Fic: Steady As She Goes (62/86), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (62/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1606 this part; [113,177 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: The rest of Thursday.
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, so going back through my notes I realized I messed up my timeline a bit. The part I posted yesterday should actually have taken place on Thursday, not Wednesday. This is the rest of Thursday. Part angst, part fluff, all for you lovely people.
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 keeled over and spit into the sink. His food was staying down for now but the way his stomach was somersaulting through his guts he wasn’t sure it would stay that way for long. He remained hunched over the basin, massaging the sore spot where Ray had decked him. With Chris holding him back, Carling had been given a clear shot, though he couldn’t blame Chris, not really. Like always he had only been trying to help and like always he only managed to make things worse.
His stomach suffered another spasm causing Sam’s knees to buckle and his legs to give way, and of course he had the unfortunate timing of this happening just as Gene entered the bogs. His DCI immediately moved to help him up but Sam angrily shoved him away.
"Piss off," Sam hissed through gritted teeth as he used the counter to pull himself upright.
Gene stood back, crossing his arms with a scowl. "Serves you right pickin’ a fight when you’ve not got the strength to finish it."
"I’m needed downstairs," Sam frowned and left the room, still clutching at his stomach and leaving Gene to wonder if his plan was working at all.
*
She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor of the evidence room, a box open in front of him, one of the plastic evidence bags in his hands.
"Phyllis said you came down here nearly an hour ago. She was starting to get worried." Annie stood nervously by the door, waiting for Sam’s permission before coming closer.
"These were brand new," he whispered, eyes gazing at the bag he was holding.
Annie took that as her cue and walked calmly over and crouched beside him, immediately looking at the bag. It contained the clothes they had found him in.
"They were beating the shit out of me, they were killing me, and all I could think was that I just bought these clothes. How pathetic is that?" He laughed morosely, his eyes filled with an undiscussed sadness.
"Sam..."
He didn’t let her finish as he jumped to his feet, tossing the bag of clothes back in the box. "The good, little Sergeant will go see what Phyllis wants," he spat, mood suddenly changing as he skulked out of the room.
Annie watched him leave, her eyes filled with a different sort of pain as she reorganized the evidence box and placed it back on the shelf.
*
"He needs someone to talk to."
"Bollocks."
"Guv--"
"Kidnapping was ages ago, Cartwright. Should be over it by now." Gene sat at his desk, leaning back with his hands folded on his stomach, legs stretched out underneath the desk.
"With all due respect sir, he’s not." Gene remained unconvinced despite Annie’s mindful protests but since he hadn’t chucked her out she knew he was giving her the rare chance to change his mind. "You saw what they did to him. They nearly killed him. We haven’t caught them. And since the kidnapping he’s either been in a coma or on drugs. He’s only now starting to think straight..."
"That’d be a first," Gene scoffed. Annie ignored him.
"And all he can think about is what they did. That they’re still out there. He needs closure."
"He’ll get closure when we catch the little toerags and string ‘em up by their ankles."
"What if we don’t? Sir." Annie looked at her feet. It wasn’t her place to point out that they had failed.
Gene sat up and leaned over his desk. "I will not send him back to that drug-dealing quack."
"You wouldn’t have to Guv. If he trusted one of us again, enough to...to confide in us. To get it off his chest..."
Gene rose and lumbered over to the open blinds. "And who would you suggest, hm?" He looked out over his men. "Already tried to kill Carling today, though they aren’t even what I’d call civil on the best of days. Hasn’t said a word to Skelton since I bumped the div up from desk duty. Not exactly tryin’ to get into your knickers lately. And I just robbed ‘im of is manhood. So," he turned back to Annie, hands on his hips. "Who would you suggest?"
"I don’t know Guv," she admitted, "but he needs someone."
She turned to look at Sam and Gene’s eyes followed, both of them stilling somberly as they watched Sam obsessively reorganize his desk drawer for, what they knew, was the fifth or sixth time that day.
