Fic: Steady As She Goes (81/86), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (81/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1251 this part; [145,546 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: Gene gets some answers.
Rating: Brown Cortina
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: 2.02; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: This is a shorter part than what I've been posting lately but I have to do a second shift in pub land tonight and didn't have as much free time to write. We are in the final stretch here, so I wanted to keep the momentum going and post what I had. As always, 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
The blood poured freely from his split lip, the least worrisome of his injuries. He scrambled backwards, his only instinct to escape but there was nowhere to go. There was only the cold concrete cell, the rusting metal door, and the solid fury of DCI Gene Hunt.
“What ferry. What time.”
“I...s’lice’tor...” Bobby slurred.
“Don’t look like he’s here, does it?” Gene held him tight and punched him again, making sure to hit all the same spots Tyler had, deepening the bruises, drawing out the pain.
“P-please,” he gasped, choking for air after the last hit.
“Did he beg?” Gene twisted an already sore arm behind his suspect’s back, forcing him on his knees and using his elbow to press the man’s face into the metal bed. “Did my DI beg? No. I know he didn’t.”
Walsh either coughed or tried to speak. It wasn’t clear which.
“Might’ve tried to talk you out of it. He can be very convincing when you listen.” Hunt pushed down further, effectively cutting off the man’s air supply. “Or did he sit quietly and take it like a man? Because he was a man. A good man. A strong man. And you ruined him.” There was no need to fake his rage this time. He released Walsh’s body just before Bobby would’ve passed out. Hunt still needed him awake. Hunt still needed information. “What ferry. What time.”
He waited for Bobby to cough air back into his lungs but fists were getting impatient. For Walsh’s sake, the next words out of his mouth should have been the answers to the DCI”s questions.
“My...my boys...” he choked out.
“Funny thing about kids. Don’t really start remembering things til they’re ‘round three or four.” Hunt swept down and grabbed Bobby tightly by his hair. “Yours won’t even have to know they had such a piss poor excuse for a father.” He pushed his head away and kicked him in the stomach. Walsh collapsed completely to the floor but he was still conscious. “What ferry. What time.”
“I...c-can’t...” he spat out along with another glob of blood.
Hunt was through toying with him. In one deft movement he had his defenseless victim swept off the floor and pressed into the wall. Walsh cried out but Hunt cut it off with a jab to the gut. “Don’t fucking tell me what you can or can’t do, Mr. Walsh.” His face was so close, flecks of spit coated the barely there man’s bloodied face. “You destroyed a man’s life. Because of you he lost everything that ever mattered to him. He lost who he was. He lost his life and he will never be alright again. He’s the man that deserves to have children, people who care about him. Not little pieces of shite like you.”
Hunt had him pinned against the wall, squeezing ever tighter on the man’s bruised arms. “And if you don’t tell me what I am so kindly asking for, you will be the only one who gets to pay for that. DI Tyler had plenty of friends at this station.” DCI Hunt leaned in closer, whispering menacingly in his ear. “And I’m the nice one.” The Guv pulled back and stared directly at the beaten man.
“What ferry. What time.”
*
It was late. It was very late and he wasn’t home yet. He wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. Margaret paced nervously from the kitchen to the sitting room and back so many times she was, in all likelihood, wearing a hole in the floor. She didn’t care. Every passing set of head lamps made her heart leap then drop. All those cars were too quiet to be her husband.
She was upstairs rearranging the pillow on their bed, mainly to keep her shaking hands occupied, when she heard the telltale signs of crashing dustbins and screeching tires and felt her nerves calm. She raced downstairs and met Gene as soon as he came through the door.
“Whose blood is that love?” She asked quietly when she saw his hands. Gene didn’t answer but stood there gazing with a vacant expression so similar to Sam’s. He allowed himself to be led into the kitchen and sat in his chair. Margaret silently wet a fresh cloth, then kneeled before him and started dabbing at his hands.
Gene gradually started to come round and slowly moved his hands to hold his wife’s. She looked up at him expectantly but Gene kept his head hung low. “He’s gone now,” he whispered. “Mind’s gone and I did it to him.”
“Oh Gene,” she raised one hand and cupped the side of his face, delicately stroking his cheek with her thumb. She wanted to know more but she knew she shouldn’t press him.
