Fic: Steady As She Goes (77/86), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (77/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2392 this part; [137,935 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 team tries to cope.
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: 1.08, 2.01; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Sorry I broke Sam...Please enjoy this next part!
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
“I hope you’re hungry, luv. This recipe made enough to feed the five thousand. Well, it is a miracle I managed to brown the ham without burnin’ it, the way our oven’s been acting up. Don’t tell me someone’s died.” Mrs. Hunt was suddenly shaken by the hollow stare of her husband’s eyes. Gene hadn’t even removed his coat yet but was standing hunched in the kitchen doorway. “Gene,” she repeated when he didn’t respond.
“I lost him.”
She dropped the serving spoon and it clattered across the floor. Gene’s eyes were still fixed blankly on the floor.
“He had some sort of breakdown at the station. Front of the Super an’ all.”
“He’s not...dead, is he?” She brought her hand to her chest, waiting for the worse.
“No.”
“Oh thank the Lord,” she threw up her hands in exaltation. “The way you were going on, thought the poor boy went off and copped it.” She used the counter to support herself as she recovered from the shock.
“He might as well have,” Gene muttered, reaching for his fags.
“I beg your pardon?” She huffed, straightening herself to her full height and folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“ ‘M goin’ out.” He turned away, making for the door.
“Excuse me?” She followed. “I’m yelling at you Gene Hunt so where exactly d’you think you’re going?”
“Me work is none of your business!” He bellowed and ripped open the front door.
“You’re the one keeps draggin’ it into my house!” She screamed back with equal force. Gene left the door swinging on its hinges as he stalked to his Cortina. She stood, watching him from the entrance. “Why’d you even bother comin’ home, you’re just goin’ to run out again!” He pretended not to hear her as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “That’s your dinner off to the poor house then. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you get indigestion from eatin’ another one of them damn curries!” The Cortina peeled away in a haze of smoke, disappearing around the corner, the sound of overturned dust bins echoing back down the street. “Evening Mrs. Thorpe,” she smiled at her concerned neighbor. “How’re the children getting on?”
Mrs. Thorpe said nothing but stopped watering her petunias and hurried back inside her house.
“Nosy cow,” Mrs. Hunt grumbled, tapping her fingers on her apron and thinking hard before slipping back inside her own home.
*
“You did the right thing Mr. Hunt, sending him here.”
Gene Hunt, uncharacteristically silent, walked side by side Dr. Merrick down the hall towards the psychiatric ward of St. Mary’s Hospital.
“Though upon further examination it appears I was wrong about my initial diagnosis.”
“Sorry?” Gene stopped walking.
“I don’t think Sam has schizophrenia,” Merrick explained.
“So he could get better?” Gene hadn’t meant to sound hopeful.
“I’ve read about Sam’s initial accident, when he first transferred from Hyde. I believe those untreated injuries, coupled with the trauma from DC Skelton’s shooting and his own abduction--”
“He could get better?” Gene demanded again. “Since he’s not completely loony, since it’s not schizophrenia, he could be cured?”
“It’s not that simple Mr. Hunt,” Merrick kept his voice calm but did little to soothe Gene’s anger.
“Either he can be fixed or he can’t. Sounds pretty damn simple to me.” Gene aggressively perched his hands on his hips. Merrick knew from experience the next move would be his back slammed against a wall or some other hard surface.
“I wish it were as black and white as that but the brain is more of a gray area. It’s not as easy as healing a broken bone. It would make my job much easier if it was. It’s going to take some time to see if Sam is capable of recovering from his delusions...” Merrick had been able to temporarily appease Gene but at the mention of delusions the DCI’s hackles were rising once again.
“Delusions? What delusions? You said he weren’t a schizoid.”
“May we?” Merrick motioned for them to keep walking and they slowly trod down the corridor.
“I don’t think Sam’s schizophrenic, no. He is quite old to have left it undiagnosed until now, unless it was drug induced,” (Gene appeared ready to punch him at the suggestion), “which I’m pretty certain is not the case,” Merrick hastened to add. “Sam’s had a difficult time adjusting since his transfer and being a police officer is a stressful enough job without everything else he’s been through.”
