Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 27b, Green Cortina, Sytaxia

[sytaxia]

Gene slowly sat up and coughed a thick, short smoker’s cough as he awoke, stretching his arms and legs as he sat up on top of one of the camp beds that he’d set up in Chris’ spare room and feeling his back crackle slightly as he did so.  He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, idly scratching at his chest and crotch as he pulled himself further up and blinked, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings.  He stretched his neck out, slowly moving it from side to side, and then stubbed his fag-end out in the ashtray that Chris had left for him on the floor of the room before standing and stretching out again, his long arms nearly touching the ceiling as he did so.  He looked down at his watch and noticed that it was just on eight o’clock, and nodded at this, pulling off his shirt and rummaging around in the rucksack that he’d packed with spare clothes for a new shirt, which he hastily pulled on.  As he headed for the door, ready he heard Annie’s voice in the hallway, and he ripped the door open quickly to find her leading Sam, still dressed in the clothes that he’d helped him into at the hospital the day before, towards the bathroom.

“Easy, we’ve got all the time in the world,” Annie said softly as Sam panted, and Gene realized that she was leading him from his room to the bathroom.  “Good morning, Gov,” she added quickly upon seeing him, and Gene nodded at this.

“Mind if I duck in for a slash before you get there?” Gene asked, and then darted towards the bathroom before Annie or Sam could answer.  By the time he’d relieved himself and washed his hands, Sam and Annie were at the door, and Gene reached out and grabbed Sam around the shoulders, drawing him away from Annie and into the bathroom.

“I think I’ll need to sit down for this,” Sam said, and Gene noticed his cheeks coloring slightly as he said this.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Gene said, positioning Sam in front of the toilet and grasping his shoulders with both hands.  “Oi, Cartwright, go get some breaky cookin,’ will you?” he asked, and Annie nodded before leaving the room.  Gene felt Sam shaking slightly under his hands as he undid his zip and relieved himself, and then pulled himself back into his trousers and pulled the zip back up.  Gene reached down and pulled the lid of the toilet shut, then pulled the flush before helping Sam to sit on top of the stool, still catching his breath from the walk down the hall.

“I didn’t notice you leave,” Sam said quietly as Gene grabbed his bathroom kit from the side of the bath and pulled out his razor and shaving foam, and Gene nodded at him.

“Got lots of pictures from the crime scene, even made sure that we took down the position of the blood, so you can go about your soddin’ blood pattern analyzing shite,” he stated as he lathered up his face, and he watched Sam run a hand along his own jaw as he started shaving.  “You want a shave?”

Sam nodded, “I need to clean my mouth, too.  Think a cat must’ve shat in it while I was asleep.  Did anyone get me a toothbrush?”  Gene grimaced when he realized that Sam hadn’t washed his mouth out since before he was sick the previous afternoon, and he nodded at Sam, and then gestured towards the small, black zippered bag that Annie had set down on the bath, right next to Gene’s.

“Cartwright nicked your toothbrush, razor, all that shite from your flat yesterday,” he said, and Sam nodded at this.  They sat in silence as Gene finished his own shaving, and then cleaned his own teeth before zipping up his own bag and placing it back on the bath’s ledge.  “Skelton needs to put some damned shelves in here,” Gene said as he did so, and then he picked up Sam’s kit and moved to open it.  “You want to shave yourself, or…” Gene let his voice trail off, and Sam slowly moved to stand.

“I can do it,” Sam said, and Gene handed him his razor and watched as Sam lathered and shaved his own face, then moved about cleaning his mouth.  By the time Sam was done, his legs were shaking again, and Gene had to fight against the urge to grab him as he took a few quivering steps towards the toilet and sat down again.  “Do you have the photographs here?”

“Hang on just a minute, Poirot, they’ve still got to be developed,” Gene said, and he nodded towards Sam, “You want to have a bit of a wash before you get dressed again?”

Sam leaned back against the toilet tank and nodded, “Yeah.  Bath’d be nice,” he said, looking nervously at the tub, and Gene shook his head.

“You’re not to get your stitches wet, doc’s orders.  Have to scrub you down from there,” he said, and Sam nodded at this, then moved to unbutton his shirt.  He moved to pull the shirt off of himself, and then winced and hugged himself tightly as the movement sent shards of pain driving through his ribs.

“Here,” Gene moved towards Sam and gently pulled off his shirt, then slowly pulled his vest over his head and down his arms, careful not to raise them higher than Sam’s shoulders.  Gene looked away and started to rummage through the pile of freshly laundered and folded towels that Chris and Annie had set in the corner of the bathroom, finally emerging with a flannel and a smallish towel, which he placed behind Sam’s head.  He noticed that Sam had undone the buckle of his belt and the button and zip of his trousers, but had left off after finishing that.  “You need help pulling your trousers off?” Gene asked, and Sam nodded, and then Gene slowly pulled them away from Sam’s waist and legs, dragging the belt and Sam’s y-fronts down with them.  When he had finished, he threw the clothes in a pile behind the bathroom door, where he had discarded Sam’s shirt and vest, and then pulled off Sam’s socks, adding them to the pile.  He looked up and saw an odd, slightly shamed look on Sam’s face.  “Sam?”

