Fic: Steady As She Goes (17/86)
Title: Steady As She Goes (17/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2053 this part; [29,910 overall]
Summary for Whole: After Chris is shot by accident at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: The team's in some emotional distress.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina
Warnings: angst, swearing, angst, and angst here. Did I mention angst?; more angst, violence, swearing, and violent imagery, minor drug use and mild sexual situations for whole
Spoilers: mild ref to 2.08 but just for some character bg, (no ref to the ending) here; minor refs to 1.02, 1.04, 1.07, 1.08, 2.01, 2.02 and 2.06 in others
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: So, I was wrong when I said I might have this finished at 20 parts. Definitely will be more than that. Thanks for all your comments!
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
Cheers erupted from inside the Railway Arms as Chris, leaning heavily on Ray’s shoulder, hobbled into the pub.
Several congratulations and pats on the back later, Chris was sitting at a back table with Ray, Annie, and some of the other detectives from CID. "Welcome back, mon brave!" Nelson brought over a round for all, Chris receiving a tall glass of water and a bag of his favorite crisps.
"I thought the doctor said to take him straight home," Annie chided Ray as she sipped her pint.
"It was on the way an’ all, Cartwright. Chris was beggin’ me to stop by."
"Actually Ray, I do feel a bit peaky yet." Chris slouched in his chair.
"One drink Chris. Then straight home. Been nearly three weeks since you’ve seen a proper pub." Ray downed half his pint in one go.
"If you want to go, I can take you," Annie sympathetically rubbed Chris’ shoulder.
"S’alright, Annie. Feels good to be out. Really. I’ll just wait for Ray." He toyed with his water glass. "Wish I coulda seen DI Ty--"
Ray and Annie hushed him at once. Usually Chris would’ve been quite happy to have WDC Cartwright’s hand on his mouth, but unfortunately it wasn’t the kind of touch Chris had imagined. Confident Chris wouldn’t speak, Annie slowly lowered her hand.
Ray stared into his pint and nodded to his left. "Over there you div."
Chris peered past Ray’s shoulder to see a hunched-over, camel colored mass sitting by himself at the end of the bar, nursing a large glass of scotch. Chris lowered his voice. "You mean he still hasn’t..."
"No." Ray and Annie said in unison.
"An’ don’ bring it up," Ray added before throwing back the rest of his pint. The Guv seemed to sense their conversation, finished his whiskey, and stalked over to the table. He looked right at Chris.
"You should be at home." His voice was monotone, his face like stone.
"We jus’ wanted to bring ‘im round, say hello," Ray weakly defended.
"An’ so he has. Now take him home an’ let him rest DS Carling."
"Guv, ‘m alright, really..."
"That was an order!" Gene shouted. The whole pub went quiet. Everyone held their breath as Gene’s anger filled the room with a thick, oppressive silence.
Ray was the first to speak. "Yes Guv. C’mon Chris." Ray gently grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him out of the chair. The pub remained silent as Chris and Ray walked out the front. The door slammed loudly when they left, causing even Gene to wince and shut his eyes. No one was sure whether they should speak or not. Annie grabbed her purse. "You didn’t have to yell," she stated calmly before disappearing outside.
Gene looked around the pub. Eyes filled with confusion, terror and, worst of all, pity stared back at him. Gene threw some coins on the counter and exited out the back.
Nelson sighed with disappointment as the pub remained somber for the rest of the evening.
*
Ray, Chris, and Annie sat around Chris’ kitchen table. His parents had happily welcomed him home then retired to bed early, keenly aware the detectives had important matters to discuss. Yet now they were alone, they could think of nothing to say. The scene in the pub kept replaying over in their minds.
"Can’t believe you can’t find ‘em," Chris finally mumbled.
"S’not like we’re not tryin’," Ray angrily replied.
"That’s not what I meant!"
"Please!" Annie stopped the argument. "What are we supposed to do about the Guv? He can’t keep going on like this."
"Jackie Queen article cheered ‘im up a bit," Ray smirked.
"That was brilliant, that was," Chris smiled. " ‘Specially that bit about the brave DC Skelton who remained calm even in the face of death. Me dad quotes it to all his mates at work."
"You weren’t calm, Chris. You were in shock." Ray shook his head.
"Still sounds good though."
"Div."
"In case you haven’t noticed," Annie interjected, "that article came out over a week ago, and he’s only been worse since then." Ray and Chris lowered their heads. "Now, what can we do to help DCI Hunt not ruin his career?"