“Is this going somewhere or are you just making it up as you go along?” Gene’s hands were in his pockets but Merrick could picture the fists clenching.
“All signs indicate that Sam has suffered a nervous breakdown.”
“And that can cause delusions?”
“In some cases. Sam is a very smart man. His brain is always active, always trying to make sense of things.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Hunt muttered.
“In order to cope with the stress of his job he created a fantasy wherein he believed he was from the future.”
“Yeah,” Gene’s throat went dry. He tried not to picture the day they arrested Tony Crane.
“This fantasy kept building until it, too, became too much from him to control.” They reached a set of double doors and Merrick held one open. “Through here, if you please.” They passed through the doors and Merrick approached the desk nurse. “Evening Isabelle. We’re here to see Mr. Tyler.”
“Believe he’s in the activity room right now, sir,” she smiled after checking a chart. Gene knew there was something wrong with him when he couldn’t even appreciate the woman’s ample breasts. One more thing Tyler mucked up for him.
“Thank you.” Merrick motioned for Gene to follow. “Which brings us to where he is now. Mentally, that is. See, Sam believes he was born in 1969. He was quite adamant about it when he was admitted this afternoon.” Merrick hesitated over his next choice of words.
“And...” Gene drawled when the doctor had paused to long for his liking.
“Sam’s mind has regressed as a way of avoiding confrontation with the troubles of his adult world.” Merrick pushed open another door, leading to the supposed activity room.
“What?” Gene entered the room, gaping at Merrick.
“Sam thinks he’s four, Mr. Hunt.” Merrick motioned again, not to another door, but to a man sitting cross-legged on the floor, doodling on a piece of paper with some stubby crayons. His brow was furrowed and he bit his bottom lip, obviously deep in thought. Sam was already dressed in the crisp hospital whites, a medical bracelet on his right wrist. His hair was a little messy but other than that he looked alright to Gene. Physically.
The Guv swallowed hard before asking, “Does he know who I am?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Merrick offered and stood back.
He knew he’d look a coward if he didn’t and Gene Hunt was not a coward. He maneuvered around the tables covered in board games and whatnot, around other people in patient’s gowns, some drooling, some muttering, some just staring into space, and for a moment Gene couldn’t believe he’d allowed his DI to be chucked in with all these real nutters. After an eternity, he finally reached his target and stood over him, unsure what to do next.
“Sam?”
He immediately looked up and a wide grin spread across his face. “Hiya,” he whispered, his voice sounding shy despite him being obviously elated over seeing his visitor. He looked back at his paper and continued coloring. “You said you’d come and you came,” he whispered again, a smile still tugging at his lips.
“I did,” was all Gene could think to say. There were a few minutes of silence, Sam working feverishly on his drawing, until Gene decided to throw caution to the wind and ask. “Do you know who I am?”
“I made this for you.” He put the final touches on his masterpiece, packed the crayons neatly away in the carton, then with one last look at the paper, he nodded in satisfaction and handed it up to Gene. Gene knelt down to Sam’s level and accepted his gift. Sam leaned over so he could point out things to Gene that he might not be aware of. “That’s your car. That’s you. Smoking. But you shouldn’t smoke. Mum says it’s bad for you. And that’s me. See? You can tell cos of me jacket. And that’s me policeman’s badge. I’m going to be a policeman one day. Mum said I could if I studied really hard and did well at school.”
Sam clasped his hands and waited for Gene’s approval. Hunt stared at the awkwardly drawn stick figures. Sketching had never been Tyler’s strong suit.
“You don’t like it, do you?” Sam pouted, lowering his head and picking at the cracks in the tiled floor. Gene realized his silence had been taken as rejection.
“No. Course I do, Sammy-boy. Belongs in the National Gallery this.” Gene didn’t know how he was able to form words but somehow he managed.
“Really?” Sam asked hopefully.
“Yeah. Sam...” he couldn’t take his eyes off the paper. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re Gene,” he responded with certainty and it told Hunt everything and nothing all at once.