“I…  I just don’t like it.  Needing help…”  Sam’s voice was small, and he looked away from Gene as he said it, and Gene shook his head.

“Just a few more days and you’ll be able to manage on your own, I’d wager.  And I don’t make wagers that I’m not sure on,” Gene said as he wet the flannel in the sink and lathered it with Chris’ lone bar of soap.  He moved towards Sam and noticed that Sam winced as he placed the flannel against his flesh.  “Was that too rough?”

“Cold,” Sam muttered, and Gene grunted as he rubbed at Sam’s underarms and neck, carefully avoiding his ribs.  Gene felt an odd feeling rise up inside of him as he cleaned between Sam’s legs, and he noticed that Sam was looking away as well as he did so.  By the time that he’d finished scrubbing Sam down, he noticed that Sam was shivering, and he turned on the hot tap this time as he rinsed the soap out of the rag, and then moved to rinse Sam off.

“Better?” he asked, and Sam nodded as Gene scrubbed at him again, and then threw the flannel into the bath, where it landed with a wet, squelching sound.  He pulled the towel off of the toilet tank and dried Sam, then gave a short grunt, “Might want to have Cartwright do this next time, I’m no good at this Forence Nightingale bollocks,” he said, and Sam shook his head.

“You did fine,” he was still shivering, and Gene frowned as he finished drying Sam’s legs and then wrapped the towel around him.  “Just a few more days.  Day or two,” Sam said, annoyance in his voice, and he leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling, clutching the towel more tightly around himself.

“Clothes or jams?” Gene asked, and Sam gave him a confused look.  “Which do you want me to go get?” Gene clarified, his own brand of gruff annoyance filling his voice.

“Clothes.  I want to get up today,” Sam said, and Gene crossed his arms for a moment, giving Sam a hard look.

“To the loo, if you need to, but that’s it.  We’ll see what the doctor has to say about anything more,” Gene said, and then he ducked out of the room before Sam had a chance to argue.  He returned a minute later, a fresh pile of clothes in his hand, all having been neatly folded by Annie when she had packed Sam’s suitcase.

“Come on, let’s get these on you before you catch your bloody death in here.  I’ll get Skelton to turn up the heat,” Gene said, and he bent down and pulled a pair of y-fronts, and then another pair of trousers, onto Sam.  Sam closed the zip and the button on his own as Gene slipped a thick pair of socks onto Sam’s feet, and then he stood and pulled the vest over Sam’s head, wincing himself as Sam grimaced in pain when he slid his arms through the arm holes.  He bent down to retrieve the shirt and heard Sam’s breath catch, and nearly jumped to his feet as Sam started coughing.

Gene reached over and grabbed at the toilet roll, pulling off a handful and handing it to Sam, who hacked violently into it, and then grimaced as the coughs finally subsided.  Gene pulled the shirt over Sam’s arms, not saying a word, and then did up the buttons as Sam gasped, slowly catching his breath.  “There we are; proper little picky pain in the arse,” Gene said, and Sam smiled at this, and then slowly climbed to his feet, wincing in pain as he bent down to lift the toilet lid and flush the handful of toilet roll that he’d coughed into down.

There was a muffled thump from outside the door then, and both Sam and Gene looked up to see Chris slowly shuffle in, his eyes half closed and his hair sticking up at odd angles about his head.  “Bloody hell, Skelton, do you always look so dainty and fresh in the mornings?” Gene asked as Chris squinted at both of them.

“Gov?  Boss?”  Chris took a moment to register the fact that Gene and Sam had both spent the night at his house, and then he snapped to, shaking his head like a startled dog as he did so.  “Gov, Boss!  Blimey, didn’t think you’d be up yet,” Chris said, yawning as he spoke.

“Cartwright’s downstairs putting some breakfast together, so make sure your sorry arse is presentable,” Gene said sternly, and Chris’ eyes widened.  “And go make the bed in your guest room before I take him back in there,” Gene gestured out the door, and Chris gave the two of them a slightly affronted look as he scurried to the guest room, no doubt dying to relieve himself as soon as Gene allowed him to.

Gene chuckled slightly at the sight of this, and Sam shook his head, “Nice to see that you’re as polite of a guest as you are a superior,” Sam said, and Gene gave him a wry smile.

“Nice to hear you still have that bloody great stick crammed up your arse,” Gene said, still grinning as he wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders.  “I’m calling the doctor as soon as we get you settled back in there; get you that shot, have you looked over.”

Sam shook his head, “I’m fine,” he said, and then winced and drew his arms tightly about his ribs, “Although I wouldn’t say no to a bloody painkiller,” he said, sharply inhaling as he did so.

