam/Annie
Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't.
A/N: I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel with this one, I think. The plot bunnies could have me completely fooled though. I might have it finished at 20 parts, but I'm nowhere near 100% certain.
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 Part 61 Part 62 Part 63 Part 64 Part 65 Part 66 Part 67 Part 68 Part 69 Part 70 Part 71 Part 72 Part 73 Part 74 Part 75 Part 76 Part 77 Part 78 Part 79 Part 80 Part 81 Part 82 Part 83 Part 84 Part 85 Part 86
“Take one in the morning, one before bed. Always with food. Never with alcohol.” The doctor handed Sam a bottle of pills. “If taken properly, these should last you exactly three weeks, during which time you are not to consume any alcoholic beverage. There is also a risk of dependency, so be sure to take them only as I have prescribed.”
Sam forced a grateful smile as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed, fully dressed in the clothes he’d been admitted in, absentmindedly swinging his legs like a small child. Although he couldn’t necessarily describe his night in hospital as relaxing, it had cured his nausea and other stomach difficulties. However, he was pretty sure his headache was going to last until Maggie Thatcher became Prime Minister. The pills, the haughty doctor explained, were for the broken ribs.
“After three weeks, I will reassess your condition and determine whether further medication is necessary.”
Sam nodded. It didn’t hurt quite as much as speaking. The Guv would be thrilled. He started to slide himself off the bed, but the doctor put a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m afraid you need to wait for a friend or family member to collect you before you can be discharged. I’m sure someone will be along soon, won’t they?”
“About thirty-three years.” The doctor stared at him. “Minutes. Thirty-three...minutes.”
“Hm.” The doctor scribbled something on Sam’s chart, then hooked it back on the bed. “See you in three weeks, Mr. Tyler.”
Sam waited impatiently for another hour, pacing around his bed, making notes on some paper he’d convinced a nurse to get for him, until Gene casually strolled in around ten.
“Ready to do some real policing, ‘stead of all this girly fainting shit?” He handed Sam his black, leather jacket which Sam immediately slipped on.
“You said you’d be here at nine.” He dropped the pills in his coat pocket and grabbed his notes off the bed.
“Thought you might appreciate a little extra sleep. Certainly weren’t gettin’ any wandering ‘round the hospital like Boris Karloff, were you?”
“I got enough,” Sam lied as he walked to the nurses station to be discharged.
Gene and Sam said a quick goodbye to Chris who seemed to be sleeping relatively comfortably, then finally left the hospital much to Sam’s great relief. They sat down in the Cortina simultaneously and Sam pulled on his seat belt as he looked over his notes. Gene peered over at the papers as he backed out the car.
“New pages for your diary, Gladys?”
“I’ve been trying to piece together everything I can remember about Dom Sanders’ attack. Cat,” Sam pointed out.
“I saw it. The attack you said had nothin’ to do with you, because even in your drunken state you remember you din’t go to the canal.”
“Which I thought was true at the time I said it. Until the memories started coming back. That could’ve been someone’s pet.”
“Coulda jus’ been a stray. So, Chris gets shot, you get knackered.”
“Nelson kicks me out. I go buy a bottle of scotch from Sanders. Doesn’t matter. It’s still a living creature.”
“Got back to your flat, dropped the bottle, left the shit-hole. You’ve never gone hunting?”
“Walk to the canal, somehow get a concussion, walk to the hospital. Hunting is not the same as running pets down with your car. And no, I’ve never been.”
“Ray gets in a few good punches, I have to rescue your sorry arse. You spend the rest of the night puking your guts out in cells. Why do you need notes? It’s all up here,” Gene tapped the side of his head. “Still coulda been a stray.”
The Cortina pulled up to its normal spot outside the station and Gene and Sam exited and shut the doors in perfect synchronicity.
“Did the coroner determine time of death? I don’t remember seeing it in the report,” Sam asked as they walked up the steps.
“Believe it was around...three or four.” Gene thought as they passed through the double doors.
“And the body wasn’t found until after ten?”
“Weren’t the easiest spot to get to, was it?” Gene grabbed Sam by the collar and pushed him in front of Phyllis. “Apologize.”
Sam decided it was best not to fight. “Sorry.”
Gene shook him a little. Sam continued. “I’m sorry for sicking up in your cells, Desk Sergeant Dobbs.”
“S’alright, Boss,” Phyllis replied, not even looking up from her paperwork. “Mine’s a gin and tonic,” she smiled.