*
“I knew something was wrong. Since the beginning. I should’ve gotten him help then. Or after Vic Tyler, like I said I would...” Annie glanced down and wondered where her gin and tonic had gotten to.
“You can’t blame yourself Annie. We all knew summit was off. ‘S all our faults,” Chris mumbled the last part into his pint.
“ ‘Ow long you think ‘e’ll be in there?” Ray’s glass was already empty and he passed the time trying to spin a damp coaster.
“Oh what do you care,” Chris chided. “Worried how long you’ll keep his job?”
“Chris that’s--”
“Super already said it were yours so you’ve got nowt to worry ‘bout DI Carling.” Chris chugged the rest of his beer and slammed the glass down.
“That’s not what he meant Chris,” Annie tried to be the voice of reason.
“Oh leave ‘im Annie. Just had too much to drink ‘s all.” The coaster fell to the floor but Ray couldn’t be bothered to pick it up.
“I ‘ave not!” The young DC shouted, attracting the attention of the rest of the pub. “I don’t care what happened today! He were a good copper. The best maybe, ‘sides the Guv.”
“Cheers Skelton.”
Chris spun awkwardly in his chair to see DCI Hunt standing by the bar.
“Pint a bitter an’ a whiskey chaser, Mr. Hunt?” Nelson asked, wiping out a fresh glass.
“In a minute. Skelton. A word?” Gene nodded towards the back entrance and Chris quickly scurried away from the table and out the back. Gene slowly followed and when he found Chris outside the lad was leaning nervously against the brick wall, folding and unfolding his arms, kicking at a bit of rubbish, and clearly expecting a good bollocking. Gene lit two cigarettes and held one out for him.
“Cheers Guv,” he took it nervously, smoking as if he hadn’t had a fag in years.
Gene leaned back against the wall next to his young officer. “I appreciate you supporting Tyler. He would too, if he knew. But you can’t be takin’ this out on Ray.”
“But he’s--”
“He’s your DI now and you need to respect that. He needs you to respect that. Okay?”
“Yes Guv.” Chris sadly flicked ash to the ground, accidently dropping the ciggie on his trousers. He quickly brushed it off before it could do any damage but the incident only served to make him more depressed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slouched forward so heavily Gene thought he might as well be bending over. “He were the only one what believed in me,” he confessed in a frightened whisper. “An’ the whole time he were off ‘is rocker. A total nutter. What’s that say about me?”
Gene took his time finishing his cigarette, watching the smoke curl up towards the starry sky. “It says you’ve been drinking too much. You weren’t capable, I wouldn’t have you on my team.” He flicked the butt away and watched the red tip as it skittered across the pavement. “Ray’s promotion means there’s a Sergeant’s post open, Constable.” Gene stepped away from the wall and straightened his jacket. “Now go inside and do summit useful, like buying me a drink.”
Chris nodded and shuffled back inside the warm pub, head still hung low. Gene watched him leave but remained outside, alone, for a few extra minutes. If they could get through these next few days they’d be okay. They were a tough group, even Cartwright. They could make it. Especially if they caught those skinhead bastards.
*
They told Sammy it was time for bed and showed him his new room. Sammy wanted to stay up and draw more pictures but they said he had to go to bed now and he could play with the crayons tomorrow. Sammy had to share a room with someone called Bert. He never had to share his room before but Bert was quiet and shy and Sammy was quiet and shy so he thought it would be okay.
They told Sammy that they’d check on him during the night but they showed him where he could go if he needed something and it was an emergency. Sammy nodded and said he would remember. He was very smart, his mum always told him so. She would only have to tell him things once and he would always remember.
He laid down on the stiff bed and fell asleep quickly because it had been a long day and he was very tired. As he drifted off, he dreamt of being a police officer and sliding over cars and jumping over desks and arresting baddies just like they did on telly.
He also dreamt of odd things like tiny phones you could carry in your pocket, discs that were smaller than records but played music anyway, and a strange beeping noise that almost kept him awake.
Have you seen this recent scan? Remarkable. And look at this muscle response.
What does it mean?
I’m not certain, Mrs. Tyler, but Sam appears to be waking up.
