Fic: Steady As She Goes (57/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (57/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1392 this part; [106,445 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: Chris finds Sam the next morning.
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: More angst. Please enjoy!
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
"You can jus’ piss off!"
"I can piss off? This is my building, lad. If anyone’s leaving it’s you!"
"You can’t chuck me out. I live ‘ere!"
"Won’t for long you keep breakin’ me windows!"
"Was a shit window anyhow." Sam had always meant to introduce himself properly to his landlord. In a shouting match outside his building, half-cut and half-dressed, was not what he intended. Barely able to stand, Sam was impressed at his ability to carry on a conversation and hang onto his near-empty vodka bottle. When he saw the landlord’s fist coming towards him he ducked, losing his balance and falling to the pavement. He dropped the bottle and held up his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay, okay. I’ll pay. I’ll pay for it." Sam fumbled around in his pockets, then remembered he left his wallet in the flat. "Tomorrow. See me tomorrow an’ I’ll pay for the imaginary window."
The landlord stood back and crossed his arms with a heavy scowl as Sam stumbled to his feet, nearly falling over again when he reached down to grab the now empty bottle. Miraculously, he maintained his balance and dragged his uncooperative body up to this flat, the landlord watching his every move with no offer of help.
Sam made it to his door and smiled at the older man before twisting the latch and remembering he’d left his wallet in the flat along with his keys. "Hey. Hey!" He called to the landlord. "Got a key mate? Left mine inside."
The man scoffed and shook his head before disappearing out of sight. "Bloody drunkards..."
"Oh, c’mon! ‘S not very neighborly, is it? Cheers! You stupid bastard." Sam tried the latch again, hoping maybe he just thought it was locked. No luck. Next he attempted to bust it open a la Gene Hunt but he’d forgotten that a) he’d lost a lot of weight and b) he was drunk, and therefore only managed to re-injure his previously dislocated shoulder. He rubbed the aching joint then straightened himself up in front of his door, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. " ‘Kay. My world. My rules. Right?" He kept his eyes closed and held out his right hand.
"Key."
He cracked open one eye and peaked down. There was nothing in his hand. He closed his eye, took another breath, and tried again. "Key. Now. Please?" Sam sighed, gave up his magic key theory, and tried banging on the door again. "Open sesame? There is no door? Jus’ lemme in, dammit!"
It would open eventually. It had to. It was his mind, his door, and he wanted it to open. It just might take awhile.
*
"Boss?"
Sam felt something nudge his foot but he chose to ignore it.
"Boss? You alright?"
This time it was his shoulder being moved. He groaned and twisted in his bed. Whoever it was, it was much too early to be waking him. He adjusted positions again, slowly realizing that his bed was much stiffer than he remembered. It was colder, too. Sam reached down to find his blanket but as he felt around he noticed his hand hitting not the soft top of the mattress but a dusty floor. The sensation confused his brain to no end and he was forced to open his eyes to confront the issue. What he saw, after his vision focused, was the pale, worried face of Chris Skelton staring back at him.
"Thought you were dead there for a minute, Boss."
Sam thought he was joking but there was no sign of laughter anywhere near Chris’ tightly wound frown. "Chris...where? I’m..."
"Outside your flat, sir." Chris stood up, for once towering over his DI in more than just height. The DC bent over and picked up an empty bottle as Sam sat up against his door and massaged the crick in his neck. "Don’t remember buying this for yeh," Chris said as he examined the empty vodka bottle, his face still deadly serious, an expression Sam felt didn’t suit him at all.
"No...I, after you left..."
Chris stepped over Sam, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. "Landlord said you locked yourself out last night. Leant me the extra key to let you in." He easily opened the door and walked inside, leaving Sam to his own devices.
Sam struggled to his feet, the unmistakable signs of an almighty hangover starting to reveal themselves as he stumbled into the flat. Completely unobservant, he nearly ran into Chris, who had stopped soon after he went through the door. Sam wondered what he could possibly be staring at then looked over Chris’ shoulder, the state of his room bringing back all the horrible feelings from last night.
The TV was missing from its stand, the wind blowing the curtains away from the clearly shattered window. A few small shards lay on the carpet but most of the glassy mess had flown outside when the telly was pitched through.
What bothered Sam more than the mess was that Chris said nothing. In fact, the young DC blatantly ignored it, moving further into the flat and setting some case files on a nearby chair. "Brought these round. Thought you might want to take a look. Not much, mind you. Only little stuff. Nothing you can’t handle."
Sam wondered if his hearing was more sensitive due to the hangover but he thought he detected a hint of malice in Chris’ voice, a thought so completely irrational he would have completely dismissed it if it weren’t for what his DC said next. Chris had walked back to the door, making no eye contact with Sam, apparently all set to leave without another word, until he hesitated nervously in the doorway.