*
"Okay. Here’s how this is going to work. I am going to pull out a photo, place it on the table, and look at it until it doesn’t bother me anymore."
Sam sat at his pathetic, little table, a fresh piece of cardboard taped to the broken window and the kidnapping file he’d nicked from the station laying closed in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and opened the file. Searching around with his hands, he grabbed at the first photo he felt, pulled it out, and closed the file.
Eyes remaining shut, he laid the photo in front of him and smoothed it out. He could feel his hands shaking steadily, a mixture of fear and withdrawal. Another breath and he opened his eyes and looked down.
It was a picture of his broken face. The shaking spread from his hands, up his arms, and into his shoulders but he refused to look away. His nose had clearly been broken, red and swollen to twice its size, causing dark, purple bruises to form under the corners of his eyes spreading outwards.
"Guess you want to make things fun, eh copper?" Jerry’s heel came down hard on his face. Sam felt warm blood seep over his mouth and chin as his nose was broken in two.
The mild earthquake racking his body spread downwards, disturbing his rhythmic breathing. His face was a mass of bruises. He was surprised his jaw or cheekbones hadn’t been broken along with his nose.
He felt thick fingers grab his short hair and pull back. Another fist connected with his already bruised cheek. Sam sent a wad of spit and blood to the ground.
The tube. The tube shoved down his throat. No. Not shoved. Placed. The tube placed down his throat, taped into place, to help him breathe. To help him. That was to help him. The tube that was almost as white as the pale skin lucky enough to remain undamaged, had been there to help him.
He hadn’t realized he stopped breathing until she spoke to him, the shock of her presence sending him from the chair to the floor. He gasped for air like a fish on a hook as he crawled backwards away from the table, away from her.
She didn’t follow him, choosing to stare at the photograph. "Is this what you really look like? Is this what your mummy sees when she comes to kiss you good night? That’s really awful of you Sam, to make your mummy see you like that. No wonder she wants to switch you off. It’s only fair really."
Somehow he got enough air in his lungs to scream, "No!" and flung a nearby shoe at her. She disappeared before it could do any damage, allowing the mistreated object to collide with the far wall.
Sam curled up, hugging his knees to his chest as he wept.
*
The knock on the door startled her. She hadn’t been expecting anyone this evening and those door-to-door salesmen all knew better than to come to her home, especially after the incident with the rug salesman and her hedge clippers. Reluctant yet curious, she set aside her magazine and decided to open her front door.
"Sam! It’s so good to see you."
"Hello Mrs. Hunt." He stood there apprehensively, his arms hugged protectively around his chest.
"I’m afraid Gene’s at the pub, luv, but I could ring over there if--"
"No," he cut her off rather quickly. "I-I came to see you actually."
"Me?" She laughed kindly. "And to what do I owe this honor Mr. Tyler?"
"Uhm," he quickly dug around in his coat pockets, obviously becoming upset when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. She was about to say something when he finally located the object in his inner jacket pocket. He hastily handed her a carefully folded piece of paper. "You mentioned you liked that omelet I made the other day..."
"Liked it? It was absolutely delicious." She saw the ghost of a smile pass across Sam’s tired face.
"I just thought I’d bring you the recipe," he shrugged.
"That’s so thoughtful of you Sam. Thank you." She stepped outside and embraced him in a warm hug. Sam hesitated then tightly hugged her back, burying his head between her neck and shoulder. She thought she felt tears against her skin but before she could say anything Sam jerkily pulled away, as if suddenly aware of what he was doing.
"Uhm, I should go. I should..." he stuttered, wiping his eyes.
"You know, my friend Mary was s’posed to come over tonight but her daughter showed up for a surprise visit and now I’ve got nowt to do and a tray full of tea sandwiches left completely untouched. D’you think you could come in and take a few off my hands?"
Sam, his own hands deep in his pockets, shuffled about on the stairs, head held low. "Yeah...actually," he said with a sad smile that nearly broke her heart right there on the spot. "I’d really like that."