Sam was released from the Guv’s grasp and fixed his jacket collar as they ascended the staircase. “What time did I leave the pub Wednesday?”
“Got the call after one. Spoke with our dead blode jus’ before two, which is when I got to your flat.”
“And I was already gone.”
“More ways than one.”
They entered the third floor corridor.
“What time did I arrive at St. Mary’s?”
“Carling started handin’ you your arse on a plate ‘bout eight, ‘ccording to Cartwright’s radio broadcast.”
“So between the hours of two and eight...”
They stopped outside the CID entrance.
“You were off with the fairies.”
“Six hours unaccounted for,” Sam sighed. He was about to enter the office when he glanced through the blinds and noticed the state of the staff. Everyone was at their own desk not talking, but not working either.
They sat frozen, occasionally sneaking a glance at Gene through the windows. To Sam they looked as if they weren’t sure whether they should be there or not. Annie seemed especially terrified. Sam turned to Gene. “What did you do to them?”
Gene stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I may have overreacted a bit yesterday.”
“You?” Sam replied, voice simply oozing with sarcasm. They both looked at their detectives, then back at each other. “Apologize,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest, the new drugs finally allowing him to complete the motion without cursing in pain.
Gene lit a cigarette. “The Gene Genie doesn’t do apologies.”
Sam raised his eyebrows as Gene pushed open the wooden doors. The Guv swept down the center aisle, not looking or speaking to anyone, Sam following directly behind.
“Cartwright,” Annie closed her eyes, bracing for the final blow. “Tell Jackie Queen Chris’s awake then you an’ Ray get your notes on our dead liquor clerk an’ meet me in my office.” Gene disappeared into his room, while Sam froze beside Annie’s desk.
“Jackie Queen?”
*
It looked like something a cat sicked up, and didn’t smell much better. He poked it with a spoon, half expecting it to move on its own.
“ M’really not that hungry,” Chris mumbled to the kind-looking nurse.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the doctors say the sooner you start eating, the better it’ll be for you.”
“I was only shot two days ago. What’s the rush?” He asked as he poked it again.
“Just try a few bites, for me love?”
Chris took as deep a breath as he could muster and scooped up a little of the concoction with his spoon. Well, if he could stomach the food from canteen...
“DC Skelton.”
Chris lurched forward in shock as DCI Litton appeared at the foot of his bed. His sudden movement pulled at the stitches on his belly and Chris could feel his delicate insides shifting in painful protest. He dropped the spoon and grabbed his stomach.
“DCI Litton. Sir.”
The smell of the so-called food started to upset his fragile stomach. The color drained from his face as he fought against dry-heaving over the side of the bed. The nurse quickly removed the tray and helped Chris lay back down.
“Good to see you awake, Detective Constable. Healing just fine, aren’t you?”
Chris closed his eyes to try and still the pain. “Well I was.”
“Good. Good.” Litton pulled out his notepad and pen. “Now, Skelton, RCS is running the investigation into your incident. Since you’re conscious I’m going to ask some questions regarding your involvement.”
“Uhm, alright. I guess.” Chris rubbed his hand across his aching belly.
“What were you doing outside the Collator’s Den at the time of the incident?”
“You mean the shootin’? Uhm, fetchin’ some files for DI Tyler.”
“Mm-hm.” Litton made a note on his pad. “And what did you do to provoke the suspect?”
“Sorry?” Chris asked in surprise.
“Why did he shoot you?” Litton asked more forcefully.
“What-I don’ know. I jus’, I opened the door, an’ ‘e was there...”
“You made no attempt to restrain him or disarm him?”
“I din’t know who ‘e was. I-I jus’ opened the door...”
“And you were shot.” Litton stated disbelievingly.
“I guess. I-It’s all fuzzy. I don’...”
“So it is possible you could have provoked the suspect into shooting you?”
“That don’ sound like me...” Chris muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly groggy. Fortunately, his parents chose that moment to arrive at his bedside. Chris sighed in relief. “Mr. Litton, me mum an’ dad are here an’ if you don’ mind, I’d like to talk to them a bit.”
Litton tried to appear unruffled as he snapped shut his notebook and slid it inside his inner jacket pocket.
“Very well, DC Skelton. We’ll continue this conversation at a later time. Mr. and Mrs. Skelton.” Litton nodded at the couple then scurried out of the room. When he was safely away, Chris turned to his parents.
“Dad, can you call me Guv an’ tell’em Litton was ‘ere?”
_______
Part 12