Fic: Steady As She Goes (46/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (46/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2734 this part; [86,289 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: A relaxing evening at the pub?
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: mild ref. to 1.08; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Sorry this is a day late. Got a new computer that I can't afford yesterday and spent the day trying to figure out Windows Vista and how to transfer all my files. Phew. But now I think everything's working properly. I hope...
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"Course I checked. I just din’t know what they looked like is all."
" ‘Ave you always been a div, or did it take years of practice?"
"Oh be fair, Ray."
The Arms was loud, smoky, and just the thing Annie needed. She hadn’t realized how tightly wound she’d been until her body started to relax. Her plans for this evening had never involved going out, she didn’t want to risk enjoying herself, but when Ray had offered to pay for the drinks, how could she refuse? Ray never bought a round unless it was for the Guv and it would be several years and a different dimension before she was Carling’s DCI. So she had reluctantly went along when he and Chris came knocking on her door, but soon found her forced, fake smile becoming genuine the longer she sat chatting with her mates. The several gin and tonics might have had something to do with it, too.
Chris and Ray had been bickering over one thing or another for the past hour and Annie was content to be a spectator, interjecting with her own barb or two whenever she deemed it necessary. The boys were about to enter what certainly would have been a lengthy diatribe on the various merits of football versus sex when the boisterous chatter of the pub suddenly became a mere din.
Annie, who’s back was to the door, had to turn in her seat to see the disturbance. She quickly spun back around and exchanged glances with Chris and Ray who had trouble taking their eyes off the Guv.
"What do you think Annie?" Chris whispered.
"Huh? What about?" She snuck another glance at Gene, who was now sitting hunched over at the bar with a pint.
"Should we say summit?"
"Why are you asking me?"
"Oh. I thought women were good at readin’ people’s moods an’ all," Chris replied embarrassedly and sipped his pint.
"Well, thank you, I think, but..." Annie stole another peak over her shoulder. "Does it look like he wants to be bothered?"
As if waiting for his cue, Gene left the bar stool and carried his pint to the back corner table where his team was sat. "Evening," was all he said before downing half the glass in one go. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, he turned to Annie. "You?"
"Fine Guv," she responded nervously and sipped her own drink. He grunted in response and finished the rest of his pint.
"I’ll put another round in," Ray said and stood.
"But I’m not fini--ow!" Chris’ words were cut short as Ray "accidentally" elbowed him in the back of the head when he left the table.
"What about you?" Gene nodded at Chris.
" ‘M good, sir. Much better. Cheers."
Gene found a cigarette in his coat pocket, lighting it with the matches he found on the table. Ray returned with the drinks and retook his place next to Chris. As Gene smoked and peered into his fresh glass, Annie looked at Chris, who looked at Ray, who steadied himself to tackle the quite oppressive elephant in the room.
"How’s ‘e doin’?" With great haste, Ray put his glass to his lips, hoping maybe Gene hadn’t heard him at all.
For a time it seemed like he hadn’t. There was a long, tense pause as the whole pub appeared to be waiting for the answer. "Still living," Gene finally revealed. The three waited, hoping for more but not daring to ask. Tyler was a part of their team too, Gene knew that, and they did deserve to know. He just didn’t want to relieve the details.
It might have been Ray’s guilty stare, Chris’ hopeful expression, or Cartwright’s cut lip, but eventually Gene decided to elaborate. " ‘E’s in and out. One minute he’s the picky pain we all know and hate, next he’s drooling over the tiling." Gene sipped his pint, wishing he’d asked for something stronger. "More often than not he’s drooling," he added under his breath before turning back to Annie. "An’ he’s sorry. Been givin’ ‘im nightmares an’ all what ‘e did. Best not stay alone with ‘im, though. Just in case."
Annie briefly thought about arguing with the Guv but the sad truth, she realized, was that she was glad to be given the order to avoid Sam. Now she wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse.
"What’re yeh goin’ ta do with ‘im?" Ray asked.
"Don’t know." Gene’s honesty was both refreshing and worrying to Chris.
"You said--" Ray started, his tone spoiling for a fight.
"I said I’d see after Sunday."
"Do...nevermind," Chris mumbled.
"Speak your piece, Skelton," the Guv ordered.
"I was wonderin’..." he looked to Ray and Annie for support. "If he got to look over some cases, I thought maybe it could help, ‘stead of just playin’ games and watchin’ the telly. I mean, ‘s not what DI Tyler does normally, is it? An’ if we’re tryin’ to get ‘im back to normal he should be doin’ what he normally does, shouldn’t he?" No one said anything. "But ‘s stupid, ain’t it. So, nevermind..."
