Fic: Steady As She Goes (35/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (35/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2322 this part; [64,022 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: Gene and Ray make some progress on the case, Sam suffers through his eval, and what's wrong with Chris?
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina, uhm, what's slightly darker than blue?
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: none here; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Thanks to everyone who's still reading this! I swear it will reach a conclusion eventually.
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
"DCI Hunt? What can I do for you?" A damp and unpleasant DI Graham was changing into fresh clothes in the RCS locker room when Gene appeared in the doorway, Ray close at hand.
"No luck finding them shooters then?" Gene drawled from his corner.
" ‘Fraid not, sir. Though I don’t know what business it is of yours." The man reminded Gene of a weasel even more than Litton did as he meticulously buttoned up a clean shirt.
"It’s not." Gene stepped inside the room. Ray blocked the exit. "But you may want to remember you’re speaking to a superior officer."
"A DCI perhaps," Graham faced his locker and straightened his tie, "but the issue of superior is questionable."
Gene grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around and threw him against the open locker. The back of Graham’s head hit the top of the frame and the dazed man fell forward, saved from hitting the ground only by Gene, who yanked him up by his lapels and held him against the rusty metal. "Don’t think you’re in a position to be mouthing off, you rotten bastard scum," Gene growled.
"You-you can’t assault...a fellow officer like this, Hunt," Graham gasped. "Litton will--"
Gene pulled him back and threw him against the lockers again. "Well I’ve got some bad news for you Graham. Seems Litton’s done with protecting piece of shit traitors."
Graham opened his mouth to protest but before he could speak Gene took him by the throat and chucked him across the room. Graham landed at Ray’s feet and the Sergeant had no trouble kicking him in the gut before hoisting him up and slapping on a pair of cuffs. "Marcus Graham you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Detective Constable Chris Skelton--"
"What?" Graham started to fight against Ray’s grasp but Ray landed a punch to the kidney and the Inspector settled down.
"You’re not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, anything you say may be taken in evidence."
Gene followed Ray and the restrained officers out the door then clenched his own hand on Graham’s elbow after they entered the corridor. The trio had barely gone two steps before they were assaulted by Phyllis’ dulcet tones.
"Guv! I’ve been looking for you everywhere." She rushed down the hall towards the men.
"Make it quick Phyllis. I’ve got me a new punching bag that needs breaking in."
"It’s Chris, Guv," Phyllis panted. " ‘E’s back in hospital."
*
An emergency with one of his more troubled patients had forced Merrick to leave Sam soon after he’d fetched him some water. Sam had, during his respite, attempted to come up with a convincing cover story that could sufficiently explain Gene’s change in behavior towards him without landing him a lifetime supply of white coats and sedatives. It was not only trickier than it sounded, it was damn near impossible.
Now Merrick was back, staring with a smile Sam could only classify as enigmatic. He had also changed tactics and was openly taking notes on Sam’s speech and behavior.
"So," smiled Merrick.
"So." Sam repeated, grinning back emptily.
"Here we are." Merrick held out his hands then dropped them back in his lap.
"Here we are." Sam agreed.
"Sorry I had to leave our little discussion earlier."
"Quite alright," Sam replied. "Can’t help emergencies, can you?"
"No, you’re absolutely right." Merrick pretended to read his notes. At least Sam thought he was pretending. "So, if I remember correctly we were going to discuss some of the hallucinations you had."
"Well it was during the fever..."
"Mm-hm."
"And most of it’s just a blur. Not really coherent thoughts at all," Sam tried to explain.
"I remember you said that some things did stand out in memory."
Merrick remembered a little too much for Sam’s liking. "Yes, just certain images really."
"Such as?"
Sam knew he couldn’t stall the conversation any longer without raising suspicion. Inwardly nervously, he decided a dash of truth helped create the most convincing lies. "A girl. A blonde girl in a red dress."
"How hold? A teenager or a toddler..."
"About ten I think. She..." Here went nothing. "She looked like the girl from the test card." Sam wasn’t sure but he thought he saw Merrick stifle a chuckle. "Is that weird?" He asked.
