Fic: Steady As She Goes (44/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (44/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1726 this part; [82,007 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart while his and Sam's friendship is pushed to the limits.
Summary this Part: Gene's wife has an effect on Sam.
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, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Been away, but now I'm back! This part doesn't forward the story much but it's all to set up the next bit, really.
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
"Sam? Mr. Tyler?"
Sam felt his body shaken gently. A calm voice was calling to him, reaching to him through the haze of sleep.
"Time to eat, Sam."
He mumbled something but even he wasn’t sure if he had formed actual words. "Time is it?" He managed to ask after a few tries.
"Nearly gone eight."
Sam heard the clanking of dishes as a tray was set aside but his half-opened eyes closed quickly when a bedside lamp was switched on.
"Sorry love. Can’t have you sittin’ alone in the dark all the time, can we?"
Sam started push himself into an upright position. Who was this we? It was clearly a woman’s voice but not Annie’s. Definitely to kind to be Phyllis. It was so gentle it could be his mother’s but he was pretty sure it wasn’t coming from inside his head. Sitting up, he allowed his eyes to open and adjust.
Smiling at him was a pleasant looking woman, probably early forties Sam thought, auburn hair to her shoulders, a little plump but not what he would consider overweight. "Who are you?" Sam inwardly cursed himself. Whatever part of his brain controlled tactfulness had apparently not yet healed. The woman only chuckled and moved to get the tray she had left on a nearby dresser.
"I’m what you’d know as the ball and chain, old lady, teetotalling wench, or whatever else Gene is referring to me as these days, down at the station. Though he’s promised he usually sticks with ‘the missus’." She set the breakfast-in-bed tray across Sam’s lap.
"His wife?"
"Is that so shocking, DI Tyler?" She crossed her arms in a fashion so similar to the Guv, Sam half-expected the familiar punch to the kidneys next.
"No," he tried to erase the gobsmacked expression that must have plastered itself to his face. "I...just...he never..."
"Oh, don’t worry your head over it," she laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. Sam immediately knew all was forgiven. "Had this all ready to go at six but you were sleeping so peacefully, Gene said to leave you be. Mentioned you haven’t slept well recently."
Sam knew he was blushing and wished he could bury his head in the steaming food in front of him.
"I hop you like chicken, course I never met a man who didn’t. Though Gene’s said you’re a bit of an odd one now and then."
It wasn’t until he picked up his fork that Sam noticed his hands were still shaking. He tried to distract himself with conversation. "Now and then he says I’m odd? Or I’m odd now and then?"
"Ah, now that’s between me and my husband," she smiled enigmatically. Sam felt her eyes on him as he stabbed at pieces of chicken with his fork. "I hope you don’t mind I cut it up. Just wanted to make it a bit easier on you."
Sam now saw her blushing with slight embarrassment and felt himself relax. " ‘S okay. Thank you. I...I would’ve asked anyway."
She looked at her watch. "Oh, I need to check the wash. Is it alright if I leave you for a little? Don’t get it on the line, Genie won’t have any clean y-fronts for tomorrow."
"Yeah," Sam smiled. "I’m fine." As much as Sam preferred not to think on his superior’s undergarments, the look he shared with Mrs. Hunt told him she’d done it to embarrass Gene on purpose. Good woman, he thought, as he watched her leave the room and close the door behind her.
Alone again, Sam stared down at his plate. Plain chicken with peas and carrots. Simple. His stomach could handle that. Wait. Had she said it was eight o’clock? How long had he been sleeping? When did she get here? Hadn’t Gene said she was away?
The questions kept firing themselves into Sam’s brain. He couldn’t control them. He couldn’t stop thinking them. Maybe she still was away. Maybe this woman wasn’t the real Mrs. Hunt. She hadn’t said her full name after all. What if she was just some stranger who’d wandered into the house?
No, that wasn’t logical. It was more likely she didn’t exist at all. She was another trick, like the smiling, little girl. Something his mind had cooked up to unnerve him. Another drug-induced demon sent to tear apart his consciousness.
Something warm seeped into Sam’s left hand. The fork was still clenched in his right, holding a piece of chicken. He opened his left, wincing as he pried his untrimmed fingernails from his palm. Warm blood gathered in the small cuts. The phantom had forgotten to bring a napkin. He sat there in bed, the panic rising as he alternately looked for a place to wipe his hand and thought of the mysterious new figment of his imagination.