"Check in at the station Monday morning," Gene said, looking straight at Chris. "See what minor blags, assaults, an’ such came in over the weekend. Pull a few an’ bring ‘em over to ‘im. See if we can’t get him workin’ again."
"Right, Guv," Chris grinned, surprised that for once he actually had an idea the Guv found acceptable.
"DCI Hunt!" Nelson called from the bar, waving the red phone in his hand. Gene finished his pint and walked to the bar, replacing the empty glass in his hand with the receiver. He could barely get his name out before his wife’s frantic voice sounded on the line.
"Calm down, luv," he said, although Gene himself was anything but. There could be only one thing she was calling about. "Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you?" God help Tyler if he...
"No. No," she repeated, organizing her thoughts. "I went out to check the wash. Couldn’t’ve been in the yard more than five mintues." She paused and Gene could picture her trying to hold back tears. "Thought I’d check up on ‘im when I came back in. He-he’s gone Gene. I don’t--"
"What do you mean he’s gone?"
"He’s not in bed. He’s not anywhere upstairs or downstairs or in the cellar or anywhere! I’ve scoured the place. Ran outside, but there’s no sign of ‘im. Oh Gene, I’m so sorry. ‘S all my fault! I should’ve--"
"Hey, hey. Don’t start that now. This is most certainly not your fault. Now, stay at the house case he comes back. Call the station if he does. They can radio me and let me know, okay? I’ll call as soon as I find him."
"Alright. I’m so sorry Gene..."
"I know. I’ve got to go now if we want to find him. Okay?"
"Okay," she said and the line went dead. Gene closed his eyes and listened to the silence on the other end, taking the time to hide his pain. He tossed the phone to the concerned barman and stormed back to the table.
"Drinks down. Arses up. We’re leaving." Gene offered no further explanation as he jogged out of the pub, Ray, Chris, and Annie close behind.
"Guv, what’s--" Ray was cut off as Gene leapt into the Cortina.
"Tyler’s done a runner. I’m checking his flat. You three drive round his normal haunts, see if you can find ‘im."
Ray halted. "Where does he go other than his flat, the station, or the pub?" Chris’ eyes went wide as he, too, couldn’t think of anywhere else to check.
"There’s a record shop he likes. And a few exotic food places," Annie offered.
"See, that’s why we have a plonk. Leave the station. He gets near there one of our own will spot ‘im." Gene threw the car into gear and sped off into the night.
Various scenarios played themselves out in Gene’s mind as he drove the short distance to Sam’s bedsit. The most prevailing of these involved Tyler tripping up with his own weak legs and ending up dead in a ditch, a deep gash in his forehead, Oswald indicating cause of death as Sam’s body stiffened on the cold, metal, slab...
Gene didn’t even bother to park correctly as he pulled up to Sam’s building, the car barely stopped before he swung open the door and ran inside the near derelict housing complex. Gene didn’t remember actually running to Sam’s door. One second he was pulling over in the Cortina, the next he was standing outside the familiar Door #1. The door that was cracked open, and from which was emanating the sound of running water.
"Sam?"
Gene ignored his memories as he entered the flat. The last time he was here was when Tyler had been taken and Gene did not want to think about that day as he stepped into the tiny space.
No signs of a struggle. Gene closed the door. The sound of water was more distinct now. It was a shower. The bathroom door was closed. Gene stood in front of the door and knocked. "Tyler?" No answer. Gene twisted the knob and pulled. The shower was indeed running, the trousers and pants Tyler had been wearing strewn to the side, but Gene had to look down to see Sam himself.
The slim inspector was passed out in the tub, his back at a forty-five degree angle against the wall as the warm water pelted his pale, bare skin before spinning down the partially clogged drain.
"Shit." Contradictory feelings of relief and worry flooded through Gene’s body as he reached over Sam to turn off the water. He knelt down by the side of the tub and slapped his officer across the face, just enough to wake him. "Sam." He didn’t wake. Gene slapped him again. "This’s becomin’ a bad habit, Tyler. Think you better stick with smoking." Sam stirred, mumbled something incoherent, and let his head flop to the side before becoming motionless again.
Gene spied a semi-clean towel hanging off the sink and grabbed it. As he took it he remembered that his wife was waiting to hear some comfort and his team was scouring Manchester for the naked prat he had just found. He threw the towel onto Sam. "Wait there a mo," he ordered the unconscious man and went back to the Cortina to call off the search.
When he returned to the flat a dazed Sam was sitting at the small, rickety table by the window, the worn towel wrapped carelessly around his waist.
"I told you to stay put," Gene grumbled as he closed the door.
"Do you have any yogurt?" Sam asked with great effort. Clearly, consciousness and Tyler were not quite agreeing with each other at the moment.