Gene’s grin faded, “Are your ribs hurting you?  You havin’ pain anywhere else?”  He reached his free hand up and turned Sam’s face towards his own, “You look a bit peaky,” he placed the back of his hand against Sam’s forehead and started to frown, “I think you’re a bit warm,” he said, and Sam gave him a twisted grimace of annoyance and anger, pulling away from his hand.

“I’m not warm; I’d know it if I had a bloody fever, and I don’t.  I’m fine.  Just tired.  And hungry,” he said, and Gene tightened the arm that he had around Sam’s shoulders.

“We’ll get some of whatever Cartwright’s cookin’ up down you, see if you can’t keep it and some of them tablets that Denslow prescribed down,” he said, and Sam nodded.

The door opened again, and Chris stood there, his hair still incredibly disheveled, but his face much more alert than it had been when he’d entered the room earlier.  Gene noticed that he was moving quickly from one foot to the other as he stood there.  “Bed’s made, Gov,” Chris said, and Gene grunted at this and then moved out of the room, feeling Sam tremble under his arm as he took slow, small steps out into the hallway.  They heard the door slam shut behind them as they stood in the hall, and Gene shook his head, trying to keep from laughing out loud at his DC.

The walk to the bedroom was slow, but not nearly as slow and difficult as the walks from the hospital to the car and from the car to the house had been the previous day, Gene was happy to see.  Sam trembled slightly as they walked, each step small and slow, but he didn’t lean as heavily upon Gene as he had before, and didn’t seem nearly as out of breath, although he was still panting when they finally reached the bed.  Gene sat Sam down on top of the covers, and then moved to pile the pillow up on one side of the bed, stacking them up against the headboard so that Sam could sit up fully on the bed.

Sam watched Gene moving about as he caught his breath, and then slowly moved towards the back of the bed, leaning heavily against the pillow as his breath finally evened out.  Gene stood over him for a moment, and Sam shot him one of his patented looks of annoyance, “I’m fine.  You don’t have to hover over me like that.”

“The hell I don’t.  You’re my DI, and I can do whatever I like with you,” Gene said, and Sam rolled his eyes in response.  Gene shook his head at this, and then sat down next to Sam, looking out the window as he did so.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said, and Gene turned back to him, a hard set to his face.

“Okay, let’s try that again.  Tell me how you’re feeling, and that’s a bleedin’ order.”  Gene reached down and grabbed Sam’s hand, rubbing his thumb over Sam’s knuckles.  “You have any pain?”

“Since when did you pass medical college?” Sam asked, once again sounding like an annoyed, petulant child, and Gene’s face hardened further.  He stared at Sam for a few moments, a scowl darkening his features, and then Sam sighed and turned his head, looking out the window.  “Fine.  It bloody hurts, is that what you want to hear?  I feel better than I did before, and I don’t feel ill.  I’m tired, but I don’t want to sleep, and I want to read over the case notes again,” he turned an angry expression towards Gene, “Satisfied?”

Gene grunted, “You need to tell me, or Cartwright, or even Skelton, if you’ve got pain or anything.”  His voice was hard and commanding, and something about the familiarity of it was vastly comforting to Sam, who tightened his fingers around Gene’s and then looked back at him, letting their eyes lock.

“I will.  I’m fine, I swear,” Sam said softly, and Gene nodded, then reached forward and smoothed Sam’s hair down against his head, earning himself another look of annoyance.

“I’ve got the copy of the case files that you were looking over at hospital, and I’ll make sure that anything else that comes out of the new crime scene or any other leads we’re following gets added in the mix,” Gene said, and Sam suddenly remembered where Glen and Ray were at the moment.

“Have you heard from Glen and Ray?  Are they all right?” Sam asked, and Gene shook his head.

“I doubt anything’s come of it, this early on, but we’ve not heard a peep from their direction.  Hopefully, they’ll have something for us that’ll allow us to collar the bastard by tea time,” Gene said, and then a knock sounded at the door, and they both turned towards it and heard Annie’s voice.

“Can I come in?  I’ve got breakfast,” they heard her say through the door, and Gene chuckled slightly when he realized that she was trying to protect Sam’s modesty, despite having already seen him naked and handcuffed to a bed, as well as naked several times while he had been in hospital.

“Come on in, then, Love, we’re both decent,” Gene called out, and Annie walked through the door, carrying the same tray that she’d brought up the other day, and setting it down across Sam’s legs.  There was a large plate of bacon and eggs, as well as a bowl of porridge, and two cups of tea atop it.

“I brought up breakfast for you, too, Gov; didn’t know if you’d want to eat downstairs with me and Chris, or up here with Sam,” Annie said, and Gene nodded at her.

“Have you got those pills for him, from the chemist’s?” Gene asked, and Annie’s eyes went wide as she realized that she hadn’t been to pick up Sam’s prescriptions before her meeting with Williams.

“I haven’t had a chance to pick them up yet, Gov,” Annie said, staring at the floor as she did so, “I can go and grab them as soon as they open, though,” she added, and Gene scowled at her.