__________
Part 78
Author: dak
Word Count: 2392 this part; [137,935 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 team tries to cope.
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: 1.08, 2.01; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Sorry I broke Sam...Please enjoy this next part!
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
“I hope you’re hungry, luv. This recipe made enough to feed the five thousand. Well, it is a miracle I managed to brown the ham without burnin’ it, the way our oven’s been acting up. Don’t tell me someone’s died.” Mrs. Hunt was suddenly shaken by the hollow stare of her husband’s eyes. Gene hadn’t even removed his coat yet but was standing hunched in the kitchen doorway. “Gene,” she repeated when he didn’t respond.
“I lost him.”
She dropped the serving spoon and it clattered across the floor. Gene’s eyes were still fixed blankly on the floor.
“He had some sort of breakdown at the station. Front of the Super an’ all.”
“He’s not...dead, is he?” She brought her hand to her chest, waiting for the worse.
“No.”
“Oh thank the Lord,” she threw up her hands in exaltation. “The way you were going on, thought the poor boy went off and copped it.” She used the counter to support herself as she recovered from the shock.
“He might as well have,” Gene muttered, reaching for his fags.
“I beg your pardon?” She huffed, straightening herself to her full height and folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“ ‘M goin’ out.” He turned away, making for the door.
“Excuse me?” She followed. “I’m yelling at you Gene Hunt so where exactly d’you think you’re going?”
“Me work is none of your business!” He bellowed and ripped open the front door.
“You’re the one keeps draggin’ it into my house!” She screamed back with equal force. Gene left the door swinging on its hinges as he stalked to his Cortina. She stood, watching him from the entrance. “Why’d you even bother comin’ home, you’re just goin’ to run out again!” He pretended not to hear her as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “That’s your dinner off to the poor house then. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you get indigestion from eatin’ another one of them damn curries!” The Cortina peeled away in a haze of smoke, disappearing around the corner, the sound of overturned dust bins echoing back down the street. “Evening Mrs. Thorpe,” she smiled at her concerned neighbor. “How’re the children getting on?”
Mrs. Thorpe said nothing but stopped watering her petunias and hurried back inside her house.
“Nosy cow,” Mrs. Hunt grumbled, tapping her fingers on her apron and thinking hard before slipping back inside her own home.
*
“You did the right thing Mr. Hunt, sending him here.”
Gene Hunt, uncharacteristically silent, walked side by side Dr. Merrick down the hall towards the psychiatric ward of St. Mary’s Hospital.
“Though upon further examination it appears I was wrong about my initial diagnosis.”
“Sorry?” Gene stopped walking.
“I don’t think Sam has schizophrenia,” Merrick explained.
“So he could get better?” Gene hadn’t meant to sound hopeful.
“I’ve read about Sam’s initial accident, when he first transferred from Hyde. I believe those untreated injuries, coupled with the trauma from DC Skelton’s shooting and his own abduction--”
“He could get better?” Gene demanded again. “Since he’s not completely loony, since it’s not schizophrenia, he could be cured?”
“It’s not that simple Mr. Hunt,” Merrick kept his voice calm but did little to soothe Gene’s anger.
“Either he can be fixed or he can’t. Sounds pretty damn simple to me.” Gene aggressively perched his hands on his hips. Merrick knew from experience the next move would be his back slammed against a wall or some other hard surface.
“I wish it were as black and white as that but the brain is more of a gray area. It’s not as easy as healing a broken bone. It would make my job much easier if it was. It’s going to take some time to see if Sam is capable of recovering from his delusions...” Merrick had been able to temporarily appease Gene but at the mention of delusions the DCI’s hackles were rising once again.
“Delusions? What delusions? You said he weren’t a schizoid.”
“May we?” Merrick motioned for them to keep walking and they slowly trod down the corridor.
“I don’t think Sam’s schizophrenic, no. He is quite old to have left it undiagnosed until now, unless it was drug induced,” (Gene appeared ready to punch him at the suggestion), “which I’m pretty certain is not the case,” Merrick hastened to add. “Sam’s had a difficult time adjusting since his transfer and being a police officer is a stressful enough job without everything else he’s been through.”