Another moment passed and Gene reached into his coat pocket. Margaret expected him to pull out his cigarettes but instead he held out a crumpled piece of paper. “He made this for you.”
She set the rag on the table, dried her hands on her apron, and took the sheet. They looked at it together as she unfolded it and smoothed the edges.
“He remembered.”
Mrs. Hunt’s eyes scoured the entire page, burning it into memory. It was meant to be of herself, Gene, and Sam having dinner at the kitchen table.
“He even remembered what color dress you wore. The drawings, the bloody paperwork, it was his way of remembering who he was and I...if I’d only looked at it ‘fore I listened to that ignorant son of a bitch.”
Margaret had only seen her husband cry twice in their life together. Gene Hunt was a firm believer that real men were never meant to show pain, God forbid crying, never and never amen. Not even after Harry Woolfe’s unexpected outing as a common criminal did Gene reveal how much it hurt to see his idol fall.
The first time had been the night after he and Harry had found Stu’s body. After assuring her that he was “perfectly hunky dory, leave me alone, thanks very much,” she had accidently stumbled upon him in the bathroom, head in his hands, a strangled sob escaping his lips. He’d been startled by her sudden entrance but in the end had allowed her to hold him until the moment had passed. They’d sat in the bathroom until the next morning.
The second time was after her third miscarriage. The day was mostly a blur in her mind. That morning while changing she had noticed blood where there shouldn’t have been blood, called for Gene, and was suddenly lying in a hospital. As he held her on the bed, stroking her hair, telling her it would be alright, they could try again, she felt his warm tears dropping onto her head, wetting her hair. They hadn’t tried again.
Now he sat in front of her, her husband gone and replaced with a weakened, guilt ridden man, and she saw his cheeks glistening, the man suffering a silent sorrow over the loss of a close colleague, companion, friend. She stood, pulling his chest against her waist and he responded, wrapping his arms around her, never wanting to let go. She could only whisper comforts and stroke his hair as she allowed the slow tears to stain her already dirtied apron. As he continued to bury his head in her stomach, her eyes became fixed on the drawing on the table, her own pain slowly becoming too much to bear.
_______
Part 82
Author: dak
Word Count: 1251 this part; [145,546 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: Gene gets some answers.
Rating: Brown Cortina
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: 2.02; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: This is a shorter part than what I've been posting lately but I have to do a second shift in pub land tonight and didn't have as much free time to write. We are in the final stretch here, so I wanted to keep the momentum going and post what I had. As always, 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
The blood poured freely from his split lip, the least worrisome of his injuries. He scrambled backwards, his only instinct to escape but there was nowhere to go. There was only the cold concrete cell, the rusting metal door, and the solid fury of DCI Gene Hunt.
“What ferry. What time.”
“I...s’lice’tor...” Bobby slurred.
“Don’t look like he’s here, does it?” Gene held him tight and punched him again, making sure to hit all the same spots Tyler had, deepening the bruises, drawing out the pain.
“P-please,” he gasped, choking for air after the last hit.
“Did he beg?” Gene twisted an already sore arm behind his suspect’s back, forcing him on his knees and using his elbow to press the man’s face into the metal bed. “Did my DI beg? No. I know he didn’t.”
Walsh either coughed or tried to speak. It wasn’t clear which.
“Might’ve tried to talk you out of it. He can be very convincing when you listen.” Hunt pushed down further, effectively cutting off the man’s air supply. “Or did he sit quietly and take it like a man? Because he was a man. A good man. A strong man. And you ruined him.” There was no need to fake his rage this time. He released Walsh’s body just before Bobby would’ve passed out. Hunt still needed him awake. Hunt still needed information. “What ferry. What time.”
He waited for Bobby to cough air back into his lungs but fists were getting impatient. For Walsh’s sake, the next words out of his mouth should have been the answers to the DCI”s questions.
“My...my boys...” he choked out.
“Funny thing about kids. Don’t really start remembering things til they’re ‘round three or four.” Hunt swept down and grabbed Bobby tightly by his hair. “Yours won’t even have to know they had such a piss poor excuse for a father.” He pushed his head away and kicked him in the stomach. Walsh collapsed completely to the floor but he was still conscious. “What ferry. What time.”
“I...c-can’t...” he spat out along with another glob of blood.