“Thought you were picking that lot up yesterday,” Gene said, and Annie bit her lower lip and stared at the floor again, drawing a questioning look from Sam.

“It’s all right, Annie,” Sam said, not quite liking the level of shame that was working its way into her expression, and again getting the feeling that she was hiding something from them.  “You can grab them after you’ve had breakfast yourself,” he said, looking towards Gene and hoping that he would stop glaring at Annie.  “They’ll be opening soon,” Sam said, turning his gaze towards Gene and giving him another look of annoyance.  “It’s fine,” he said, directing his words more towards Gene than towards Annie.

After a few seconds of silence, Gene finally let his glare fall and picked up his own plate from the tray on Sam’s lap, “And get some decent beer while you’re out.  Good bitter, none of this mild shite that Skelton keeps about the place,” Gene said, digging into his food.  Sam rolled his eyes at this, and then grinned at Annie, who looked back up and grinned back at him.

“Yes, Sir,” Annie said, still smiling at Sam, and then she sat down on the side of the bed.  “Chris has a record player downstairs, you know, with a radio in it; if the doctor says it’s all right, maybe we can take Sam down, get him set up on the sofa.  You can set the case files out on the coffee table, and it’d still be lying down and resting,” Annie looked from Gene to Sam as she said this, and Sam grinned at her, and then looked over at Gene, who shrugged.

“I don’t see any harm in it, gettin’ Tyler stretched out with a blanket on that ratty old settee of Skelton’s, give him some time to put fresh linens and the like in here,” Gene said, and Sam continued to smile, then reached down and grabbed one of the tea cups on the tray, taking a slow sip of it before reaching for the spoon.

Annie looked down at her watch and stood, “I should head down to the shops; they’ll be opening soon, and I should be able to get back before you’re even done eating,” she said, and Gene nodded at her as she left.

“You want some of this?  Might stick to your ribs more than that shite,” Gene asked, gesturing towards his own plate, and Sam shook his head and started to eat his own breakfast.

“Did anyone at the hospital see anything?” Sam asked, pausing and leaning back between spoonfuls, and Gene swallowed the mouthful of egg that he’d just shoveled into his mouth with an almost cartoonish gulping sound.

“Not a bloody peep.  None of those birds heard a mouse fart, let alone a killer walking about and slicing open our plod.  And our plonks,” he said, quietly, and Sam looked down and stirred his porridge idly as he considered this.

“You should all be on guard, and armed.  I…  None of you…”  Sam looked away again, staring out the window, and Gene set his own down on the tray and took Sam’s hand again.

“We’ll be fine.  No one knows you’re here, and don’t you worry about my officers; finest in the city, and always ready,” Gene said, and then Chris staggered through the door, his hair wet and his tie half done around his neck, looking questioningly from Sam to Gene.

“Neither of you saw the duck, did you?” Chris asked, fear in his voice.

“What bloody duck?” Gene asked, and Chris nodded at this.

“The err…  There was a duck, in the garden a few days back…”  Chris stammered out the explanation, color rising in his cheeks, and Gene and Sam both shook their heads at this.  Chris nodded at both of them.  “Right then.  Good.  Did Cartwright make sommat for us?”

“Check downstairs, you bloody git,” Gene said, and Chris nodded, then ducked out of the room again.  As he did so, Gene shook his head again, and then looked at Sam, “There is a soddin’ rubber duck in the loo.  Behind the bath.”  He shook his head at this, and Sam gave an amused little wince at the idea of Chris trying to hide a rubber duck from them, and at the idea that Chris even had a rubber duck.

“Finest in the city?”  Sam asked, and Gene shook his head.

“Finest in the bleedin’ country, rubber ducks and all.  At least he doesn’t wear pajamas with feet sewn onto them.”  Sam chuckled slightly at this, and then turned his attention back to his breakfast, slowly taking another bite.

“Was there blood on the walls?” Sam asked, and Gene gave him a questioning look.

“On the walls?” Gene repeated, his brow knitting as he asked.

“Arterial spray.  If they were standing when the major arteries in their necks were cut, there’d’ve been blood sprayed all over the walls,” Sam said, and Gene shook his head, trying to remember the details of the crime scene.

“All over the bloody walls, actually.  Throats ripped clean through,” Gene said, and Sam nodded at this.

“Can I see the coroner’s report, once it’s done?” Sam asked, and Gene grunted.

“’Course you bloody can.  I’ll fetch it here myself, soon as Oswald’s finished.  Same with the photographs and the like,” Gene looked out of the window again.

“Did you notice the blood patterns?  Did it look like there’d been a struggle at all?” Sam asked, and Gene shook his head.

“No footprints or anything, if that’s what you mean,” Gene said, rubbing at his jaw with his hand, “Doesn’t look they had much time to fight at all.  None of them had any time to raise the alarm, that’s for sure.”