________
Part 63
Author: dak
Word Count: 1606 this part; [113,177 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: The rest of Thursday.
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, so going back through my notes I realized I messed up my timeline a bit. The part I posted yesterday should actually have taken place on Thursday, not Wednesday. This is the rest of Thursday. Part angst, part fluff, all for you lovely people.
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 keeled over and spit into the sink. His food was staying down for now but the way his stomach was somersaulting through his guts he wasn’t sure it would stay that way for long. He remained hunched over the basin, massaging the sore spot where Ray had decked him. With Chris holding him back, Carling had been given a clear shot, though he couldn’t blame Chris, not really. Like always he had only been trying to help and like always he only managed to make things worse.
His stomach suffered another spasm causing Sam’s knees to buckle and his legs to give way, and of course he had the unfortunate timing of this happening just as Gene entered the bogs. His DCI immediately moved to help him up but Sam angrily shoved him away.
"Piss off," Sam hissed through gritted teeth as he used the counter to pull himself upright.
Gene stood back, crossing his arms with a scowl. "Serves you right pickin’ a fight when you’ve not got the strength to finish it."
"I’m needed downstairs," Sam frowned and left the room, still clutching at his stomach and leaving Gene to wonder if his plan was working at all.
*
She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor of the evidence room, a box open in front of him, one of the plastic evidence bags in his hands.
"Phyllis said you came down here nearly an hour ago. She was starting to get worried." Annie stood nervously by the door, waiting for Sam’s permission before coming closer.
"These were brand new," he whispered, eyes gazing at the bag he was holding.
Annie took that as her cue and walked calmly over and crouched beside him, immediately looking at the bag. It contained the clothes they had found him in.
"They were beating the shit out of me, they were killing me, and all I could think was that I just bought these clothes. How pathetic is that?" He laughed morosely, his eyes filled with an undiscussed sadness.
"Sam..."
He didn’t let her finish as he jumped to his feet, tossing the bag of clothes back in the box. "The good, little Sergeant will go see what Phyllis wants," he spat, mood suddenly changing as he skulked out of the room.
Annie watched him leave, her eyes filled with a different sort of pain as she reorganized the evidence box and placed it back on the shelf.
*
"He needs someone to talk to."
"Bollocks."
"Guv--"
"Kidnapping was ages ago, Cartwright. Should be over it by now." Gene sat at his desk, leaning back with his hands folded on his stomach, legs stretched out underneath the desk.
"With all due respect sir, he’s not." Gene remained unconvinced despite Annie’s mindful protests but since he hadn’t chucked her out she knew he was giving her the rare chance to change his mind. "You saw what they did to him. They nearly killed him. We haven’t caught them. And since the kidnapping he’s either been in a coma or on drugs. He’s only now starting to think straight..."
"That’d be a first," Gene scoffed. Annie ignored him.
"And all he can think about is what they did. That they’re still out there. He needs closure."
"He’ll get closure when we catch the little toerags and string ‘em up by their ankles."
"What if we don’t? Sir." Annie looked at her feet. It wasn’t her place to point out that they had failed.
Gene sat up and leaned over his desk. "I will not send him back to that drug-dealing quack."
"You wouldn’t have to Guv. If he trusted one of us again, enough to...to confide in us. To get it off his chest..."
Gene rose and lumbered over to the open blinds. "And who would you suggest, hm?" He looked out over his men. "Already tried to kill Carling today, though they aren’t even what I’d call civil on the best of days. Hasn’t said a word to Skelton since I bumped the div up from desk duty. Not exactly tryin’ to get into your knickers lately. And I just robbed ‘im of is manhood. So," he turned back to Annie, hands on his hips. "Who would you suggest?"
"I don’t know Guv," she admitted, "but he needs someone."
She turned to look at Sam and Gene’s eyes followed, both of them stilling somberly as they watched Sam obsessively reorganize his desk drawer for, what they knew, was the fifth or sixth time that day.
