Fic: Steady As She Goes (59/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (59/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1247 this part; [108,584 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: Sam makes a choice.
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: Okay, you should be proud of me. I stopped myself from doing something very, very evil. Like, no one would ever have forgived me evil. Like, think of the most evil thing I could do, then multiply it by Hell. I really thought about it, then decided against it. I might be saving it for later, I might forget the idea all together. Time will tell.
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He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He hadn’t meant for it to go this far. How had it gotten to this point? It’s not as if he could take it back either. It had been said. The ultimatum was given. It was time for him to sink or swim. How could he sink even lower? It wasn’t humanly possible, not even for him, was it?
No. Tyler would get his act together. Gene was certain of it. Demoting him hadn’t been part of the plan. Gene didn’t know where that had come from. It was something he had seen in Tyler’s eyes. Right then, pinning him against that wall, Tyler taking the abuse like a good little boy, the man, his eyes, they were blank. Defeated. Dead.
And the words had just come tumbling out, rolling off his tongue, completely bypassing his brain.
Sink or swim. Live or die. Because Tyler would certainly die if he kept going like this. Gene knew he would. If he lost his job, Sam would never recover. So, either this would get Tyler to fight or it would send him head first into the canal. Sink or swim. Gene didn’t want to guess which would be more likely.
*
"Get your shit together. Get your shit together. Get your shit together. Get. Your shit. Together."
Sam was pacing his flat, smoking a cigarette from the pack Chris had bought him when he didn’t hate him. He was still in his used clothes from yesterday. He hadn’t eaten anything. He didn’t feel like eating. His hands were shaking. His skin was crawling. He had no idea where his mind had gone or what it was doing or who it was with.
"Who the hell does he think he is? He-he can’t demote me. He’s not even real!"
Sam angrily threw the finished fag to the ground and ran to the table to grab another. He saw his old radio sitting there, silent and mocking. He forget about the cigarettes, grabbing the radio and switching it on, swiftly roaming through the dial.
"Where are you? Where are any of you? Answer me!"
There was only static. Sam couldn’t take it.
"If you can hear me, I’d like to go home now please. Wake me up. Please wake me up. Please. Please."
He took the radio off the table and cradled it in his arms, tears trickling down his face as he fell to the floor. Hugging it tightly, his arm bumped the dial once more.
...simply too unstable to attempt any other procedures, Mrs. Tyler.
Sam’s eyes went wide. He held the radio out in front of him, careful not to hit any buttons.
Just this morning, Sam dropped another grade in the Glasgow Coma Scale and his RLAS isn’t any more promising. If he continues to deteriorate like this, there will simply be no way of ever reaching him.
His mother’s voice triggered a fresh wave of tears as it echoed through the flat.
Isn’t there anything we can do to get through to him? Anything we can try?
"You are, Mum. I can-I can hear you now."
I’m sorry, Mrs. Tyler. We have to do what’s best for Sam’s body as whole and...
The radio switched back to static.
"And...and what? What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? Don’t listen to them Mum. I can get better. I can. I will. I promise." Sam rose to his feet, still clutching the radio in his hands. "I promise," he whispered again. "I promise."
*
It was quarter to nine. It had rained all evening and the streets were still slick and shimmering under the cloud-covered sky. Uncertain Cuban heels clicked on the concrete steps leading up to the busy police station, arms pressing a stack of files against his chest like a shield.
Even on his first day here, here in 1973, he had never been so terrified to pull open those doors. Well, faster was always better, wasn’t it, he decided and, taking a deep breath, he pulled the handle and stepped inside to accept his fate.
The previously bustling lobby stilled as he closed the door and crossed the room. Even the criminals awaiting booking seemed to sense the tension in this critical moment. Sam hadn’t realized he’d walked across the lobby with his eyes closed until his chest bumped into the desk counter.
He opened them quickly, his mouth soon following as he attempted to address a stern looking Phyllis. "Uhm..." When did his mouth get so dry? He’d drank plenty of orange juice with breakfast. He closed his mouth, wet his lips, and tried again. Though he got the words out, his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. "I believe you have something for me Desk Sergeant Dobbs."
Phyllis stared at him hard, Sam couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or pity, and reached behind her counter, pulling out the familiar folded black leather and handing it over. "This what you’re looking for?"
Sam opened the badge and a flicker of hope, or disbelief, coursed through his system. Maybe Gene hadn’t really demoted him at all. Maybe it had just been a ploy to get him back in the station. He lifted the flap.
This is to certify that Sam Tyler has achieved the rank of Detective Sergeant...
Not a ploy then.
"Yes. It is. Thank you Sergeant Dobbs."
"You’re welcome Sergeant Tyler." Saying the words brought her no sick pleasure, they probably cut most of the station almost as deeply as Sam as she said them, but denying them wouldn’t lessen anyone’s pain. They were the truth now and they all had to accept the truth.
Sam entered the lift so focused on the badge in his hands, he didn’t notice the camel-hair coated man watching him from the stairs. As the lift rose slowly to the third floor, Sam prayed for something to go wrong. A gear to jam, a cable to break, anything that would delay his journey to CID. Luck was, again, not on his side, as the shoddy metal box moved effortlessly between floors, a cheerful ding announcing its arrival at Sam’s unwanted destination.
The doors started to close before Sam realized he hadn’t exited the lift yet and he had to shoot out his hand to stop them, causing him to drop his files in the process. His breathing quickened and he felt the panic he’d been so carefully controlling start to rise as he dropped to his knees and raced to pick up the papers before the doors closed again. Sam felt time was running out, it was over, it was all...
Then someone’s hand reached out, forcing them back open.
"Let me help you."
Annie knelt down and, together, she and Sam finished gather the papers. They rose simultaneously and she handed the documents in her hands back to Sam. He gently took them and added them to his now disorganized stack.
"I’m sorry," he blurted out. "I mean thank you. And I’m sorry. Really sorry."
Annie smiled sadly and reached out, rubbing his arm. "Good. Now c’mon. The Guv’s waiting to see you." Sam’s feet had suddenly glued themselves to the floor. Annie leaned in closer. "It’ll be better once you get it over with, sir." Sam nodded and started moving forward, Annie staying behind, letting him do this on his own.
Detective Sergeant Tyler steeled himself and walked into Manchester CID.
______
Part 60