“The killer had to look like he belonged there, then.  Dressed as a nurse, or a porter, or a doctor…  We’re sure that the fingerprints didn’t match any of the hospital staff?”  Sam asked, and Gene shook his head.

“None of the staff that were in your room; I can have the entire hospital staff printed, though, now that we’ve got that bloody warrant.  You think we should?”

Sam nodded, and set down his bowl, pushing the tray slightly away from him.  “The entire staff, everyone that had access to any area of the hospital at any time, even the staff that wouldn’t be working on the floor that I was on should be fingerprinted.  And be careful; even if they didn’t suspect the killer when he was in the room, he’d have to move pretty bloody fast to kill them all before one of them could raise the alarm,” Sam said, and then nodded towards the tray, “I’m finished.”

Gene stared at the half empty bowl, and then fixed his gaze back on Sam, “Not even a bit more?”  Sam shook his head.

“No.  That’s enough,” Sam said, moving a hand over his stomach and wincing as he rubbed against his stitches.

“You feeling sick again?”  Gene picked up the tray and set it on the far night table, and then gave Sam a worried look, glancing about the room for a dust bin or other receptacle.

“No.  A little nauseous, but not as bad as yesterday,” Sam said, and Gene nodded, then moved towards the door.

“I’m going to go find that bowl that we had up here yesterday, all right?  Don’t move,” Gene said, and Sam nodded, leaning back against the pillows and closing his eyes as he did so.  Gene paused for a moment, staring at Sam, and then left the room, returning a minute later with the mixing bowl that Chris had brought in the day before.

Gene set the bowl down on the table closest to Sam, and then sat down next to him.  “I just saw Ray and Fletcher pulling up; either they’ve got news for us, or I’m going to give them the hiding of their lives.  Either way, it should make for an interesting morning,” Gene said, and Sam nodded at this, then looked towards the door.  Gene noticed this and placed a hand on Sam’s leg, “You feel up to having them come in and tell us what happened?”

Sam nodded at Gene, “Yeah, show them up,” Sam said, and Gene grinned at Sam and moved towards the door, leaving Sam alone again.  Sam took a few deep breaths, and then drew himself up further so that he was sitting fully upright, fixing his gaze upon the door.

After a few moments, Sam was slightly shocked to see Denslow entering through the door, flanked by only Gene, and Sam gave both of them a questioning look.  “Fletcher and Ray are going to brief us after Denslow here’s given you the once over,” Gene explained, and Sam nodded, still feeling slightly confused at the early presence of the doctor, and then looking expectantly at Denslow.

“Can I be alone for this?” Sam asked, and he noted that Gene’s face seemed to fall slightly when he asked the question.  Gene took a moment to stare from Sam to Denslow, and then picked up the breakfast tray and exited with it, nodding at both Sam and the doctor as he left.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Tyler?” Denslow asked, stretching out his hand and shaking Sam’s, and Sam had to shake his head a bit to take in the fact that Denslow had already appeared, still finding it hard to wrap his head around that fact.

“Better.  I want to get up and move about more,” Sam said, and Denslow nodded at this, and then sat his bag down on the bed.

“I don’t think that’d be such a good idea, Sam,” Denslow said, and Sam grimaced at this, and then moved to undo the buttons on his shirt as he saw Denslow open his bag and withdraw a stethoscope.

“I really am feeling better,” Sam said, and Denslow nodded again, then hung the stethoscope around his neck and reached out his hands.

“Have you been able to keep any food down?” Denslow asked, and Sam nodded at him.

“Just had breakfast,” Sam said, and Denslow nodded again.

“Can you grasp my hands, as tightly as you can?” Denslow asked, and Sam reached forward and did so, noticing Denslow smile slightly as Sam squeezed tightly around his hand, not sure what this particular test was measuring.  “And can you take off your shirt and vest?”  Denslow asked, and Sam managed to pull off his shirt and vest, wincing with pain as he raised his arms.  He looked up to see if Denslow had noticed this, and saw that the larger man was grimacing slightly as he watched.

“Raise your arms as high as you can without pain, please,” Denslow said, and Sam held his arms out at shoulder height, feeling oddly as if he were impersonating a film zombie.  Denslow reached forward and placed his hands on Sam’s bared ribcage, and Sam swallowed hard at the feeling of unfamiliar hands against his skin.  “And now raise your arms up as high as you can, please, just for a moment.”  Sam obliged, feeling pain drive through him and noticing that his arms were starting to shake as he raised them; he tried to keep them as steady as possible as he felt Denslow’s hands move along his ribcage, and he noticed that Denslow was smiling slightly again.  It was an odd, unreadable expression, and it made Sam think distinctly of the old expression ‘cat that got the cream.’  Sam wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not, and he lowered his arms back down, wincing as he did so.