“Is this going somewhere or are you just making it up as you go along?” Gene’s hands were in his pockets but Merrick could picture the fists clenching.
“All signs indicate that Sam has suffered a nervous breakdown.”
“And that can cause delusions?”
“In some cases. Sam is a very smart man. His brain is always active, always trying to make sense of things.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Hunt muttered.
“In order to cope with the stress of his job he created a fantasy wherein he believed he was from the future.”
“Yeah,” Gene’s throat went dry. He tried not to picture the day they arrested Tony Crane.
“This fantasy kept building until it, too, became too much from him to control.” They reached a set of double doors and Merrick held one open. “Through here, if you please.” They passed through the doors and Merrick approached the desk nurse. “Evening Isabelle. We’re here to see Mr. Tyler.”
“Believe he’s in the activity room right now, sir,” she smiled after checking a chart. Gene knew there was something wrong with him when he couldn’t even appreciate the woman’s ample breasts. One more thing Tyler mucked up for him.
“Thank you.” Merrick motioned for Gene to follow. “Which brings us to where he is now. Mentally, that is. See, Sam believes he was born in 1969. He was quite adamant about it when he was admitted this afternoon.” Merrick hesitated over his next choice of words.
“And...” Gene drawled when the doctor had paused to long for his liking.
“Sam’s mind has regressed as a way of avoiding confrontation with the troubles of his adult world.” Merrick pushed open another door, leading to the supposed activity room.
“What?” Gene entered the room, gaping at Merrick.
“Sam thinks he’s four, Mr. Hunt.” Merrick motioned again, not to another door, but to a man sitting cross-legged on the floor, doodling on a piece of paper with some stubby crayons. His brow was furrowed and he bit his bottom lip, obviously deep in thought. Sam was already dressed in the crisp hospital whites, a medical bracelet on his right wrist. His hair was a little messy but other than that he looked alright to Gene. Physically.
The Guv swallowed hard before asking, “Does he know who I am?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Merrick offered and stood back.
He knew he’d look a coward if he didn’t and Gene Hunt was not a coward. He maneuvered around the tables covered in board games and whatnot, around other people in patient’s gowns, some drooling, some muttering, some just staring into space, and for a moment Gene couldn’t believe he’d allowed his DI to be chucked in with all these real nutters. After an eternity, he finally reached his target and stood over him, unsure what to do next.
“Sam?”
He immediately looked up and a wide grin spread across his face. “Hiya,” he whispered, his voice sounding shy despite him being obviously elated over seeing his visitor. He looked back at his paper and continued coloring. “You said you’d come and you came,” he whispered again, a smile still tugging at his lips.
“I did,” was all Gene could think to say. There were a few minutes of silence, Sam working feverishly on his drawing, until Gene decided to throw caution to the wind and ask. “Do you know who I am?”
“I made this for you.” He put the final touches on his masterpiece, packed the crayons neatly away in the carton, then with one last look at the paper, he nodded in satisfaction and handed it up to Gene. Gene knelt down to Sam’s level and accepted his gift. Sam leaned over so he could point out things to Gene that he might not be aware of. “That’s your car. That’s you. Smoking. But you shouldn’t smoke. Mum says it’s bad for you. And that’s me. See? You can tell cos of me jacket. And that’s me policeman’s badge. I’m going to be a policeman one day. Mum said I could if I studied really hard and did well at school.”
Sam clasped his hands and waited for Gene’s approval. Hunt stared at the awkwardly drawn stick figures. Sketching had never been Tyler’s strong suit.
“You don’t like it, do you?” Sam pouted, lowering his head and picking at the cracks in the tiled floor. Gene realized his silence had been taken as rejection.
“No. Course I do, Sammy-boy. Belongs in the National Gallery this.” Gene didn’t know how he was able to form words but somehow he managed.
“Really?” Sam asked hopefully.
“Yeah. Sam...” he couldn’t take his eyes off the paper. “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re Gene,” he responded with certainty and it told Hunt everything and nothing all at once.