"Do you often work late Sam? At the station, at home?"
"Yeah. Quite a bit." Having no personal wasn’t a sign of insanity, was it?
"Keep the telly on for company?"
"Yes." The telly more or less turned itself on during those late nights but Sam thought that was one truth his lies could do without.
"Probably have seen Test Card F quite a bit then, haven’t you?"
Was this some sort of plot of Merrick’s? Make Sam’s hallucinations feel natural, then rip his sanity out from underneath him?
"Sam?"
"Sorry. Yeah. Guess I have."
"See, certain images can get locked in our minds, even if we don’t realize it. They hide away in our subconscious and surface when we least expect it, usually through dreams or hallucinations. That sort of thing. This image of a test card girl is probably just left over from a lot of late nights. She, herself, isn’t that significant."
"Okay."
"It’s what she was doing that holds importance."
"Oh."
"Do you remember what she was doing?"
"I...I saw her with my kidnappers." Post-traumatic stress disorder hadn’t been officially conceived as of yet but Sam decided his best bet was to play up the shell shock angle.
"I see. And--" Merrick was cut off by a knock at the door. "Come in," he called.
One of the friendlier, younger nurses poked her head through the door. "Sorry to disturb you, sirs, but I thought Mr. Tyler’d like to know."
"Like to know what?" The gut instinct 1973 had been carefully honing for him started to rear its ugly head, making Sam’s insides feel as if they’d just been shoved in a blender.
"Your friend sir. Mr. Skelton? I’m afraid he’s been readmitted."
*
Gene barreled through the hospital doors, quickly spotting a worried Mrs. Skelton speaking with one of Chris’ old doctors. As much as he wanted to know what the hell was going on with his officer, he didn’t want to intrude on Mrs. Skelton’s grief. He waited about a minute until she spotted the DCI and called him over herself. After giving the doctor permission to relay Chris’ condition to Gene the poor woman went off to call her husband who was still at work.
"So? What’s wrong wtih ‘im? Thought he was done with all this hospital shit."
The doctor remained calm. "So did we, Mr Hunt, but first of all let me assure that it is nothing too serious."
"Too serious? He’s back in hospital ain’t he? That not serious enough for yeh?" Gene was barely able to restrain himself from throwing the white coated git across the room.
"What I mean is the problem is easily corrected. Mr. Skelton has suffered from some minor gastrointestinal bleeding due to a small Mallory-Weiss tear. A laceration at the gastroesophageal junction. It’s quite rare but can be a result of trauma to the area. He’s in surgery now and should be able to go home in a few days."
Gene ignored the science and focused on the bottom line. "So he’ll be alright?"
"One hundred percent." The doctor reached out to pat Gene on the arm. Gene stared down at the offending appendage and it was removed before it could suffer any damage. "Right, so, I’ll let you know when he’s out of the operating theatre. Should be about an hour or so."
Gene nodded and the man disappeared behind a door labeled "No Admittance." He pulled his Marlboro’s from his pocket and dug around inside the pack before admitting it was empty and tossing the garbage to the floor. As a displeased sister cleaned up after him, Gene followed the path of Mrs. Skelton and found a phone to call the station. He’d forced Ray to stay there and keep an eye on the newly arrested DI Graham with the understanding Gene would phone as soon as he knew something.
"Tell ‘im the div’ll be fine," was all he said and hung up.
*
"I’m well enough to leave this bloody room. I want to check on Chris."
"Alright Sam. I’ll get the nurse to bring a wheelchair."
"No. I don’t need a wheelchair."
"When’s the last time you walked properly?" Merrick was good at making convincing arguments. "You either use a wheelchair or you’re not going anywhere at all."
Sam acquiesced, albeit conditionally. "Fine. But I don’t want to be pushed. I’ll wheel myself."
"If you think you can," was all Merrick said on the subject before returning with a heavy looking wheelchair and an even heavier looking nurse. Merrick rolled the chair to the side of the bed and lowered the left hand rail. "Sit up and swing your legs over the side."