“Have you had any pain, other than that caused by movement?” Denslow asked, and Sam shook his head.  “Good,” Denslow said, and then he placed the ends of the stethoscope in his ears and moved closer to Sam, placing the cold end of the scope against Sam’s chest.  “Can you breath in for me?”  Sam inhaled, and then exhaled, and Denslow slowly moved the scope across his chest as he did so.  “And again…”  Sam continued to slowly breath in and out, and Denslow continued to shift the scope about.  Sam felt himself shiver slightly as Denslow did so, and was glad when the scope was pulled away.

“Can you lean forward for me?” Denslow asked, and the patronizing, nursery-school tone of his voice made Sam suddenly want to punch him, although he buried the feeling deep inside of him as he leaned forward, allowing Denslow to place the scope against his back.  “And breath in again…  And out….  And again…”  Denslow repeated the process that he’d started on Sam’s front with Sam’s back, and Sam felt gooseflesh rise up on his body as the cold scope slid across his flesh.

Denslow leaned back, the earpieces of the stethoscope still in his ears, and he reached back into his bacg and withdrew a small jar, which he opened and handed to Sam.  “All right, Sam, next, I want you to breath in as deeply as you can for me, and it’s likely to cause you to cough.  I want to collect a sputum sample, so if you could cough into that, I’d be much obliged,” Denslow asked, and Sam gave him a skeptical and slightly annoyed look, and then grasped the jar tightly as Denslow moved to stand next to Sam and reach behind him again, placing the scope against Sam’s back.  “And in…  As deeply as you can,” Denslow said, and Sam tried to suck in as much air as possible, finding that doing so did trigger the cough.  Denslow continued to hold the scope in place as Sam coughed, moving it slightly against Sam’s skin as the fit continued, until Sam finally felt himself hacking into the jar and then catching his breath again.  He grimaced in disgust as he held the jar out for Denslow, who screwed the lid tightly in place and then set the jar back into his bag.

“Very good, Sam.  And a blood sample,” Denslow said, reaching into his bag and withdrawing a pair of rubber gloves, which he slipped onto his hands, and a rubber tube and a vial, and then an odd item that look vaguely like a syringe, which he pulled out of a sterilized wrapping and screwed onto the vial.  “Can I have your arm, please?” Denslow asked, and Sam stretched out his arm.  The doctor swabbed the crook of Sam’s elbow with what looked and smelled like iodine, and then tied the rubber tube around Sam’s arm, tightly, forcing a long vein to bulge under Sam’s skin.  He slipped the needle into the vein, and Sam watched as the vial slowly filled with his blood.   Once the vial was full, Denslow slipped the needle end into a plastic bag, and then slipped both it and the vial into his bag.

“Mr. Hunt mentioned that you hadn’t filled your prescriptions yet; if you’re unable to keep down the antibiotics, then I’m going to have to come by at least twice a day for an injection like this,” Denslow said pulling two syringes out of his bag, and removing a plastic cap from atop the long needle on one of them.  “I’ve brought some painkillers for you, too,” Denslow said, holding up the second syringe, and Sam nodded at this.  “If I could have your arm again?”  Sam held out his arm, and Denslow carefully inserted the needle of the first syringe into the same area that he’d taken the blood sample from, and then recapped the empty syringe and slid it back into his bag, following the same pattern with the painkiller syringe.  After that, he placed a pad of gauze over Sam’s elbow, and then taped it down with white hospital tape.

“Finished?” Sam asked, and Denslow shook his head, withdrawing a bottle of alcohol, another pad of gauze, and a thermometer from the bag.  He wiped down the thermometer and handed it to Sam.

“Could you hold that in your mouth, please?  And lean back while I inspect your stitches?”  Sam nodded, and leaned back against the pillow, shifting slightly downwards as he did so, before he placed the thermometer under his tongue and closed his mouth over it.  Denslow slowly lifted the bandage that covered Sam’s abdomen, and then prodded at the black, spiking rows of stitches, squinting at them over the top of his glasses as he did so.  He folded the used bandage and placed it in the same waste bag that he’d used before, and then pulled a fresh bandage out of the bag and redressed the stitches.

“All right,” Denslow said, and he took the thermometer from Sam and stared at it, then wiped it down with another alcohol sodden pad and replaced it and the bottle in his bag, frowning slightly.  He reached forward and placed his hands at the base of Sam’s jaw, and then lower on his neck, finally stretching his hands out and feeling Sam’s underarms.

“You can get dressed again,” Denslow said, still frowning, and Sam nodded at this, then gave Denslow a questioning look, waiting for him to continue.  “The stitching looks fine, and your ribs appear to be healing at the proper rate, and all still in place, along with the musculature covering them, but your breath sounds are a bit wet, and you’re running a fever.”

“I…  I am?” Sam asked, giving Denslow another questioning look.

“Not very high at all, 38 exactly, but it’s still enough to cause me some concern, especially when coupled with your chest,” Denslow said, and Sam grimaced.

“That’s barely anything; and I have no idea what ‘wet’ sounds are…”  Sam’s voice trailed off, and he found a defensive annoyance growing inside of him.  “I feel fine,” Sam said, finding it impossible to keep his anger out of his voice.