"Don’t you ever listen?" Gene scolded, though he walked to the kitchen anyway. "Your poor mum must’ve had a stroke ‘fore she got you out of the house." Gene opened the fridge, took one whiff, and hastily shut it. "Seen war surplus fresher than that lot," he said as he leaned on Sam’s TV.
"You know my mum?" Gene was about to throw down another insult when Sam whispered again. "Oh. That’s right. You did meet her."
Gene’s mouth went dry. Even if he’d been one hundred percent pissed at the time, there was no way he would have ever forgotten meeting Tyler’s mother. As Sam was clinging to consciousness worse than a fat woman on a trapeze, Gene decided to let that one slide, adding it to the growing list of things he knew he shouldn’t be letting slide. He also knew he should sit down across from Tyler, talk to him quietly, figure out what happened, but Gene was too angry to sit still.
"My missus was worried sick about you. Thinkin’ it was her fault you decided to play Peter bloody Pan an’ disappear out the goddamn window!" He crossed his arms. "What the hell were you thinking? And how in God’s name did your skinny arse get over here so damn fast?"
"Got a lift."
"A lift? From who?"
"Dunno," Sam shrugged.
"Don’t know?" Gene yelled in disbelief and started to pace. "Don’t...It’s almost eleven, on a Saturday night, and you hitch a ride from a total stranger in nowt but your trousers..." Gene needed a drink, followed by a drink, with possibly another drink after that. It was too much. How could he...? It was simply, utterly, completely too much. That stupid bastard...
Gene flipped over the ratty chair in the corner of the flat. Sam didn’t even blink, mumbling only an insincere "sorry" which only enraged Gene even more.
"Sorry? Sorry!" He stormed to the table and slammed his fists down. "This would happen every week, nine times out of ten I’d be scraping your bloody, buggered body off the pavement on Canal Street!"
"She seemed nice," Sam pathetically reasoned.
Gene’s rage died down only slightly as he saw recognizable signs of guilt grace Sam’s features. "You do something like this again, I won’t bother to come looking. Understood?"
"Yes Guv."
Gene suddenly remembered he had a full flask in his pocket, plopped himself into the chair across from Sam, and drank readily. "Why?" Gene asked after finally giving the flask a rest.
"Said I needed to bathe."
"I...Tyler," Gene rested his head in one hand, the other still clutched the flask. "I asked when you last bathed. Not..." He leaned back against the unsteady chair. "Why wouldn’t you just shower at my house ‘stead of dragging your unprotected arse out here?"
"Oh." Sam’s face indicated it was the first time he had even considered that particular possibility.
"Look, it’s late. You’ll kip here tonight then I’ll take you home in the morning, okay?" Gene screwed the flask tight and filed it away in his inner pocket.
"Can’t I stay here?" Sam asked hopefully.
"Maybe later. But tomorrow that quack’s comin’ round my place to see you."
Sam shrunk down in his chair, the movement threatening the precarious position of the towel. "Can’t I stay here?"
"You’re the one what called ‘im in the first place." Some of the anger seeped back into Gene’s voice.
"I know." Sam sighed in disappointment.
"Don’t you want to see him?"
Sam shrugged.
"Well, I’d rather you didn’t, but you phoned him." Gene looked out the window, gazing over his darkened city. "I can’t make all your decisions for you, Sam. I don’t have the right. That Merrick’s going to see you tomorrow. He’ll probably want you to...do some things that I wouldn’t agree with. But in the end...it’s your call, Sam. Neither of us can make you choose what to do."
Gene wished he had kept the flask out as he prayed for the words to sink into Sam’s foggy mind. It was silent for a good five minutes before Sam opened his mouth to speak.
"But...your my emergency contact," Sam stated innocently.
Gene almost smiled. "Only if you can’t make your own decisions."
" ‘M not sure I can." Sam looked up at Gene, his eyes desperate and pleading. "I want to trust the doctor, but I know I shouldn’t. Will you stay with me tomorrow, to make sure I don’t?" Gene could see Sam’s usually overactive brain trying to kick into gear. "I don’t think I can trust myself." Tyler was fighting again. Fighting to get himself back.
" ‘S my house isn’t it? Think I’ll be around."
Sam was exhausted but managed the strength to smile before falling asleep at the table.
"Jesus," Gene sighed. "Can’t even stay awake long enough to put some ruddy clothes on, can you?" He rose from the chair and after a bit of digging, found some pajamas in Sam’s small closet. He tried not to look as he clumsily slipped the clothes onto Sam, removing the towel at only the very last possible moment. It was only as he dressed Tyler, brushing his hands against the sickly grey skin, that he noticed he could feel every one of Sam’s ribs, that his collarbones looked like they could poke through the skin, that his waist was much too pronounced. It was only then that he wondered how much Sam was really eating.
_________
Part 47