Fic: Steady As She Goes (60/86), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (60/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1432 this part; [110,0116 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 tries to get back in the swing of things.
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: Angst with a side of fluff. 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
Sam couldn’t help but flash back to the first time he entered A-Division version 1973. There wasn’t a pair of eyes that weren’t watching his every move. His palms were sweaty, his mouth went dry, and no one said a word to him as his feet moved slowly up the path to his desk, if it still was his desk.
As he moved past the smug, curious, and pitying glares, Sam realized he was wrong. Not everyone was watching him. Chris was purposefully struggling with a filing cabinet, making every attempt possible not to turn his eyes towards Tyler.
Sam didn’t know if the current silence would be better or worse than a constant deluge of taunts and jibes. Even Ray was remaining uncharacteristically quiet. Reaching the desk without incident, he set the files down, the paper sticking to his damp hands. He tried to ignore what was going on around him. He had to just block it out, keep doing his job, keep moving forward.
The tremor in his hands was even more noticeable as he struggled to reorganize the documents he had previously dropped. He knew he should slow himself down, he was trying to move much too quickly, but the way his nerves were dancing the tarantella it was damn near impossible.
He accidentally knocked one paper to the floor and immediately dropped down to get it, only to hit his head on the desk as he stood. He hissed in pain and rubbed the sore spot, slamming the paper on the desk. When he looked up, no one was watching him, and Sam had the sinking suspicion that they’d all turned their heads away at the last second.
He pushed the anger back down, bringing to mind humorless images of the Hulk, and finished straightening the papers. Satisfied they were in the proper order, he scooped them up off his desk. The bullpen had returned to its normal level of next-to-nil activity, rather than just nil, but as Sam approached Chris he could feel the stillness return as the detectives shifted to spy on their imminent exchange.
It couldn’t be that bad, Sam convinced himself. This was Chris. Chris, who had been the first to offer his name and his hand when Sam had arrived all those months ago. Chris, who actually listened to Sam’s "crazy" ideas of policing. Chris, who still confused "inflagrante" with "alacante." Chris, who still had his back to Sam even though the whole room knew Sam wanted to speak with him.
As Chris bustled between his desk and the file cabinet, Sam made meager efforts to get his attention. "Uhm, Chris?" Sam turned back and forth, following Chris’ movements but unable to keep up. "Chris?" No response. "DC Skelton?"
Chris suddenly stopped but it was clearly a reluctant gesture. "Yes, sir?"
"I, uh, have these files for you." Sam held out the papers.
"They finished?"
"Yes."
Chris put out his hands and allowed Sam to hand them over to him. "I’ll file ‘em in collator’s when I get the chance. Thank you Sergeant."
Sam nodded and bowed his head slightly, then shuffled back to his desk as Chris left the office for no apparent reason. He had barely sat down when Gene plowed out of his office, not stopping as he spoke.
"Got a robbery! Ray, get your coat. Where’s Cartwright?"
"Here Guv," Annie called from a corner of the room. Sam wondered when she had snuck in.
"Get yourselves in the Cortina."
DS and WDC left the room in a flash while Gene paused by the still swinging double doors.
"Tyler."
"Yes Guv," Sam stood, blindly hopeful that he’d be asked to ride along.
"Stationary cupboard hasn’t been looked over since Ray was bumped back up to DS. Trust you can handle that."
"Of course Guv."
Gene nodded in satisfaction and left, leaving Sam to collapse in his chair and fight his fury with the humbling realization that he deserved this.
*
Noon, and the Guv and the others had yet to return to the station. There had been another shout and the team had gone directly there. On his own, Sam made the executive decision that Gene would not pound him into next Tuesday if he went for lunch, so he took his paper bag of specially selected food for his still oversensitive stomach, and headed to the canteen.
Upon entry, he decided that if he had really wanted to eat in the canteen he should’ve chosen a less busy time. Sam knew from personal experience, having changed many schools as a child, that the only thing worse than being the new kid that nobody knew nor wanted to eat with, was to be the kid everyone knew but still didn’t want to sit with anyway.
His last sliver of pride fervently not allowing him to back out the doors, Sam hurried past the quick looks and hushed comments to an empty table in the very back corner, though his diminished pride lacked the strength to keep him from facing the wall while he ate.
He sat down slowly setting his bagged lunch in front, carefully rolling it open and neatly pulling out a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. The brown bag now empty, Sam smoothed it out and folded it up before setting it to the side. Making sure his food was properly aligned, Sam finally unwrapped his sandwich and began to eat.
Each bite made is stomach cramp and he would have to wait a few seconds after each swallow before continuing. As he stared at the apple, Sam wished he had a knife so he could cut it into easier pieces. The fact he was too terrified to confront the dinner ladies in order to obtain such an instrument should have concerned him much more than it did.