Sam felt his muscles strain and ache as he followed Merrick’s orders. It took him a few tries but he managed to do it himself and couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face.
"Good," Merrick cheered. The man utterly confused Sam. He could switch from terrifying doctor to angry father to encouraging friend in the blink of an eye. Sam wondered if maybe he needed some sort of evaluation. Merrick carefully took the glass IV bottle off the stand by the bed and hooked it on the specially designed chair. "Now I’d like Nurse Rachel to help you into the chair, if that’s okay."
"Nurse Ratched?" Sam asked in horror.
"Rachel," Merrick corrected.
"Oh. Sorry. Sure." With the large nurse underneath one arm and Dr. Merrick on the other, Sam slid off the bed and onto his feet. The tile floor felt cold against his skin. His legs, bent heavily at the knees, shook the longer he stood still. They started to move him but Sam lifted his hands. "Wait." Slowly he straightened his knees until he was fully upright. They let him stay long enough for Sam to close his eyes and take a deep breath. "Okay," he said softly. Merrick and Nurse Rachel helped him turn and set him gently in the chair before his delicate legs gave out under him.
"We need to get more meat on yeh, boy," Rachel slapped him, carefully, on the back. "How’d you like a good beef stew for supper tonight? With a nice hunk of bread on the side."
"Sounds lovely," Sam sighed as he tried to work out how to steer the metal monstrosity he now found himself in.
"Whatcha prefer: orange juice, apple juice, prune juice, or milk?"
"A pint of bitter would be great."
"Milk it is then."
Sam’s arms trembled slightly as he started to roll the heavy contraption forward. He cursed himself for picturing the lightweight, sleek wheelchairs of 2006 when he had demanded he wheel himself. A few hesitations and muttered curses later, Sam was finally out the door. It had felt like ages since he’d seen walls other than the ones in his own little prison and even though they were still hospital walls it was a relief to know the outside world still existed.
He started to wheel himself down the hall to the lifts but as his arms weakened with each push and when his sweaty palms began to slip off the smooth, metal rims more than they spun them forward, he bit back his pride and turned to the nurse. "I think it’d be alright if you pushed now."
The nurse smirked and with speed Sam couldn’t manage even when completely healthy, pushed the chair and its passenger to the lift.
*
Gene watched unseen from the other end of the hall as Sam quit and let the manly nurse take over the heavy lifting. If he felt any pride towards Sam’s ability to wheel himself as far as he did, he swallowed it down with a shot of whiskey. After returning the flask to his pocket he strode down the hall and into Sam’s room.
The rolling hospital table was barely visible under the mountain of paperwork Sam had created. Gene carelessly sorted through it, scoffing at the amount of notes Tyler had been able to produce when he’d been conscious less than twelve hours.
He shoved the papers together in an unorganized stack, then scooped them off the table and left the room.
*
Sam was disappointed Chris was back in surgery but more than pleased that his DC would make a full recovery. He didn’t even mind that Rachel pushed him all the way back to his room without asking if he’d wanted the help.
All his goodwill vanished the moment he returned to the room. "Where’d they go?"
"Where’d what go Sam?" Merrick asked, concerned about his patient’s sudden change in mood.
"My notes! My case files! They were all here." He wrenched the chair from Rachel’s grasp as he spun the rims forward to the table. He frantically looked on the floor and around the room but knew it was hopeless. They were gone. "What the bloody hell happened?"
"I don’t know Sam."
"Like hell you don’t!"
"Nurse?" Merrick patiently turned to Rachel. She nodded and returned seconds later with the younger nurse who had informed Sam about Chris.
"What happened here?" Rachel gruffly demanded of the girl.
"Oh. He said Mr. Tyler knew," she whimpered.
"Knew what? Who said?" Sam hissed.
"Your DCI. Who was here this mornin’? He said you told him to come by later and collect all those papers and whatnot. He left not ten minutes ago."
"That bastard!" Sam screamed and he kicked the table, sending it rolling into the wall. "Bastard!" He shouted again and his head split open and pain overcame his senses.
Pain and a steady beeping.