Hunt was through toying with him. In one deft movement he had his defenseless victim swept off the floor and pressed into the wall. Walsh cried out but Hunt cut it off with a jab to the gut. “Don’t fucking tell me what you can or can’t do, Mr. Walsh.” His face was so close, flecks of spit coated the barely there man’s bloodied face. “You destroyed a man’s life. Because of you he lost everything that ever mattered to him. He lost who he was. He lost his life and he will never be alright again. He’s the man that deserves to have children, people who care about him. Not little pieces of shite like you.”
Hunt had him pinned against the wall, squeezing ever tighter on the man’s bruised arms. “And if you don’t tell me what I am so kindly asking for, you will be the only one who gets to pay for that. DI Tyler had plenty of friends at this station.” DCI Hunt leaned in closer, whispering menacingly in his ear. “And I’m the nice one.” The Guv pulled back and stared directly at the beaten man.
“What ferry. What time.”
*
It was late. It was very late and he wasn’t home yet. He wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. Margaret paced nervously from the kitchen to the sitting room and back so many times she was, in all likelihood, wearing a hole in the floor. She didn’t care. Every passing set of head lamps made her heart leap then drop. All those cars were too quiet to be her husband.
She was upstairs rearranging the pillow on their bed, mainly to keep her shaking hands occupied, when she heard the telltale signs of crashing dustbins and screeching tires and felt her nerves calm. She raced downstairs and met Gene as soon as he came through the door.
“Whose blood is that love?” She asked quietly when she saw his hands. Gene didn’t answer but stood there gazing with a vacant expression so similar to Sam’s. He allowed himself to be led into the kitchen and sat in his chair. Margaret silently wet a fresh cloth, then kneeled before him and started dabbing at his hands.
Gene gradually started to come round and slowly moved his hands to hold his wife’s. She looked up at him expectantly but Gene kept his head hung low. “He’s gone now,” he whispered. “Mind’s gone and I did it to him.”
“Oh Gene,” she raised one hand and cupped the side of his face, delicately stroking his cheek with her thumb. She wanted to know more but she knew she shouldn’t press him.
Another moment passed and Gene reached into his coat pocket. Margaret expected him to pull out his cigarettes but instead he held out a crumpled piece of paper. “He made this for you.”
She set the rag on the table, dried her hands on her apron, and took the sheet. They looked at it together as she unfolded it and smoothed the edges.
“He remembered.”
Mrs. Hunt’s eyes scoured the entire page, burning it into memory. It was meant to be of herself, Gene, and Sam having dinner at the kitchen table.
“He even remembered what color dress you wore. The drawings, the bloody paperwork, it was his way of remembering who he was and I...if I’d only looked at it ‘fore I listened to that ignorant son of a bitch.”
Margaret had only seen her husband cry twice in their life together. Gene Hunt was a firm believer that real men were never meant to show pain, God forbid crying, never and never amen. Not even after Harry Woolfe’s unexpected outing as a common criminal did Gene reveal how much it hurt to see his idol fall.
The first time had been the night after he and Harry had found Stu’s body. After assuring her that he was “perfectly hunky dory, leave me alone, thanks very much,” she had accidently stumbled upon him in the bathroom, head in his hands, a strangled sob escaping his lips. He’d been startled by her sudden entrance but in the end had allowed her to hold him until the moment had passed. They’d sat in the bathroom until the next morning.
The second time was after her third miscarriage. The day was mostly a blur in her mind. That morning while changing she had noticed blood where there shouldn’t have been blood, called for Gene, and was suddenly lying in a hospital. As he held her on the bed, stroking her hair, telling her it would be alright, they could try again, she felt his warm tears dropping onto her head, wetting her hair. They hadn’t tried again.
Now he sat in front of her, her husband gone and replaced with a weakened, guilt ridden man, and she saw his cheeks glistening, the man suffering a silent sorrow over the loss of a close colleague, companion, friend. She stood, pulling his chest against her waist and he responded, wrapping his arms around her, never wanting to let go. She could only whisper comforts and stroke his hair as she allowed the slow tears to stain her already dirtied apron. As he continued to bury his head in her stomach, her eyes became fixed on the drawing on the table, her own pain slowly becoming too much to bear.
_______
Part 82