As he sat there alone, chewing slowly, listening to the laughter of his colleagues and knowing he wasn’t invited to join in, Sam realized how hard it was to eat when you were on the verge of tears. He wanted to chew but his mouth kept pulling itself into a frown. His throat wanted to choke out a cry rather than swallow down food. It was just plain annoying that his nose kept sniffling when all he wanted was to smell the glazed ham in his sandwich.
Everyone really was gone, weren’t they? Who could he turn to? He used to go to Annie but she wasn’t here. Gene was always good for a mind-clearing fight but he was out as well, and probably wouldn’t care anyway. Who else? No one. He was alone in 1973. His own island in a vast, empty ocean. His only family in 2006, so far away...
"Detective...Tyler?"
Sam’s head snapped up to see Chris standing apprehensively at his side holding a crumpled piece of paper.
"Chris," Sam stammered in surprise, wiping his face on his sleeve, hoping the Constable hadn’t noticed his tears. "What...what can I...do you need..."
"I had a question about this form, sir. It’s the new internal prisoner transfer form an’...well, I can’t make head or tails of it. Guv said if I din’t have it finished by the time ‘e got back, I’d be able to find me scrotum in a curry over in Rusholme."
"Oh. Sure. I can look at it, if you like."
Chris jerkily shot out his hand and drew it back just as quickly after Sam had taken the paper. He waited while Tyler looked it over, eventually pulling out a cigarette. He saw Sam’s eyes flicker towards the fag then back to the form. "You...you want one sir?"
Sam kept his eyes focused on the archaic, "new" form. "No. Cheers, Chris. I’ve decided it’s not for me."
"Oh." Chris’ body relaxed just a fraction. The two were silent another moment before Chris asked, "You goin’ to eat that," pointing to the apple.
Sam felt his stomach twist in protest at the thought. "Not today. ‘S all yours."
Instead of reaching down and grabbing it, like Sam expected, Chris moved to the other side of the table and sat down across from him before taking the offered fruit.
"This is really messed up," Sam muttered trying to decipher not only the form but Chris’ own writing.
The DC took one bite before speaking with his mouth full. "Can you fix it?"
Sam took a deep breath. "A curry in Rusholme, he said?"
"Yeah." Chris nodded.
Sam looked up and shared a hesitant smile with his DC. "I think we can make it work."
______
Part 61
Author: dak
Word Count: 1432 this part; [110,0116 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 tries to get back in the swing of things.
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: Angst with a side of fluff. 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
Sam couldn’t help but flash back to the first time he entered A-Division version 1973. There wasn’t a pair of eyes that weren’t watching his every move. His palms were sweaty, his mouth went dry, and no one said a word to him as his feet moved slowly up the path to his desk, if it still was his desk.
As he moved past the smug, curious, and pitying glares, Sam realized he was wrong. Not everyone was watching him. Chris was purposefully struggling with a filing cabinet, making every attempt possible not to turn his eyes towards Tyler.
Sam didn’t know if the current silence would be better or worse than a constant deluge of taunts and jibes. Even Ray was remaining uncharacteristically quiet. Reaching the desk without incident, he set the files down, the paper sticking to his damp hands. He tried to ignore what was going on around him. He had to just block it out, keep doing his job, keep moving forward.
The tremor in his hands was even more noticeable as he struggled to reorganize the documents he had previously dropped. He knew he should slow himself down, he was trying to move much too quickly, but the way his nerves were dancing the tarantella it was damn near impossible.
He accidentally knocked one paper to the floor and immediately dropped down to get it, only to hit his head on the desk as he stood. He hissed in pain and rubbed the sore spot, slamming the paper on the desk. When he looked up, no one was watching him, and Sam had the sinking suspicion that they’d all turned their heads away at the last second.
He pushed the anger back down, bringing to mind humorless images of the Hulk, and finished straightening the papers. Satisfied they were in the proper order, he scooped them up off his desk. The bullpen had returned to its normal level of next-to-nil activity, rather than just nil, but as Sam approached Chris he could feel the stillness return as the detectives shifted to spy on their imminent exchange.
It couldn’t be that bad, Sam convinced himself. This was Chris. Chris, who had been the first to offer his name and his hand when Sam had arrived all those months ago. Chris, who actually listened to Sam’s "crazy" ideas of policing. Chris, who still confused "inflagrante" with "alacante." Chris, who still had his back to Sam even though the whole room knew Sam wanted to speak with him.
As Chris bustled between his desk and the file cabinet, Sam made meager efforts to get his attention. "Uhm, Chris?" Sam turned back and forth, following Chris’ movements but unable to keep up. "Chris?" No response. "DC Skelton?"