________
Part 36
Author: dak
Word Count: 2322 this part; [64,022 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: Gene and Ray make some progress on the case, Sam suffers through his eval, and what's wrong with Chris?
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina, uhm, what's slightly darker than blue?
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: none here; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Thanks to everyone who's still reading this! I swear it will reach a conclusion eventually.
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
"DCI Hunt? What can I do for you?" A damp and unpleasant DI Graham was changing into fresh clothes in the RCS locker room when Gene appeared in the doorway, Ray close at hand.
"No luck finding them shooters then?" Gene drawled from his corner.
" ‘Fraid not, sir. Though I don’t know what business it is of yours." The man reminded Gene of a weasel even more than Litton did as he meticulously buttoned up a clean shirt.
"It’s not." Gene stepped inside the room. Ray blocked the exit. "But you may want to remember you’re speaking to a superior officer."
"A DCI perhaps," Graham faced his locker and straightened his tie, "but the issue of superior is questionable."
Gene grabbed him by the shoulders, spun him around and threw him against the open locker. The back of Graham’s head hit the top of the frame and the dazed man fell forward, saved from hitting the ground only by Gene, who yanked him up by his lapels and held him against the rusty metal. "Don’t think you’re in a position to be mouthing off, you rotten bastard scum," Gene growled.
"You-you can’t assault...a fellow officer like this, Hunt," Graham gasped. "Litton will--"
Gene pulled him back and threw him against the lockers again. "Well I’ve got some bad news for you Graham. Seems Litton’s done with protecting piece of shit traitors."
Graham opened his mouth to protest but before he could speak Gene took him by the throat and chucked him across the room. Graham landed at Ray’s feet and the Sergeant had no trouble kicking him in the gut before hoisting him up and slapping on a pair of cuffs. "Marcus Graham you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Detective Constable Chris Skelton--"
"What?" Graham started to fight against Ray’s grasp but Ray landed a punch to the kidney and the Inspector settled down.
"You’re not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, anything you say may be taken in evidence."
Gene followed Ray and the restrained officers out the door then clenched his own hand on Graham’s elbow after they entered the corridor. The trio had barely gone two steps before they were assaulted by Phyllis’ dulcet tones.
"Guv! I’ve been looking for you everywhere." She rushed down the hall towards the men.
"Make it quick Phyllis. I’ve got me a new punching bag that needs breaking in."
"It’s Chris, Guv," Phyllis panted. " ‘E’s back in hospital."
*
An emergency with one of his more troubled patients had forced Merrick to leave Sam soon after he’d fetched him some water. Sam had, during his respite, attempted to come up with a convincing cover story that could sufficiently explain Gene’s change in behavior towards him without landing him a lifetime supply of white coats and sedatives. It was not only trickier than it sounded, it was damn near impossible.
Now Merrick was back, staring with a smile Sam could only classify as enigmatic. He had also changed tactics and was openly taking notes on Sam’s speech and behavior.
"So," smiled Merrick.
"So." Sam repeated, grinning back emptily.
"Here we are." Merrick held out his hands then dropped them back in his lap.
"Here we are." Sam agreed.
"Sorry I had to leave our little discussion earlier."
"Quite alright," Sam replied. "Can’t help emergencies, can you?"
"No, you’re absolutely right." Merrick pretended to read his notes. At least Sam thought he was pretending. "So, if I remember correctly we were going to discuss some of the hallucinations you had."
"Well it was during the fever..."
"Mm-hm."
"And most of it’s just a blur. Not really coherent thoughts at all," Sam tried to explain.
"I remember you said that some things did stand out in memory."
Merrick remembered a little too much for Sam’s liking. "Yes, just certain images really."
"Such as?"
Sam knew he couldn’t stall the conversation any longer without raising suspicion. Inwardly nervously, he decided a dash of truth helped create the most convincing lies. "A girl. A blonde girl in a red dress."
"How hold? A teenager or a toddler..."
"About ten I think. She..." Here went nothing. "She looked like the girl from the test card." Sam wasn’t sure but he thought he saw Merrick stifle a chuckle. "Is that weird?" He asked.