Again the three were silent for a long time. Finally Ray spoke, revealing what they were all thinking, but hadn’t wanted to say. "Wake the nancy-boy up."
*
Gene sat alone in his darkened office, fag in one hand, case file in the other. A half-empty bottle of scotch sat in front of him. It would be gone by morning.
He had looked over this file so many times every page was etched in his brain. Every photo of the victim, of DI Tyler, examined so carefully so many times, Gene knew that if God had given him a knack for drawing he could sketch them all from memory.
Gene threw the file aside and collapsed his head in his hands. He had been certain they’d be able to find the kidnappers. Absolutely certain, but each day had come and gone with no sign of the three men.
Roy Martin had been whisked away by RCS. No amount of spitting or cursing or violence had convinced Rathbone to allow Gene access to the brute, not after Jackie’s article had come out. Gene had loved every word of it, but in the eyes of the Super it had done as much damage to Gene as it had to Litton.
Gene had arrested the pub owner on conspiracy charges. He ordered the pub shut down after he’d seen the blood stains in the cellar, nearly burnt it to the ground himself. He and Ray had beaten every skinhead in Manchester and the greater area. No one was talking. Not a single one.
Gene poured himself a fresh drink. Al Rogers, Jerry Walsh, and Jerry’s brother Bobby had vanished, and the trail was growing colder each passing day.
Gene poured another drink. He told himself he’d find them. Told himself they’d eventually slip up. Told himself he hadn’t been to visit Tyler because he’d been too busy chasing those bastards. But Annie had found time. Ray had found time.
Gene poured another drink. He hadn’t been to see Tyler, not once. He’d rode with him in the ambulance. Ran next to the stretcher into the hospital. Watched the doctors take him away. All the while Sam made that sound. That horrible, wheezing, rasping sound that was constantly lingering at the back of his mind. That sound which would permeate his dreams whenever Gene would risk sleep.
He finished his cigarette and grabbed his coat. He’d stopped going home most nights. The wife had stopped asking questions.
*
"Mum! Mum where are you?"
He was trapped, pinned under something rough and heavy. Something wet and sticky coated his forehead and his head hurt worse than the time Stevie intentionally hit him with that muddy football. "Mum!" Sam tried to lift his arm to check his head, but it wouldn’t move. He tried again and shouted in pain. He’d never felt pain like that in his whole life.
It had been daylight when the coach left London, but now it was dark. Sam’s face was covered with something and he couldn’t see. He could only hear. Sirens and cars and shouting. If only she could hear him.
"Mum!" he coughed. His ears began to pick up distinct voices around him. No, not around. Above. "Hello?" He called out warily. The voices got louder. "Help! ‘M down here!"
"Oi you lot! Think you forgot one!"
"Please, please help me!" Sam didn’t worry about sounding childish. He was too terrified.
"Alright son. Jus’ hang on. I’m goin’ ta get you out. Come on! Hurry up then. We haven’t got all day." Sam heard things moving around him, wreckage shifting. His arm was bumped and he cried out in pain.
"Careful! What’s your name lad?"
"Sam. Sam Tyler."
The voice was silent. Sam thought the man had left, but just as he was doubting him the voice came back. "An’ how old are you Sam Tyler?"
"T-twelve." Sam’s eyes darted all around. He was having trouble seeing things, but he could tell it was getting brighter.
"Oh, a big lad then."
"Not, not really."
"Are you hurt Sam? Can you tell if anything hurts that shouldn’t?"
"Me arm. It hurts really bad. An’-an’ I think I bumped me head."
Sam could’ve sworn he heard the man mumble something like "figures."
"Is my mum with you? Is she okay?"
"Your mum?"
"She was sitting right next to me. But, but she’s not here."
Sam’s eyes had trouble adjusting to the light.
"Don’ worry lad. Everyone else is fine. Loads of passengers standing ‘round here. Bet your mum is one of ‘em."
"Are you a copper?"
"Yes I am."
"Are you lying?"
"Course not." The man sounded confused. "Why would yeh say that?"
Sam would’ve shrugged if he could. "I don’t know. They’ve, they’ve just done it before. Coppers."
"Sam Tyler I would not lie to you. You have me word."
One last piece of coach was moved from around Sam’s head and he could finally fully see the outside world. It was mostly bright light with the shadow of a large man leaning over him. The man reached down and scooped Sam out of the wreckage. He sat him down on the back of an ambulance and started looking him over. He carefully examined Sam’s head. "That is a bad bump. Better get it looked at."
"Think me arm’s worse," Sam mumbled. It was the first time he could see the injury and he felt a little light-headed. His eyes fluttered.