"Okay. Okay. Okay." He whispered to himself, his breaths quickening to short, uneven gasps. "Just, calm down Sam. Just..." he stared at the food in front of him. If she wasn’t real how had this gotten here? He wiped his hand on his pale, button-down shirt, then carefully moved the foreboding tray off his lap. He threw off the covers and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed. Taking no time to gather his thoughts, he pushed himself up.
"Where am I?" His eyes darted to the various corners of the room. "This isn’t...how?" He noticed a familiar suit of Gene’s hanging off a wardrobe. "Okay. Okay. He moved me in here." Sam wracked his brain. "The vomit. The smell. So...he moved me in here. Okay. Okay. That...that makes sense. That’s real. So, if this is the master bedroom..." Sam spotted a bathroom at the opposite side of the bed. He switched his gaze from the bathroom to the threatening plate of food to the clock on the night stand.
Ten minutes. She’d been gone ten minutes already. Logically, she could return at any time. Any time she could return. He had to hurry. Sam hobbled around the bed, taking the plate from the tray and pushing it along with him. He reached the point where he had to let go of the bed to continue his frantic journey.
"C’mon Tyler. C’mon. You can do this. You can." He straightened his back, fully supporting his own weight with just his legs. Plate in hand, he stumbled into the bathroom, catching himself on the doorjamb as soon as it was in reach. Do this. He had to do this. Who knew where this food came from?
He shut the door and dragged himself over to the toilet and knelt down in front of the bowl. "It could be drugged. I didn’t see anyone prepare it. They could be trying to drug me." He ranted to himself as he lifted the plate and started scraping the bits of chicken into the water. "I can’t have drugs. I can’t. Only, only the ones Dr. Merrick says are okay. If they...I can’t. It’s too dangerous."
Sam flushed once and looked at the door nervously. One flush would be fine. More than that, she would be suspicious. The plate was still half full. He had to take the chance. He waited anxiously for the tank to refill then unceremoniously dumped the rest in. He closed his eyes and counted a few extra seconds, just to be sure. He held his breath and flushed.
No footsteps came thundering up the steps. No angry shouts called out, demanding to know what he was doing. He listened carefully. Only his ragged breathing and a muted telly from downstairs. He was safe.
Using the sink to hoist himself up, Sam took the plate and scrambled to open the bathroom door. He had to get back in bed before she noticed. Flinging the door wide he found himself staring down at a blood-red blonde girl.
"Hello Sam."
The scream caught in his throat before it could reach his lips. She glided towards him and in his haste to get away, his bare feet lost their purchase on the tiled floor, landing him heavily on his coccyx.
"Oh Sam," she giggled. "Why are you being so silly?"
He couldn’t form a response. He couldn’t make any noise at all.
"They’re only trying to help. The drugs, you know. You should have never stopped taking them. They made you nice and calm. Don’t you want to be calm, Sam?"
He tried to slide backwards but his arms gave out under him. Flat on his back, she stood over him now, peering down with her cutting, inquisitive eyes. "Don’t you want to be at peace?" Again he wanted to scream, yell for help, but he couldn’t get any air. "Don’t you want to sleep?" No air. His chest was so tight. No air.
"Tyler?"
"You’ll feel much better if you sleep, Sam."
Lungs burning, chest tightening. No air. She’d taken all the air.
"Ty-- Oh god."
She was gone. Gone away but she’d taken all the air with her.
"Sit up, Sam. C’mon, up! Move that lazy arse."
She’d told him to sleep. It would all be better if he slept...
"Oi!" His body shook. That was real. Someone had physically shaken him. "None of that now." The pressure on his chest was released. Sweet, fresh oxygen flooded his aching lungs. He gulped it down eagerly, letting his thoughts and vision clear. He was leaning against the lower cabinets, a sharp handle digging into his back, the Guv’s sharp eyes piercing into his own. "Sam? Back with us now?"
Sam looked at Gene, at the blood drying on his palm, at the broken dish lying next to him on the floor.
Gene was real, wasn’t he? Out of all this, the whole of 1973, Gene had to be real, didn’t he?
"Sam?"
Sam let his eyes drift upwards and lock onto his Guv’s.
"You back with us now?"
"I don’t know," he admitted. His eyes fell downwards, gluing themselves to the floor as Gene stayed motionless, firm hands grasping Sam by the shoulders, keeping him upright.
They stayed that way, Sam on the floor looking at nothing while his mind unraveled and his breathing returned to normal, Gene crouched in front, holding him against the under the sink cabinets, his own mind deciding what to do.