"Do you often work late Sam? At the station, at home?"
"Yeah. Quite a bit." Having no personal wasn’t a sign of insanity, was it?
"Keep the telly on for company?"
"Yes." The telly more or less turned itself on during those late nights but Sam thought that was one truth his lies could do without.
"Probably have seen Test Card F quite a bit then, haven’t you?"
Was this some sort of plot of Merrick’s? Make Sam’s hallucinations feel natural, then rip his sanity out from underneath him?
"Sam?"
"Sorry. Yeah. Guess I have."
"See, certain images can get locked in our minds, even if we don’t realize it. They hide away in our subconscious and surface when we least expect it, usually through dreams or hallucinations. That sort of thing. This image of a test card girl is probably just left over from a lot of late nights. She, herself, isn’t that significant."
"Okay."
"It’s what she was doing that holds importance."
"Oh."
"Do you remember what she was doing?"
"I...I saw her with my kidnappers." Post-traumatic stress disorder hadn’t been officially conceived as of yet but Sam decided his best bet was to play up the shell shock angle.
"I see. And--" Merrick was cut off by a knock at the door. "Come in," he called.
One of the friendlier, younger nurses poked her head through the door. "Sorry to disturb you, sirs, but I thought Mr. Tyler’d like to know."
"Like to know what?" The gut instinct 1973 had been carefully honing for him started to rear its ugly head, making Sam’s insides feel as if they’d just been shoved in a blender.
"Your friend sir. Mr. Skelton? I’m afraid he’s been readmitted."
*
Gene barreled through the hospital doors, quickly spotting a worried Mrs. Skelton speaking with one of Chris’ old doctors. As much as he wanted to know what the hell was going on with his officer, he didn’t want to intrude on Mrs. Skelton’s grief. He waited about a minute until she spotted the DCI and called him over herself. After giving the doctor permission to relay Chris’ condition to Gene the poor woman went off to call her husband who was still at work.
"So? What’s wrong wtih ‘im? Thought he was done with all this hospital shit."
The doctor remained calm. "So did we, Mr Hunt, but first of all let me assure that it is nothing too serious."
"Too serious? He’s back in hospital ain’t he? That not serious enough for yeh?" Gene was barely able to restrain himself from throwing the white coated git across the room.
"What I mean is the problem is easily corrected. Mr. Skelton has suffered from some minor gastrointestinal bleeding due to a small Mallory-Weiss tear. A laceration at the gastroesophageal junction. It’s quite rare but can be a result of trauma to the area. He’s in surgery now and should be able to go home in a few days."
Gene ignored the science and focused on the bottom line. "So he’ll be alright?"
"One hundred percent." The doctor reached out to pat Gene on the arm. Gene stared down at the offending appendage and it was removed before it could suffer any damage. "Right, so, I’ll let you know when he’s out of the operating theatre. Should be about an hour or so."
Gene nodded and the man disappeared behind a door labeled "No Admittance." He pulled his Marlboro’s from his pocket and dug around inside the pack before admitting it was empty and tossing the garbage to the floor. As a displeased sister cleaned up after him, Gene followed the path of Mrs. Skelton and found a phone to call the station. He’d forced Ray to stay there and keep an eye on the newly arrested DI Graham with the understanding Gene would phone as soon as he knew something.
"Tell ‘im the div’ll be fine," was all he said and hung up.
*
"I’m well enough to leave this bloody room. I want to check on Chris."
"Alright Sam. I’ll get the nurse to bring a wheelchair."
"No. I don’t need a wheelchair."
"When’s the last time you walked properly?" Merrick was good at making convincing arguments. "You either use a wheelchair or you’re not going anywhere at all."
Sam acquiesced, albeit conditionally. "Fine. But I don’t want to be pushed. I’ll wheel myself."
"If you think you can," was all Merrick said on the subject before returning with a heavy looking wheelchair and an even heavier looking nurse. Merrick rolled the chair to the side of the bed and lowered the left hand rail. "Sit up and swing your legs over the side."