"Is..." He spoke to the floor. "Is this what you did when I were shot, ‘stead of seein’ me in hospital?" His voice was quiet but hit harder than any insult Gene Hunt had ever thrown at him.
"I..."
"Is this what you always do when there’s trouble?"
"Chris..."
"No different than the rest of ‘em then, are you, for all your pretending." Chris was looking at him now, his eyes filled with grief and betrayal. "If that’s how you have to act, to be a DI, then I never want to be one." Chris looked away again. "Have a good day sir." He shut the door behind him.
*
He sat in his car, hurriedly wiping away the tears. Men didn’t cry, especially not coppers. If Ray saw that he’d been crying, well he’d never let him live it down. Chris checked his face in the rearview mirror. Satisfied that the red tinge around his eyes could be attributed to a rough night’s sleep, he straightened his tie and flattened his hair before finally stepping out of the car.
He kept his eyes on the ground as he shuffled up the concrete steps, ignored Phyllis’ "hello," and exited the lift on the third floor. He was hoping to enter CID unnoticed but the Guv yelled to him the moment he entered.
"Skelton! You drop off those files with Gladys like I asked?"
"Yes Guv," he mumbled.
"Still living then I presume." Gene lowered his voice slightly as he watched Chris’ sad eyes wander aimlessly over his disorganized desk.
"Yes Guv," he muttered again.
Gene set down the paper he was holding and went over to Skelton’s side. He pulled a fresh pack of ciggies and dropped them on a towering stack of papers. "For the ones I took yesterday."
"Cheers Guv," Chris said but he didn’t look remotely interested in any cigarettes.
"Nearly lunch. Why don’t you run to the canteen. Grab something to eat."
"Yes Guv." Chris left the new pack on his desk and shuffled out of A-Division, head held low. Gene knew if he had a tail it would certainly be set betwixt his legs.
"Bloody Nora," Gene sighed to himself before stomping back to his own office and grabbing his coat. "Ray!" He shouted, waking his Sergeant from a quick nap. "I’m going out."
Ray immediately swung his feet off his desk. "Need me to come with Guv?"
"I need you stay here. Make sure no one gets shot, abducted, or offs himself in the bogs, which with this lot is apparently harder than it sounds."
______
Part 58
Author: dak
Word Count: 1392 this part; [106,445 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: Chris finds Sam the next morning.
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: More angst. Please enjoy!
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
"You can jus’ piss off!"
"I can piss off? This is my building, lad. If anyone’s leaving it’s you!"
"You can’t chuck me out. I live ‘ere!"
"Won’t for long you keep breakin’ me windows!"
"Was a shit window anyhow." Sam had always meant to introduce himself properly to his landlord. In a shouting match outside his building, half-cut and half-dressed, was not what he intended. Barely able to stand, Sam was impressed at his ability to carry on a conversation and hang onto his near-empty vodka bottle. When he saw the landlord’s fist coming towards him he ducked, losing his balance and falling to the pavement. He dropped the bottle and held up his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay, okay. I’ll pay. I’ll pay for it." Sam fumbled around in his pockets, then remembered he left his wallet in the flat. "Tomorrow. See me tomorrow an’ I’ll pay for the imaginary window."
The landlord stood back and crossed his arms with a heavy scowl as Sam stumbled to his feet, nearly falling over again when he reached down to grab the now empty bottle. Miraculously, he maintained his balance and dragged his uncooperative body up to this flat, the landlord watching his every move with no offer of help.
Sam made it to his door and smiled at the older man before twisting the latch and remembering he’d left his wallet in the flat along with his keys. "Hey. Hey!" He called to the landlord. "Got a key mate? Left mine inside."
The man scoffed and shook his head before disappearing out of sight. "Bloody drunkards..."
"Oh, c’mon! ‘S not very neighborly, is it? Cheers! You stupid bastard." Sam tried the latch again, hoping maybe he just thought it was locked. No luck. Next he attempted to bust it open a la Gene Hunt but he’d forgotten that a) he’d lost a lot of weight and b) he was drunk, and therefore only managed to re-injure his previously dislocated shoulder. He rubbed the aching joint then straightened himself up in front of his door, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. " ‘Kay. My world. My rules. Right?" He kept his eyes closed and held out his right hand.
"Key."
He cracked open one eye and peaked down. There was nothing in his hand. He closed his eye, took another breath, and tried again. "Key. Now. Please?" Sam sighed, gave up his magic key theory, and tried banging on the door again. "Open sesame? There is no door? Jus’ lemme in, dammit!"