________
Part 45
Author: dak
Word Count: 1726 this part; [82,007 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart while his and Sam's friendship is pushed to the limits.
Summary this Part: Gene's wife has an effect on Sam.
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, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Been away, but now I'm back! This part doesn't forward the story much but it's all to set up the next bit, really.
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
"Sam? Mr. Tyler?"
Sam felt his body shaken gently. A calm voice was calling to him, reaching to him through the haze of sleep.
"Time to eat, Sam."
He mumbled something but even he wasn’t sure if he had formed actual words. "Time is it?" He managed to ask after a few tries.
"Nearly gone eight."
Sam heard the clanking of dishes as a tray was set aside but his half-opened eyes closed quickly when a bedside lamp was switched on.
"Sorry love. Can’t have you sittin’ alone in the dark all the time, can we?"
Sam started push himself into an upright position. Who was this we? It was clearly a woman’s voice but not Annie’s. Definitely to kind to be Phyllis. It was so gentle it could be his mother’s but he was pretty sure it wasn’t coming from inside his head. Sitting up, he allowed his eyes to open and adjust.
Smiling at him was a pleasant looking woman, probably early forties Sam thought, auburn hair to her shoulders, a little plump but not what he would consider overweight. "Who are you?" Sam inwardly cursed himself. Whatever part of his brain controlled tactfulness had apparently not yet healed. The woman only chuckled and moved to get the tray she had left on a nearby dresser.
"I’m what you’d know as the ball and chain, old lady, teetotalling wench, or whatever else Gene is referring to me as these days, down at the station. Though he’s promised he usually sticks with ‘the missus’." She set the breakfast-in-bed tray across Sam’s lap.
"His wife?"
"Is that so shocking, DI Tyler?" She crossed her arms in a fashion so similar to the Guv, Sam half-expected the familiar punch to the kidneys next.
"No," he tried to erase the gobsmacked expression that must have plastered itself to his face. "I...just...he never..."
"Oh, don’t worry your head over it," she laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. Sam immediately knew all was forgiven. "Had this all ready to go at six but you were sleeping so peacefully, Gene said to leave you be. Mentioned you haven’t slept well recently."
Sam knew he was blushing and wished he could bury his head in the steaming food in front of him.
"I hop you like chicken, course I never met a man who didn’t. Though Gene’s said you’re a bit of an odd one now and then."
It wasn’t until he picked up his fork that Sam noticed his hands were still shaking. He tried to distract himself with conversation. "Now and then he says I’m odd? Or I’m odd now and then?"
"Ah, now that’s between me and my husband," she smiled enigmatically. Sam felt her eyes on him as he stabbed at pieces of chicken with his fork. "I hope you don’t mind I cut it up. Just wanted to make it a bit easier on you."
Sam now saw her blushing with slight embarrassment and felt himself relax. " ‘S okay. Thank you. I...I would’ve asked anyway."
She looked at her watch. "Oh, I need to check the wash. Is it alright if I leave you for a little? Don’t get it on the line, Genie won’t have any clean y-fronts for tomorrow."
"Yeah," Sam smiled. "I’m fine." As much as Sam preferred not to think on his superior’s undergarments, the look he shared with Mrs. Hunt told him she’d done it to embarrass Gene on purpose. Good woman, he thought, as he watched her leave the room and close the door behind her.
Alone again, Sam stared down at his plate. Plain chicken with peas and carrots. Simple. His stomach could handle that. Wait. Had she said it was eight o’clock? How long had he been sleeping? When did she get here? Hadn’t Gene said she was away?
The questions kept firing themselves into Sam’s brain. He couldn’t control them. He couldn’t stop thinking them. Maybe she still was away. Maybe this woman wasn’t the real Mrs. Hunt. She hadn’t said her full name after all. What if she was just some stranger who’d wandered into the house?
No, that wasn’t logical. It was more likely she didn’t exist at all. She was another trick, like the smiling, little girl. Something his mind had cooked up to unnerve him. Another drug-induced demon sent to tear apart his consciousness.
Something warm seeped into Sam’s left hand. The fork was still clenched in his right, holding a piece of chicken. He opened his left, wincing as he pried his untrimmed fingernails from his palm. Warm blood gathered in the small cuts. The phantom had forgotten to bring a napkin. He sat there in bed, the panic rising as he alternately looked for a place to wipe his hand and thought of the mysterious new figment of his imagination.