"Probably broken, but it’ll heal all right. Plus you’ll get a cast. Birds love that. Oi, Sam. Don’ fall asleep on me."
Sam opened his eyes to see the man pull out a cigarette and start to light it. "Those things’ll kill you," Sam told him.
The man froze and stared into Sam. His green eyes combed the boy’s face, like he was looking for something. The gaze made Sam uncomfortable. "That’s what me mum says." He shrugged and looked away.
"Smart woman." The man slowly put away the cigarette, his eyes never leaving Sam. "Why don’ I go find ‘er?"
Sam nodded in agreement.
"You just sit tight, Sammy-boy. I’ll be right back."
"Yes sir."
The man stalked off leaving Sam alone to watch the rescue crews clean up the wreck.
Beep. Beep. Condition’s stable. Beep. Beep. Slight decrease in brain activity since last week, however. Beep. Beep.
*
Gene leaned in the doorway watching the complicated machines do their business. It took him a good five minutes before he could actually look at Sam. Gene took a swig from his hip flask.
"You look like shit, Tyler." After seeing all those photos, remembering that awful sound, Gene hadn’t known what to expect, but it had been worse than this.
Sam did have a tube down his throat and one sticking out his side. His nose and head were bandaged up, as was one foot. Gene could see some of the various bruises, now a healing shade of yellow, but the rest of Sam’s injuries were covered by the hospital gown.
Yet despite all that, the sound wasn’t there. For some reason Gene had expected to hear it, but it had been replaced by the soft, rhythmic sounds of the machine. Gene took a step forward into the room.
And he was dry. No longer drenched and shaking. And clean, too. Dry and clean. Gene took another step. Maybe too clean. And motionless. Gene reached the side of the bed. From the doorway he hadn’t realized how thin Sam was. How dull his skin looked.
It all felt wrong to Gene. Sam was healing, but he was still wasting away. He wasn’t fighting. He was just letting himself go and Gene couldn’t understand why. Why a man who fought over everything would not fight for himself.
Gene sat in the nearby chair and looked at Sam. Not at the flowers Annie had brought or the cards Chris had sent from across the hospital. Not at the machines or the tubes or the bandages or the bruises. He looked at Sam.
"I’m here now, Sammy. You can wake up any time."
___________
Part 18
Author: dak
Word Count: 2053 this part; [29,910 overall]
Summary for Whole: After Chris is shot by accident at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: The team's in some emotional distress.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina
Warnings: angst, swearing, angst, and angst here. Did I mention angst?; more angst, violence, swearing, and violent imagery, minor drug use and mild sexual situations for whole
Spoilers: mild ref to 2.08 but just for some character bg, (no ref to the ending) here; minor refs to 1.02, 1.04, 1.07, 1.08, 2.01, 2.02 and 2.06 in others
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: So, I was wrong when I said I might have this finished at 20 parts. Definitely will be more than that. Thanks for all your comments!
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
Cheers erupted from inside the Railway Arms as Chris, leaning heavily on Ray’s shoulder, hobbled into the pub.
Several congratulations and pats on the back later, Chris was sitting at a back table with Ray, Annie, and some of the other detectives from CID. "Welcome back, mon brave!" Nelson brought over a round for all, Chris receiving a tall glass of water and a bag of his favorite crisps.
"I thought the doctor said to take him straight home," Annie chided Ray as she sipped her pint.
"It was on the way an’ all, Cartwright. Chris was beggin’ me to stop by."
"Actually Ray, I do feel a bit peaky yet." Chris slouched in his chair.
"One drink Chris. Then straight home. Been nearly three weeks since you’ve seen a proper pub." Ray downed half his pint in one go.
"If you want to go, I can take you," Annie sympathetically rubbed Chris’ shoulder.
"S’alright, Annie. Feels good to be out. Really. I’ll just wait for Ray." He toyed with his water glass. "Wish I coulda seen DI Ty--"
Ray and Annie hushed him at once. Usually Chris would’ve been quite happy to have WDC Cartwright’s hand on his mouth, but unfortunately it wasn’t the kind of touch Chris had imagined. Confident Chris wouldn’t speak, Annie slowly lowered her hand.
Ray stared into his pint and nodded to his left. "Over there you div."
Chris peered past Ray’s shoulder to see a hunched-over, camel colored mass sitting by himself at the end of the bar, nursing a large glass of scotch. Chris lowered his voice. "You mean he still hasn’t..."
"No." Ray and Annie said in unison.