*
“I knew something was wrong. Since the beginning. I should’ve gotten him help then. Or after Vic Tyler, like I said I would...” Annie glanced down and wondered where her gin and tonic had gotten to.
“You can’t blame yourself Annie. We all knew summit was off. ‘S all our faults,” Chris mumbled the last part into his pint.
“ ‘Ow long you think ‘e’ll be in there?” Ray’s glass was already empty and he passed the time trying to spin a damp coaster.
“Oh what do you care,” Chris chided. “Worried how long you’ll keep his job?”
“Chris that’s--”
“Super already said it were yours so you’ve got nowt to worry ‘bout DI Carling.” Chris chugged the rest of his beer and slammed the glass down.
“That’s not what he meant Chris,” Annie tried to be the voice of reason.
“Oh leave ‘im Annie. Just had too much to drink ‘s all.” The coaster fell to the floor but Ray couldn’t be bothered to pick it up.
“I ‘ave not!” The young DC shouted, attracting the attention of the rest of the pub. “I don’t care what happened today! He were a good copper. The best maybe, ‘sides the Guv.”
“Cheers Skelton.”
Chris spun awkwardly in his chair to see DCI Hunt standing by the bar.
“Pint a bitter an’ a whiskey chaser, Mr. Hunt?” Nelson asked, wiping out a fresh glass.
“In a minute. Skelton. A word?” Gene nodded towards the back entrance and Chris quickly scurried away from the table and out the back. Gene slowly followed and when he found Chris outside the lad was leaning nervously against the brick wall, folding and unfolding his arms, kicking at a bit of rubbish, and clearly expecting a good bollocking. Gene lit two cigarettes and held one out for him.
“Cheers Guv,” he took it nervously, smoking as if he hadn’t had a fag in years.
Gene leaned back against the wall next to his young officer. “I appreciate you supporting Tyler. He would too, if he knew. But you can’t be takin’ this out on Ray.”
“But he’s--”
“He’s your DI now and you need to respect that. He needs you to respect that. Okay?”
“Yes Guv.” Chris sadly flicked ash to the ground, accidently dropping the ciggie on his trousers. He quickly brushed it off before it could do any damage but the incident only served to make him more depressed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and slouched forward so heavily Gene thought he might as well be bending over. “He were the only one what believed in me,” he confessed in a frightened whisper. “An’ the whole time he were off ‘is rocker. A total nutter. What’s that say about me?”
Gene took his time finishing his cigarette, watching the smoke curl up towards the starry sky. “It says you’ve been drinking too much. You weren’t capable, I wouldn’t have you on my team.” He flicked the butt away and watched the red tip as it skittered across the pavement. “Ray’s promotion means there’s a Sergeant’s post open, Constable.” Gene stepped away from the wall and straightened his jacket. “Now go inside and do summit useful, like buying me a drink.”
Chris nodded and shuffled back inside the warm pub, head still hung low. Gene watched him leave but remained outside, alone, for a few extra minutes. If they could get through these next few days they’d be okay. They were a tough group, even Cartwright. They could make it. Especially if they caught those skinhead bastards.
*
They told Sammy it was time for bed and showed him his new room. Sammy wanted to stay up and draw more pictures but they said he had to go to bed now and he could play with the crayons tomorrow. Sammy had to share a room with someone called Bert. He never had to share his room before but Bert was quiet and shy and Sammy was quiet and shy so he thought it would be okay.
They told Sammy that they’d check on him during the night but they showed him where he could go if he needed something and it was an emergency. Sammy nodded and said he would remember. He was very smart, his mum always told him so. She would only have to tell him things once and he would always remember.
He laid down on the stiff bed and fell asleep quickly because it had been a long day and he was very tired. As he drifted off, he dreamt of being a police officer and sliding over cars and jumping over desks and arresting baddies just like they did on telly.
He also dreamt of odd things like tiny phones you could carry in your pocket, discs that were smaller than records but played music anyway, and a strange beeping noise that almost kept him awake.
Have you seen this recent scan? Remarkable. And look at this muscle response.
What does it mean?
I’m not certain, Mrs. Tyler, but Sam appears to be waking up.
__________
Part 78