*
"Okay. Here’s how this is going to work. I am going to pull out a photo, place it on the table, and look at it until it doesn’t bother me anymore."
Sam sat at his pathetic, little table, a fresh piece of cardboard taped to the broken window and the kidnapping file he’d nicked from the station laying closed in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and opened the file. Searching around with his hands, he grabbed at the first photo he felt, pulled it out, and closed the file.
Eyes remaining shut, he laid the photo in front of him and smoothed it out. He could feel his hands shaking steadily, a mixture of fear and withdrawal. Another breath and he opened his eyes and looked down.
It was a picture of his broken face. The shaking spread from his hands, up his arms, and into his shoulders but he refused to look away. His nose had clearly been broken, red and swollen to twice its size, causing dark, purple bruises to form under the corners of his eyes spreading outwards.
"Guess you want to make things fun, eh copper?" Jerry’s heel came down hard on his face. Sam felt warm blood seep over his mouth and chin as his nose was broken in two.
The mild earthquake racking his body spread downwards, disturbing his rhythmic breathing. His face was a mass of bruises. He was surprised his jaw or cheekbones hadn’t been broken along with his nose.
He felt thick fingers grab his short hair and pull back. Another fist connected with his already bruised cheek. Sam sent a wad of spit and blood to the ground.
The tube. The tube shoved down his throat. No. Not shoved. Placed. The tube placed down his throat, taped into place, to help him breathe. To help him. That was to help him. The tube that was almost as white as the pale skin lucky enough to remain undamaged, had been there to help him.
He hadn’t realized he stopped breathing until she spoke to him, the shock of her presence sending him from the chair to the floor. He gasped for air like a fish on a hook as he crawled backwards away from the table, away from her.
She didn’t follow him, choosing to stare at the photograph. "Is this what you really look like? Is this what your mummy sees when she comes to kiss you good night? That’s really awful of you Sam, to make your mummy see you like that. No wonder she wants to switch you off. It’s only fair really."
Somehow he got enough air in his lungs to scream, "No!" and flung a nearby shoe at her. She disappeared before it could do any damage, allowing the mistreated object to collide with the far wall.
Sam curled up, hugging his knees to his chest as he wept.
*
The knock on the door startled her. She hadn’t been expecting anyone this evening and those door-to-door salesmen all knew better than to come to her home, especially after the incident with the rug salesman and her hedge clippers. Reluctant yet curious, she set aside her magazine and decided to open her front door.
"Sam! It’s so good to see you."
"Hello Mrs. Hunt." He stood there apprehensively, his arms hugged protectively around his chest.
"I’m afraid Gene’s at the pub, luv, but I could ring over there if--"
"No," he cut her off rather quickly. "I-I came to see you actually."
"Me?" She laughed kindly. "And to what do I owe this honor Mr. Tyler?"
"Uhm," he quickly dug around in his coat pockets, obviously becoming upset when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. She was about to say something when he finally located the object in his inner jacket pocket. He hastily handed her a carefully folded piece of paper. "You mentioned you liked that omelet I made the other day..."
"Liked it? It was absolutely delicious." She saw the ghost of a smile pass across Sam’s tired face.
"I just thought I’d bring you the recipe," he shrugged.
"That’s so thoughtful of you Sam. Thank you." She stepped outside and embraced him in a warm hug. Sam hesitated then tightly hugged her back, burying his head between her neck and shoulder. She thought she felt tears against her skin but before she could say anything Sam jerkily pulled away, as if suddenly aware of what he was doing.
"Uhm, I should go. I should..." he stuttered, wiping his eyes.
"You know, my friend Mary was s’posed to come over tonight but her daughter showed up for a surprise visit and now I’ve got nowt to do and a tray full of tea sandwiches left completely untouched. D’you think you could come in and take a few off my hands?"
Sam, his own hands deep in his pockets, shuffled about on the stairs, head held low. "Yeah...actually," he said with a sad smile that nearly broke her heart right there on the spot. "I’d really like that."
________
Part 63