"An’ don’ bring it up," Ray added before throwing back the rest of his pint. The Guv seemed to sense their conversation, finished his whiskey, and stalked over to the table. He looked right at Chris.
"You should be at home." His voice was monotone, his face like stone.
"We jus’ wanted to bring ‘im round, say hello," Ray weakly defended.
"An’ so he has. Now take him home an’ let him rest DS Carling."
"Guv, ‘m alright, really..."
"That was an order!" Gene shouted. The whole pub went quiet. Everyone held their breath as Gene’s anger filled the room with a thick, oppressive silence.
Ray was the first to speak. "Yes Guv. C’mon Chris." Ray gently grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him out of the chair. The pub remained silent as Chris and Ray walked out the front. The door slammed loudly when they left, causing even Gene to wince and shut his eyes. No one was sure whether they should speak or not. Annie grabbed her purse. "You didn’t have to yell," she stated calmly before disappearing outside.
Gene looked around the pub. Eyes filled with confusion, terror and, worst of all, pity stared back at him. Gene threw some coins on the counter and exited out the back.
Nelson sighed with disappointment as the pub remained somber for the rest of the evening.
*
Ray, Chris, and Annie sat around Chris’ kitchen table. His parents had happily welcomed him home then retired to bed early, keenly aware the detectives had important matters to discuss. Yet now they were alone, they could think of nothing to say. The scene in the pub kept replaying over in their minds.
"Can’t believe you can’t find ‘em," Chris finally mumbled.
"S’not like we’re not tryin’," Ray angrily replied.
"That’s not what I meant!"
"Please!" Annie stopped the argument. "What are we supposed to do about the Guv? He can’t keep going on like this."
"Jackie Queen article cheered ‘im up a bit," Ray smirked.
"That was brilliant, that was," Chris smiled. " ‘Specially that bit about the brave DC Skelton who remained calm even in the face of death. Me dad quotes it to all his mates at work."
"You weren’t calm, Chris. You were in shock." Ray shook his head.
"Still sounds good though."
"Div."
"In case you haven’t noticed," Annie interjected, "that article came out over a week ago, and he’s only been worse since then." Ray and Chris lowered their heads. "Now, what can we do to help DCI Hunt not ruin his career?"
Again the three were silent for a long time. Finally Ray spoke, revealing what they were all thinking, but hadn’t wanted to say. "Wake the nancy-boy up."
*
Gene sat alone in his darkened office, fag in one hand, case file in the other. A half-empty bottle of scotch sat in front of him. It would be gone by morning.
He had looked over this file so many times every page was etched in his brain. Every photo of the victim, of DI Tyler, examined so carefully so many times, Gene knew that if God had given him a knack for drawing he could sketch them all from memory.
Gene threw the file aside and collapsed his head in his hands. He had been certain they’d be able to find the kidnappers. Absolutely certain, but each day had come and gone with no sign of the three men.
Roy Martin had been whisked away by RCS. No amount of spitting or cursing or violence had convinced Rathbone to allow Gene access to the brute, not after Jackie’s article had come out. Gene had loved every word of it, but in the eyes of the Super it had done as much damage to Gene as it had to Litton.
Gene had arrested the pub owner on conspiracy charges. He ordered the pub shut down after he’d seen the blood stains in the cellar, nearly burnt it to the ground himself. He and Ray had beaten every skinhead in Manchester and the greater area. No one was talking. Not a single one.
Gene poured himself a fresh drink. Al Rogers, Jerry Walsh, and Jerry’s brother Bobby had vanished, and the trail was growing colder each passing day.
Gene poured another drink. He told himself he’d find them. Told himself they’d eventually slip up. Told himself he hadn’t been to visit Tyler because he’d been too busy chasing those bastards. But Annie had found time. Ray had found time.
Gene poured another drink. He hadn’t been to see Tyler, not once. He’d rode with him in the ambulance. Ran next to the stretcher into the hospital. Watched the doctors take him away. All the while Sam made that sound. That horrible, wheezing, rasping sound that was constantly lingering at the back of his mind. That sound which would permeate his dreams whenever Gene would risk sleep.
He finished his cigarette and grabbed his coat. He’d stopped going home most nights. The wife had stopped asking questions.
*
"Mum! Mum where are you?"
He was trapped, pinned under something rough and heavy. Something wet and sticky coated his forehead and his head hurt worse than the time Stevie intentionally hit him with that muddy football. "Mum!" Sam tried to lift his arm to check his head, but it wouldn’t move. He tried again and shouted in pain. He’d never felt pain like that in his whole life.