"Okay. Okay. Okay." He whispered to himself, his breaths quickening to short, uneven gasps. "Just, calm down Sam. Just..." he stared at the food in front of him. If she wasn’t real how had this gotten here? He wiped his hand on his pale, button-down shirt, then carefully moved the foreboding tray off his lap. He threw off the covers and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed. Taking no time to gather his thoughts, he pushed himself up.
"Where am I?" His eyes darted to the various corners of the room. "This isn’t...how?" He noticed a familiar suit of Gene’s hanging off a wardrobe. "Okay. Okay. He moved me in here." Sam wracked his brain. "The vomit. The smell. So...he moved me in here. Okay. Okay. That...that makes sense. That’s real. So, if this is the master bedroom..." Sam spotted a bathroom at the opposite side of the bed. He switched his gaze from the bathroom to the threatening plate of food to the clock on the night stand.
Ten minutes. She’d been gone ten minutes already. Logically, she could return at any time. Any time she could return. He had to hurry. Sam hobbled around the bed, taking the plate from the tray and pushing it along with him. He reached the point where he had to let go of the bed to continue his frantic journey.
"C’mon Tyler. C’mon. You can do this. You can." He straightened his back, fully supporting his own weight with just his legs. Plate in hand, he stumbled into the bathroom, catching himself on the doorjamb as soon as it was in reach. Do this. He had to do this. Who knew where this food came from?
He shut the door and dragged himself over to the toilet and knelt down in front of the bowl. "It could be drugged. I didn’t see anyone prepare it. They could be trying to drug me." He ranted to himself as he lifted the plate and started scraping the bits of chicken into the water. "I can’t have drugs. I can’t. Only, only the ones Dr. Merrick says are okay. If they...I can’t. It’s too dangerous."
Sam flushed once and looked at the door nervously. One flush would be fine. More than that, she would be suspicious. The plate was still half full. He had to take the chance. He waited anxiously for the tank to refill then unceremoniously dumped the rest in. He closed his eyes and counted a few extra seconds, just to be sure. He held his breath and flushed.
No footsteps came thundering up the steps. No angry shouts called out, demanding to know what he was doing. He listened carefully. Only his ragged breathing and a muted telly from downstairs. He was safe.
Using the sink to hoist himself up, Sam took the plate and scrambled to open the bathroom door. He had to get back in bed before she noticed. Flinging the door wide he found himself staring down at a blood-red blonde girl.
"Hello Sam."
The scream caught in his throat before it could reach his lips. She glided towards him and in his haste to get away, his bare feet lost their purchase on the tiled floor, landing him heavily on his coccyx.
"Oh Sam," she giggled. "Why are you being so silly?"
He couldn’t form a response. He couldn’t make any noise at all.
"They’re only trying to help. The drugs, you know. You should have never stopped taking them. They made you nice and calm. Don’t you want to be calm, Sam?"
He tried to slide backwards but his arms gave out under him. Flat on his back, she stood over him now, peering down with her cutting, inquisitive eyes. "Don’t you want to be at peace?" Again he wanted to scream, yell for help, but he couldn’t get any air. "Don’t you want to sleep?" No air. His chest was so tight. No air.
"Tyler?"
"You’ll feel much better if you sleep, Sam."
Lungs burning, chest tightening. No air. She’d taken all the air.
"Ty-- Oh god."
She was gone. Gone away but she’d taken all the air with her.
"Sit up, Sam. C’mon, up! Move that lazy arse."
She’d told him to sleep. It would all be better if he slept...
"Oi!" His body shook. That was real. Someone had physically shaken him. "None of that now." The pressure on his chest was released. Sweet, fresh oxygen flooded his aching lungs. He gulped it down eagerly, letting his thoughts and vision clear. He was leaning against the lower cabinets, a sharp handle digging into his back, the Guv’s sharp eyes piercing into his own. "Sam? Back with us now?"
Sam looked at Gene, at the blood drying on his palm, at the broken dish lying next to him on the floor.
Gene was real, wasn’t he? Out of all this, the whole of 1973, Gene had to be real, didn’t he?
"Sam?"
Sam let his eyes drift upwards and lock onto his Guv’s.
"You back with us now?"
"I don’t know," he admitted. His eyes fell downwards, gluing themselves to the floor as Gene stayed motionless, firm hands grasping Sam by the shoulders, keeping him upright.
They stayed that way, Sam on the floor looking at nothing while his mind unraveled and his breathing returned to normal, Gene crouched in front, holding him against the under the sink cabinets, his own mind deciding what to do.
________
Part 45