“Your lungs were both punctured in several places, and you had a very severe case of pneumonia, Sam - now is not the time to be taking risks,” Denslow said, frowning.  “I’m keeping you on the antibiotics for another two weeks, and I want to stop by and listen to your breathing again, even if you can keep down the oral antibiotics, all right?  In the mean time, complete rest.  I don’t want you moving at all; I’ve spoken with DCI Hunt, and he inquired about your moving downstairs during the day, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.  You really shouldn’t be jostled about on the stairs, and it’s very drafty down there: cold causing illness may be an old wives’ tale, but it does aggravate all sorts of existing conditions, so I wouldn’t recommend you being down there at all, all right?”

“I feel fine,” Sam snapped again, more annoyed than before, and Denslow sighed.

“Three weeks ago, you were nearly ripped apart, being kept alive by machines, and two weeks ago you were so ill you couldn’t breathe without being put back onto mechanical ventilation, Mr. Tyler.  I don’t even like having you out of hospital this soon,” Denslow’s voice was hard and stern, and Sam felt his face cloud over as he listened to the doctor’s words.  “Complete bed rest.  And stay warm.  And you should be taking your temperature regularly; you should have known about that fever before I pointed it out,” Denslow’s brows knitted together, “Have you been?  I told DCI Hunt…”

“He has been.  Not today, though,” Sam said, finding that he was entirely able to lie through his teeth to the doctor without batting an eyelash, and hoping that Denslow wouldn’t bring it up with Gene.  The last thing he needed was his DCI playing nursemaid and fretting over every little cough, and he couldn’t stand the idea of Gene taking it any further than he already had; after their talk the previous afternoon, and the way that Gene seemed be completely ignoring everything they’d…  discussed, Sam felt an odd, angry feeling that half made him want to avoid being alone with Gene at all costs, and half made him want to only be alone with Gene; thinking about that only caused him further frustration, and he looked back up at Denslow.  “I only just woke up and had breakfast before you arrived,” that, at least, was true.

Denslow nodded, “All right.  But you’re to call me any time, day or night, if it gets any worse.  Or if you have any pain, or difficulty in breathing, or changes in your cough.  I’m going to have some tests run on the samples that I’ve taken, and I’ll be around either this evening or tomorrow, depending on your need for the intravenous antibiotics.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine with the pills,” Sam said, and Denslow regarded him with an odd, concerned gaze that just made Sam’s anger rise again.  “I really do feel perfectly well, accept for a bit of fatigue and some pain when I move,” Sam said, hoping that Denslow would take the hint and stop patronizing him.

Denslow snapped his bag shut, nodding at Sam, “I’ll be in to see you again soon,” he said, and then he stopped on his way to the door, “DCI Hunt and the other officers have informed me that your location is to be kept secret, even from the other doctors, and I’ve informed them that Doctor Barrie has been hounding me for your location, and that DCI Morgan has inquired, as well.  I haven’t said anything to either of them,” Denslow said, and Sam nodded as he struggled to pull his vest back on.  “Look after yourself, Mr. Tyler.  Don’t rush your recovery,” Denslow said before leaving, and Sam waited for the door to close before sneering at it, feeling oddly like a small child sticking out his tongue behind his teacher’s back, and not caring how juvenile it was.

Sam had managed to finish dressing himself when Gene entered, giving Sam a questioning look, “Ray and Fletcher are going to brief us on what happened at the hospital; doc said he told you everything you need to know, then he took off, said he had another operation this afternoon.  Said surgeons didn’t normally do this sort of thing, and that you weren’t to go downstairs, is all.  What else did he say?  You’re not going to up and bloody cark it on me, are you?”

Sam shook his head, “He said I’m great.  Really well, all things considered,” Sam said, glancing out the window as he did so, and feeling far more ill at ease fibbing to Gene than he had fibbing to Denslow, and he looked back up to see Gene smiling at him.

“Good.  I’ll go round up the rest of that lot, and we’ll go over the case in here with you, and then I’m leaving you with Skelton.  Think you can manage to keep him from burning the place down until Cartwright or I get back?”  Gene sat down next to Sam’s legs, still grinning, and Sam couldn’t help but smile back at him slightly.

“I think I can manage,” Sam said, and Gene nodded, and then shouted, so loudly that Sam winced, out the door, “You lot, arses up here, now!”  Sam gave a small chuckle when he heard this, and then watched as Annie, Chris, Ray, and Glen piled through the doorway, all of them seeming as if they were avoiding looking at him, which just made Sam feel more frustrated and on edge.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, and Glen looked up at him, and then paused, as if considering his words carefully before speaking.  Sam waited to hear what he had to say, but his attention was immediately grabbed by Ray, who was standing nearest to the door, next to Chris, and who spoke first.

“We saw the killer,” Ray said, and all of the others turned to look at him, including Sam, who was wondering how on earth Ray, who would pounce on a poodle for pissing on the wrong side of a pole, had managed to meet the killer and not pound his face in.