Chris suddenly stopped but it was clearly a reluctant gesture. "Yes, sir?"
"I, uh, have these files for you." Sam held out the papers.
"They finished?"
"Yes."
Chris put out his hands and allowed Sam to hand them over to him. "I’ll file ‘em in collator’s when I get the chance. Thank you Sergeant."
Sam nodded and bowed his head slightly, then shuffled back to his desk as Chris left the office for no apparent reason. He had barely sat down when Gene plowed out of his office, not stopping as he spoke.
"Got a robbery! Ray, get your coat. Where’s Cartwright?"
"Here Guv," Annie called from a corner of the room. Sam wondered when she had snuck in.
"Get yourselves in the Cortina."
DS and WDC left the room in a flash while Gene paused by the still swinging double doors.
"Tyler."
"Yes Guv," Sam stood, blindly hopeful that he’d be asked to ride along.
"Stationary cupboard hasn’t been looked over since Ray was bumped back up to DS. Trust you can handle that."
"Of course Guv."
Gene nodded in satisfaction and left, leaving Sam to collapse in his chair and fight his fury with the humbling realization that he deserved this.
*
Noon, and the Guv and the others had yet to return to the station. There had been another shout and the team had gone directly there. On his own, Sam made the executive decision that Gene would not pound him into next Tuesday if he went for lunch, so he took his paper bag of specially selected food for his still oversensitive stomach, and headed to the canteen.
Upon entry, he decided that if he had really wanted to eat in the canteen he should’ve chosen a less busy time. Sam knew from personal experience, having changed many schools as a child, that the only thing worse than being the new kid that nobody knew nor wanted to eat with, was to be the kid everyone knew but still didn’t want to sit with anyway.
His last sliver of pride fervently not allowing him to back out the doors, Sam hurried past the quick looks and hushed comments to an empty table in the very back corner, though his diminished pride lacked the strength to keep him from facing the wall while he ate.
He sat down slowly setting his bagged lunch in front, carefully rolling it open and neatly pulling out a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water. The brown bag now empty, Sam smoothed it out and folded it up before setting it to the side. Making sure his food was properly aligned, Sam finally unwrapped his sandwich and began to eat.
Each bite made is stomach cramp and he would have to wait a few seconds after each swallow before continuing. As he stared at the apple, Sam wished he had a knife so he could cut it into easier pieces. The fact he was too terrified to confront the dinner ladies in order to obtain such an instrument should have concerned him much more than it did.
As he sat there alone, chewing slowly, listening to the laughter of his colleagues and knowing he wasn’t invited to join in, Sam realized how hard it was to eat when you were on the verge of tears. He wanted to chew but his mouth kept pulling itself into a frown. His throat wanted to choke out a cry rather than swallow down food. It was just plain annoying that his nose kept sniffling when all he wanted was to smell the glazed ham in his sandwich.
Everyone really was gone, weren’t they? Who could he turn to? He used to go to Annie but she wasn’t here. Gene was always good for a mind-clearing fight but he was out as well, and probably wouldn’t care anyway. Who else? No one. He was alone in 1973. His own island in a vast, empty ocean. His only family in 2006, so far away...
"Detective...Tyler?"
Sam’s head snapped up to see Chris standing apprehensively at his side holding a crumpled piece of paper.
"Chris," Sam stammered in surprise, wiping his face on his sleeve, hoping the Constable hadn’t noticed his tears. "What...what can I...do you need..."
"I had a question about this form, sir. It’s the new internal prisoner transfer form an’...well, I can’t make head or tails of it. Guv said if I din’t have it finished by the time ‘e got back, I’d be able to find me scrotum in a curry over in Rusholme."
"Oh. Sure. I can look at it, if you like."
Chris jerkily shot out his hand and drew it back just as quickly after Sam had taken the paper. He waited while Tyler looked it over, eventually pulling out a cigarette. He saw Sam’s eyes flicker towards the fag then back to the form. "You...you want one sir?"
Sam kept his eyes focused on the archaic, "new" form. "No. Cheers, Chris. I’ve decided it’s not for me."
"Oh." Chris’ body relaxed just a fraction. The two were silent another moment before Chris asked, "You goin’ to eat that," pointing to the apple.
Sam felt his stomach twist in protest at the thought. "Not today. ‘S all yours."
Instead of reaching down and grabbing it, like Sam expected, Chris moved to the other side of the table and sat down across from him before taking the offered fruit.
"This is really messed up," Sam muttered trying to decipher not only the form but Chris’ own writing.
The DC took one bite before speaking with his mouth full. "Can you fix it?"
Sam took a deep breath. "A curry in Rusholme, he said?"
"Yeah." Chris nodded.
Sam looked up and shared a hesitant smile with his DC. "I think we can make it work."
______
Part 61