It would open eventually. It had to. It was his mind, his door, and he wanted it to open. It just might take awhile.
*
"Boss?"
Sam felt something nudge his foot but he chose to ignore it.
"Boss? You alright?"
This time it was his shoulder being moved. He groaned and twisted in his bed. Whoever it was, it was much too early to be waking him. He adjusted positions again, slowly realizing that his bed was much stiffer than he remembered. It was colder, too. Sam reached down to find his blanket but as he felt around he noticed his hand hitting not the soft top of the mattress but a dusty floor. The sensation confused his brain to no end and he was forced to open his eyes to confront the issue. What he saw, after his vision focused, was the pale, worried face of Chris Skelton staring back at him.
"Thought you were dead there for a minute, Boss."
Sam thought he was joking but there was no sign of laughter anywhere near Chris’ tightly wound frown. "Chris...where? I’m..."
"Outside your flat, sir." Chris stood up, for once towering over his DI in more than just height. The DC bent over and picked up an empty bottle as Sam sat up against his door and massaged the crick in his neck. "Don’t remember buying this for yeh," Chris said as he examined the empty vodka bottle, his face still deadly serious, an expression Sam felt didn’t suit him at all.
"No...I, after you left..."
Chris stepped over Sam, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. "Landlord said you locked yourself out last night. Leant me the extra key to let you in." He easily opened the door and walked inside, leaving Sam to his own devices.
Sam struggled to his feet, the unmistakable signs of an almighty hangover starting to reveal themselves as he stumbled into the flat. Completely unobservant, he nearly ran into Chris, who had stopped soon after he went through the door. Sam wondered what he could possibly be staring at then looked over Chris’ shoulder, the state of his room bringing back all the horrible feelings from last night.
The TV was missing from its stand, the wind blowing the curtains away from the clearly shattered window. A few small shards lay on the carpet but most of the glassy mess had flown outside when the telly was pitched through.
What bothered Sam more than the mess was that Chris said nothing. In fact, the young DC blatantly ignored it, moving further into the flat and setting some case files on a nearby chair. "Brought these round. Thought you might want to take a look. Not much, mind you. Only little stuff. Nothing you can’t handle."
Sam wondered if his hearing was more sensitive due to the hangover but he thought he detected a hint of malice in Chris’ voice, a thought so completely irrational he would have completely dismissed it if it weren’t for what his DC said next. Chris had walked back to the door, making no eye contact with Sam, apparently all set to leave without another word, until he hesitated nervously in the doorway.
"Is..." He spoke to the floor. "Is this what you did when I were shot, ‘stead of seein’ me in hospital?" His voice was quiet but hit harder than any insult Gene Hunt had ever thrown at him.
"I..."
"Is this what you always do when there’s trouble?"
"Chris..."
"No different than the rest of ‘em then, are you, for all your pretending." Chris was looking at him now, his eyes filled with grief and betrayal. "If that’s how you have to act, to be a DI, then I never want to be one." Chris looked away again. "Have a good day sir." He shut the door behind him.
*
He sat in his car, hurriedly wiping away the tears. Men didn’t cry, especially not coppers. If Ray saw that he’d been crying, well he’d never let him live it down. Chris checked his face in the rearview mirror. Satisfied that the red tinge around his eyes could be attributed to a rough night’s sleep, he straightened his tie and flattened his hair before finally stepping out of the car.
He kept his eyes on the ground as he shuffled up the concrete steps, ignored Phyllis’ "hello," and exited the lift on the third floor. He was hoping to enter CID unnoticed but the Guv yelled to him the moment he entered.
"Skelton! You drop off those files with Gladys like I asked?"
"Yes Guv," he mumbled.
"Still living then I presume." Gene lowered his voice slightly as he watched Chris’ sad eyes wander aimlessly over his disorganized desk.
"Yes Guv," he muttered again.
Gene set down the paper he was holding and went over to Skelton’s side. He pulled a fresh pack of ciggies and dropped them on a towering stack of papers. "For the ones I took yesterday."
"Cheers Guv," Chris said but he didn’t look remotely interested in any cigarettes.
"Nearly lunch. Why don’t you run to the canteen. Grab something to eat."
"Yes Guv." Chris left the new pack on his desk and shuffled out of A-Division, head held low. Gene knew if he had a tail it would certainly be set betwixt his legs.
"Bloody Nora," Gene sighed to himself before stomping back to his own office and grabbing his coat. "Ray!" He shouted, waking his Sergeant from a quick nap. "I’m going out."
Ray immediately swung his feet off his desk. "Need me to come with Guv?"
"I need you stay here. Make sure no one gets shot, abducted, or offs himself in the bogs, which with this lot is apparently harder than it sounds."
______
Part 58