It had been daylight when the coach left London, but now it was dark. Sam’s face was covered with something and he couldn’t see. He could only hear. Sirens and cars and shouting. If only she could hear him.
"Mum!" he coughed. His ears began to pick up distinct voices around him. No, not around. Above. "Hello?" He called out warily. The voices got louder. "Help! ‘M down here!"
"Oi you lot! Think you forgot one!"
"Please, please help me!" Sam didn’t worry about sounding childish. He was too terrified.
"Alright son. Jus’ hang on. I’m goin’ ta get you out. Come on! Hurry up then. We haven’t got all day." Sam heard things moving around him, wreckage shifting. His arm was bumped and he cried out in pain.
"Careful! What’s your name lad?"
"Sam. Sam Tyler."
The voice was silent. Sam thought the man had left, but just as he was doubting him the voice came back. "An’ how old are you Sam Tyler?"
"T-twelve." Sam’s eyes darted all around. He was having trouble seeing things, but he could tell it was getting brighter.
"Oh, a big lad then."
"Not, not really."
"Are you hurt Sam? Can you tell if anything hurts that shouldn’t?"
"Me arm. It hurts really bad. An’-an’ I think I bumped me head."
Sam could’ve sworn he heard the man mumble something like "figures."
"Is my mum with you? Is she okay?"
"Your mum?"
"She was sitting right next to me. But, but she’s not here."
Sam’s eyes had trouble adjusting to the light.
"Don’ worry lad. Everyone else is fine. Loads of passengers standing ‘round here. Bet your mum is one of ‘em."
"Are you a copper?"
"Yes I am."
"Are you lying?"
"Course not." The man sounded confused. "Why would yeh say that?"
Sam would’ve shrugged if he could. "I don’t know. They’ve, they’ve just done it before. Coppers."
"Sam Tyler I would not lie to you. You have me word."
One last piece of coach was moved from around Sam’s head and he could finally fully see the outside world. It was mostly bright light with the shadow of a large man leaning over him. The man reached down and scooped Sam out of the wreckage. He sat him down on the back of an ambulance and started looking him over. He carefully examined Sam’s head. "That is a bad bump. Better get it looked at."
"Think me arm’s worse," Sam mumbled. It was the first time he could see the injury and he felt a little light-headed. His eyes fluttered.
"Probably broken, but it’ll heal all right. Plus you’ll get a cast. Birds love that. Oi, Sam. Don’ fall asleep on me."
Sam opened his eyes to see the man pull out a cigarette and start to light it. "Those things’ll kill you," Sam told him.
The man froze and stared into Sam. His green eyes combed the boy’s face, like he was looking for something. The gaze made Sam uncomfortable. "That’s what me mum says." He shrugged and looked away.
"Smart woman." The man slowly put away the cigarette, his eyes never leaving Sam. "Why don’ I go find ‘er?"
Sam nodded in agreement.
"You just sit tight, Sammy-boy. I’ll be right back."
"Yes sir."
The man stalked off leaving Sam alone to watch the rescue crews clean up the wreck.
Beep. Beep. Condition’s stable. Beep. Beep. Slight decrease in brain activity since last week, however. Beep. Beep.
*
Gene leaned in the doorway watching the complicated machines do their business. It took him a good five minutes before he could actually look at Sam. Gene took a swig from his hip flask.
"You look like shit, Tyler." After seeing all those photos, remembering that awful sound, Gene hadn’t known what to expect, but it had been worse than this.
Sam did have a tube down his throat and one sticking out his side. His nose and head were bandaged up, as was one foot. Gene could see some of the various bruises, now a healing shade of yellow, but the rest of Sam’s injuries were covered by the hospital gown.
Yet despite all that, the sound wasn’t there. For some reason Gene had expected to hear it, but it had been replaced by the soft, rhythmic sounds of the machine. Gene took a step forward into the room.
And he was dry. No longer drenched and shaking. And clean, too. Dry and clean. Gene took another step. Maybe too clean. And motionless. Gene reached the side of the bed. From the doorway he hadn’t realized how thin Sam was. How dull his skin looked.
It all felt wrong to Gene. Sam was healing, but he was still wasting away. He wasn’t fighting. He was just letting himself go and Gene couldn’t understand why. Why a man who fought over everything would not fight for himself.
Gene sat in the nearby chair and looked at Sam. Not at the flowers Annie had brought or the cards Chris had sent from across the hospital. Not at the machines or the tubes or the bandages or the bruises. He looked at Sam.
"I’m here now, Sammy. You can wake up any time."
___________
Part 18