Sam felt his muscles strain and ache as he followed Merrick’s orders. It took him a few tries but he managed to do it himself and couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face.
"Good," Merrick cheered. The man utterly confused Sam. He could switch from terrifying doctor to angry father to encouraging friend in the blink of an eye. Sam wondered if maybe he needed some sort of evaluation. Merrick carefully took the glass IV bottle off the stand by the bed and hooked it on the specially designed chair. "Now I’d like Nurse Rachel to help you into the chair, if that’s okay."
"Nurse Ratched?" Sam asked in horror.
"Rachel," Merrick corrected.
"Oh. Sorry. Sure." With the large nurse underneath one arm and Dr. Merrick on the other, Sam slid off the bed and onto his feet. The tile floor felt cold against his skin. His legs, bent heavily at the knees, shook the longer he stood still. They started to move him but Sam lifted his hands. "Wait." Slowly he straightened his knees until he was fully upright. They let him stay long enough for Sam to close his eyes and take a deep breath. "Okay," he said softly. Merrick and Nurse Rachel helped him turn and set him gently in the chair before his delicate legs gave out under him.
"We need to get more meat on yeh, boy," Rachel slapped him, carefully, on the back. "How’d you like a good beef stew for supper tonight? With a nice hunk of bread on the side."
"Sounds lovely," Sam sighed as he tried to work out how to steer the metal monstrosity he now found himself in.
"Whatcha prefer: orange juice, apple juice, prune juice, or milk?"
"A pint of bitter would be great."
"Milk it is then."
Sam’s arms trembled slightly as he started to roll the heavy contraption forward. He cursed himself for picturing the lightweight, sleek wheelchairs of 2006 when he had demanded he wheel himself. A few hesitations and muttered curses later, Sam was finally out the door. It had felt like ages since he’d seen walls other than the ones in his own little prison and even though they were still hospital walls it was a relief to know the outside world still existed.
He started to wheel himself down the hall to the lifts but as his arms weakened with each push and when his sweaty palms began to slip off the smooth, metal rims more than they spun them forward, he bit back his pride and turned to the nurse. "I think it’d be alright if you pushed now."
The nurse smirked and with speed Sam couldn’t manage even when completely healthy, pushed the chair and its passenger to the lift.
*
Gene watched unseen from the other end of the hall as Sam quit and let the manly nurse take over the heavy lifting. If he felt any pride towards Sam’s ability to wheel himself as far as he did, he swallowed it down with a shot of whiskey. After returning the flask to his pocket he strode down the hall and into Sam’s room.
The rolling hospital table was barely visible under the mountain of paperwork Sam had created. Gene carelessly sorted through it, scoffing at the amount of notes Tyler had been able to produce when he’d been conscious less than twelve hours.
He shoved the papers together in an unorganized stack, then scooped them off the table and left the room.
*
Sam was disappointed Chris was back in surgery but more than pleased that his DC would make a full recovery. He didn’t even mind that Rachel pushed him all the way back to his room without asking if he’d wanted the help.
All his goodwill vanished the moment he returned to the room. "Where’d they go?"
"Where’d what go Sam?" Merrick asked, concerned about his patient’s sudden change in mood.
"My notes! My case files! They were all here." He wrenched the chair from Rachel’s grasp as he spun the rims forward to the table. He frantically looked on the floor and around the room but knew it was hopeless. They were gone. "What the bloody hell happened?"
"I don’t know Sam."
"Like hell you don’t!"
"Nurse?" Merrick patiently turned to Rachel. She nodded and returned seconds later with the younger nurse who had informed Sam about Chris.
"What happened here?" Rachel gruffly demanded of the girl.
"Oh. He said Mr. Tyler knew," she whimpered.
"Knew what? Who said?" Sam hissed.
"Your DCI. Who was here this mornin’? He said you told him to come by later and collect all those papers and whatnot. He left not ten minutes ago."
"That bastard!" Sam screamed and he kicked the table, sending it rolling into the wall. "Bastard!" He shouted again and his head split open and pain overcame his senses.
Pain and a steady beeping.
________
Part 36