“Not him exactly; we saw his shadow,” Glen hastily added, seeing the looks of anger and shock that resonated through the room like an odd form of a stadium wave.

Sam leaned back and waited as they started to give a full report on their findings, musing over every little detail, especially the fact that Morgan and Barrie had been meeting with the mysterious third man together.  Once Glen and Ray had finished, Sam looked over at Gene, whose fists were clenched and whose face was turning a very angry shade of livid red.

“It was him, Gov.  They heard him refer to me…”  Sam was incredibly glad when Gene cut him off.

“I bloody heard that, Tyler.  What I want to know is why they didn’t collar the bastard then and there!”  Gene’s voice was a loud roar, and Sam felt his head start to pound as his DCI’s voice ricocheted wildly around the walls of the room.

It was Annie that spoke first after this, drawing confused glances from everyone else in the room. “No evidence.  What if they collared him, and his prints didn’t match the ones that we have?”

“Why the bloody hell wouldn’t the prints match?” Gene asked, his face still red and his voice still fuming.

“Suppose the prints that we found were all planted.  If the killer’s at the hospital, couldn’t he, or Morgan, or Barrie have found some way to plant false prints, make sure that the prints we have on file aren’t the killer’s?”  Annie’s voice was slightly strained, and she felt Gene’s eyes boring into her as she spoke.  “I…  I did some research, and I found out that there was another killer that matched this pattern, a year or so ago…”  Annie let her voice trail off, not liking the way that everyone, especially Sam, was staring at her, and feeling as if her secret were standing out like a neon light on her chest, pulsing a shining testament to her secret liaisons with Williams.

“Another killer?”  Gene was staring at Annie with a hard, confused look that Sam recognized as the one that usually came before a punch to the gut, at least when it was directed at him. “What are you on about?”

“There was a string of murders, about a year ago.  Five murders, all matching the same MO, except that they were all covered up; the press barely even got wind of them…”

“Who…  What…”  Gene was stammering madly, and Sam could tell that he was searching for something to pound or destroy as much as he was urging Annie onwards.

“The murders were all at Hyde, Sir, and the killer was never found…  I have prints, prints that I want to run against the ones that we took, that I…”

“Those bastards!  It’s one thing to try and hide it from us if they’re sending in a bleedin’ spy, but not even lettin’ on that they’ve had the same type of killing?  And how the bloody hell did they keep the journos at bay?”  Gene was livid, and Sam felt an odd, sinking feeling inside of himself; there had to be more to Annie’s story, and there had to be a lot more going on at Hyde than he’d ever even dreamed of…

“How did you find out about that, Annie?” Sam asked, and he felt the odd, niggling sensation at the back of his mind heighten to a hard knot as Annie shrugged.

“There was a little press coverage, just not much…”  Annie paused for a moment, and Sam’s brows twisted as he realized that she had the same guilty expression that he’d noticed her making before, “I managed to get them from Scotland Yard.  I didn’t think anything would come of it, just me being silly, you know, Nancy Drew and all that, but…  But I got the prints, and I thought that our forensics boys could match them…”

“Bloody hell, Cartwright, do you want me to kiss you?” Gene’s expression was a very odd and dynamic thing, twisting sharply between anger and joy over Annie’s news.  He turned to the others, “Fletcher and Carling, you’re on those factories.  Cartwright, on top of the hospital personnel, the fingerprints, every other little pie you’re dropping your dainty little fingers into.  All of you, MOVE!”  Gene’s voice boomed through the room again, and Sam had to fight the urge to ask Annie to stay, wanting to question her more about her sources…  Something just didn’t feel right about her story, and he couldn’t wait to have her alone, to ask her what it was that she was hiding from them.

“What about me, Gov?” Chris asked, and Gene turned to him.

“You’re staying with Sam until Annie or I come back this evening; you saw where she put the tablets in the kitchen, make sure he takes them, and make sure that he eats something,” Gene said, gesturing towards Sam, and Sam felt his anger and frustration rise up again, realizing that Gene was speaking as if he were a small child, or worse yet, an animal that needed complete looking after.  He glared at Gene.

“And what about me, Gov?” Sam asked, and Gene turned a questioning look towards Sam.

“You look over the case files, see if you can’t come up with any new leads.  Put that strange little brain of yours back in gear, Deputy Dawg, and see if you can’t find anything out for us.  And get lots of kip.”  Sam felt his face color as Gene said this, and he glowered at Gene’s back as he left the room, feeling incredibly useless as he did so.

“Boss?” Chris asked, and Sam regarded him for a moment.

“Get the case files up here, Chris,” Sam snapped, far more sharply than he had intended to, and he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, hoping that he’d be able to find something, and seeing the symbol flash in his mind…  He’d seen it before, but where?  He was still concentrating on the symbol and harboring his feelings of anger and frustration as sleep overtook him again, the darkness solidified by the sound of the door slamming several times downstairs.

All comments, criticism, mutations of the bunny, etc are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated!