Fic: Coffin For Sam (1/13), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Coffin For Sam (1/13)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1743
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: angst, just a teeny-tiny bit o' blood
Spoilers: Set after 2.01 so consider anything before that fair game
Summary: When Sam has only 36 hours to live, will Gene and the team be able to catch the perpetrator and save their DI before it's too late?
A/N: Yesterday,
ausmac posted this cute, little plot bunny. I had every intention of leaving it alone, really, but the fuzzy little evil thing grew sharp claws and attached itself to my brain and, well, I just hope Sammy can forgive me. This is based on the "Starsky and Hutch" episode "Coffin for Starsky" which I have never seen and is turning out to be longer than the one-shot I had originally planned. 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
“Yes I am saying this is your fault! If you would’ve allowed me to provide any sort of the protection I promised her, she’d still be alive!”
“Your idea of protecting a witness, Tyler, is takin’ her home an’ givin’ her a good once over with the old tickling stick!”
Gene was prepared one second too late for the punch that landed on his jaw with a hard crunch. Sam tried to land another blow to his Guv’s stomach but Gene caught the Inspector’s fist, twisted it, and spun Tyler round, finishing him off with a good thump to his kidney.
Sam regained his balance before he could fall to his knees but staggered away from Gene, shoving Ray and Chris out of the way as he stumbled away from the crime scene.
“Oi! Where d’you think you’re goin’ Gladys?” Gene bellowed though he made no attempt to go after him.
“You can clean up your own damn messes!” Sam shouted before leaving the canal embankment, disappearing into the night.
Gene cursed fiercely, rubbing his hand through his hair as he decided how and when he was going to kill his Detective Inspector. “You two divs!” He ordered his DS and DC.
“Yes Guv,” they responded in unison.
“Get ‘er to the morgue. I want that autopsy report on my desk by morning. Understood?”
“Yes Guv,” they nodded again and prepared to wait for the ambulance drivers who would escort her to the morgue.
The Guv stormed off in the opposite direction of Tyler, headed for someplace dark, smoky, and filled with alcohol. It wasn’t that he didn’t care the girl was dead. It wasn’t that he only cared the girl was dead because she was the only witness that could’ve landed Jimmy Hawkins in the dark cell he deserved. A life was a life and this girl had plenty of it left to live.
Why couldn’t Tyler accept that they didn’t have the resources to protect every bloody witness that passed through their doors? Why couldn’t Tyler accept that girls like Beverly already knew the risk they were taking grassing on their scumbag boyfriends? Why did Sam have to make him feel so damn guilty about it?
*
“Oh, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Gene threw down the file he’d been holding and fixed Tyler with his coldest glare. “So did your late night wanderings give Mr. Mastermind here any profound insights on how we can still lock up Hawkins without our key witness?”
Ray smirked and shook his head. Chris seemed hopeful. Sam avoided eye contact, rubbing his right arm distractedly as he dropped some old case files on his desk.
“No,” he finally muttered.
“Thought not,” Gene huffed as he returned his attention back to a report. The eerie stillness settling over CID was quickly disturbed by a loud crash. Gene, along with the other detectives, twisted their necks to see DI Tyler picking himself off the floor, where he had apparently landed after failing to sit properly in his chair.
Sam was blushing like mad as his teammates snickered and whispered and returned to their duties. Only Gene remained still, continuing to watch as Tyler ran a finger nervously around his shirt collar and began scouring the reports he had taken from the Collator’s.
He couldn’t pin it down but the Gene Genie knew something was off. A half hour later, Gene watched from his office as Tyler scurried away in the direction of the bogs and decided to follow up on that hunch. The Guv sauntered out to Sam’s desk and curiously began to pick through the files Sam had so recently been obsessing over.
Kim Trent.
Stephen Warren.
Tony Crane.
What the bloody hell was this? Gene decided he’d had enough of Tyler’s mucking about and followed Sam’s path to the toilets. Any lewd comments he had planned remained unspoken as he saw Tyler hunched over the sinks scratching feverishly at his arm. No, feverishly wasn’t strong enough a word. The boy was in a frenzy, nearly tearing the leather of his precious coat with his hurried fingers.
“Tyler,” he barked but Sam didn’t respond. “Tyler!” He shouted again and stormed over, ripping the DI’s hand from his arm. “What in bloody blazes are you doing?”
Sam refused to speak and tried to pull away but Gene held his arm tightly and began stripping him of his jacket.
“Leave it...” Sam finally said. No, not said. Begged. Gene didn’t listen and began rolling up the man’s sleeve, exposing a clearly inflamed puncture wound. For a dangerously long time, Hunt stared at the fresh injury. Sam was fidgeting and sweating. He had an obvious needle mark on his forearm. It didn’t take Gene long to piece together the truth and when he did, he released Tyler as if burned, a look of pure disgust pasted across his features.
“How long?” He spat, unable to look at his former deputy any longer.
“It’s not--”
“That where you ran off to last night?”
“No--”
“Needed to dope yourself up? Get high?”
“Gene--”
Hunt turned on him now, shoving him painfully against the stall wall, not caring at the crack which sounded from Tyler’s skull as his head bounced of the metal.
“Maybe I should just drop you off down by the canal so you can be with all your druggie mates,” he snarled viciously, then gasped as Sam landed a knee to his groin.
“I’m not a junkie you stupid, bloody bastard! God...” Sam stepped away from the wall, freeing himself from Gene’s confinement, and rubbed a hand over his now bruised head. “I didn’t...someone...”
Gene watched with growing confusion as Sam paced to the other side of the room and leaned back heavily on the opposite wall. He waited for a more detailed explanation but Tyler didn’t appear to have one readily available or was not willing to give the one he had.
“Someone what?” Gene straightened himself up, still wincing inwardly at the well-placed kick.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sam replied sulkily, crossing his arms and keeping his head low.
“Well I’m afraid that means we have something else to disagree upon, Inspector, and since I’m in charge I’m saying we stay in here until you tell me what’s crawled up your jacksie and died this week.” Gene checked his watch in a dramatic gesture. “And just so you know, Carling’s do in here any minute for his morning excursion an’ I know for a fact he had beans and toast for breakie.”
The mention of DS Carling failed to get any sort of rise out of Tyler. Not even a roll of the eyes or an aggravated sigh. Hunt didn’t have much patience left. It was being replaced with something that could have vaguely passed for “worry.”
“Someone broke into my flat last night,” the solitary man finally revealed.
“Told yeh you should get that lock fixed.”
“I wouldn’t have to if my DCI didn’t keep breaking down my door,” Sam snapped. Gene felt more comfortable about the situation.
“What’d they take? Your precious collection of proper evidence collection books?” Gene quipped as he saw Sam’s eyes cloud over. For a moment, he really hoped Sam didn’t have a set of precious proper evidence book that could have been stolen.
“He knocked me down,” Sam started itching at his arm again. “Injected me with something.”
“So...” Gene attempted to sort out the situation. “Some bloke injects you some thing? Very detailed report, Inspector.”
Sam crossed his arms, looking at the ceiling, at the grimy floor, anywhere but at Gene. “Why I told you to leave it.”
“Well c’mon then, Dopey Doris. Don’t keep me in suspense. What’d you get drugged with this time?”
“Not sure,” Sam shrugged still itching at his arm. Gene could now see little red specks bleeding into shirt.
“Tyler.”
Sam dropped his hands for a moment. “Check my jacket pocket,” he sighed.
Gene bent over and scooped up the black leather from where he had dropped it on the floor, rummaging his hands through the very neat and uncluttered pockets until he found a crumpled piece of paper.
“Didn’t say anything,” Sam explained. “Just left that after he...”
“You’ve been administered with a unique, slow-acting, experimental drug,” Gene read from the note. “Sounds quite exciting that, Sammy-boy.” Sam was not amused. Gene saw why after he kept reading. “If it works properly, in no more than thirty-six hours you should be dead.” Gene’s voice got quieter. “Compliments of an old friend Mr. Tyler.” Gene did not speak for the next few moments, rereading the note silently to himself. Finally he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Load of rubbish that.”
“Yeah,” Sam meekly agreed.
“Who’d you piss off this time, Dr. No?”
The Inspector laughed briefly and shook his head. “Does sound pretty ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“Total bluff,” Gene nodded.
“Just trying to scare me.”
There was a long pause as both men stared at the floor. Sam started itching his arm again.
“So, when did he shoot you up?” Gene asked, completely unconcerned.
“About four a.m. A little after,” Sam disclosed.
“And it’s what, eleven now?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“Six an’ a half hours then.”
“Twenty-nine and a half to go, at most.”
Gene walked over and grabbed Sam’s left hand, preventing him from scratching any deeper as tiny motes of blood were now appearing all over his shirt sleeve. It was then that he noticed his deputy was shaking.
“Slow day. Wouldn’t hurt to look into it. It’s an assault on one of my officers if nothing else.”
Sam stayed soundless, still staring at his arm.
Gene pat him on the shoulder. “Go get that bandaged up then meet us back in CID. We’ll sort it.”
“Yes Guv,” Sam nodded and made for the door.
“Sam,” Gene called after him. “You know it’s a load of nonsense this. Mind games. Probably were just water or summit.”
“I know,” he said uncertainly, reaching for the door handle and stumbling before he got there. Sam caught himself on the wall before he could fall all the way to the floor and hurried out of the bogs.
Gene read the note again while he took a hefty swig from his flask. “Load of rubbish. Utter nonsense.” He stuffed the note in his own pocket, grabbed Tyler’s jacket from where he had set it on the sinks, and went to address his men.
______
Part 2
Author: dak
Word Count: 1743
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: angst, just a teeny-tiny bit o' blood
Spoilers: Set after 2.01 so consider anything before that fair game
Summary: When Sam has only 36 hours to live, will Gene and the team be able to catch the perpetrator and save their DI before it's too late?
A/N: Yesterday,
ausmac posted this cute, little plot bunny. I had every intention of leaving it alone, really, but the fuzzy little evil thing grew sharp claws and attached itself to my brain and, well, I just hope Sammy can forgive me. This is based on the "Starsky and Hutch" episode "Coffin for Starsky" which I have never seen and is turning out to be longer than the one-shot I had originally planned. 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
“Yes I am saying this is your fault! If you would’ve allowed me to provide any sort of the protection I promised her, she’d still be alive!”
“Your idea of protecting a witness, Tyler, is takin’ her home an’ givin’ her a good once over with the old tickling stick!”
Gene was prepared one second too late for the punch that landed on his jaw with a hard crunch. Sam tried to land another blow to his Guv’s stomach but Gene caught the Inspector’s fist, twisted it, and spun Tyler round, finishing him off with a good thump to his kidney.
Sam regained his balance before he could fall to his knees but staggered away from Gene, shoving Ray and Chris out of the way as he stumbled away from the crime scene.
“Oi! Where d’you think you’re goin’ Gladys?” Gene bellowed though he made no attempt to go after him.
“You can clean up your own damn messes!” Sam shouted before leaving the canal embankment, disappearing into the night.
Gene cursed fiercely, rubbing his hand through his hair as he decided how and when he was going to kill his Detective Inspector. “You two divs!” He ordered his DS and DC.
“Yes Guv,” they responded in unison.
“Get ‘er to the morgue. I want that autopsy report on my desk by morning. Understood?”
“Yes Guv,” they nodded again and prepared to wait for the ambulance drivers who would escort her to the morgue.
The Guv stormed off in the opposite direction of Tyler, headed for someplace dark, smoky, and filled with alcohol. It wasn’t that he didn’t care the girl was dead. It wasn’t that he only cared the girl was dead because she was the only witness that could’ve landed Jimmy Hawkins in the dark cell he deserved. A life was a life and this girl had plenty of it left to live.
Why couldn’t Tyler accept that they didn’t have the resources to protect every bloody witness that passed through their doors? Why couldn’t Tyler accept that girls like Beverly already knew the risk they were taking grassing on their scumbag boyfriends? Why did Sam have to make him feel so damn guilty about it?
*
“Oh, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Gene threw down the file he’d been holding and fixed Tyler with his coldest glare. “So did your late night wanderings give Mr. Mastermind here any profound insights on how we can still lock up Hawkins without our key witness?”
Ray smirked and shook his head. Chris seemed hopeful. Sam avoided eye contact, rubbing his right arm distractedly as he dropped some old case files on his desk.
“No,” he finally muttered.
“Thought not,” Gene huffed as he returned his attention back to a report. The eerie stillness settling over CID was quickly disturbed by a loud crash. Gene, along with the other detectives, twisted their necks to see DI Tyler picking himself off the floor, where he had apparently landed after failing to sit properly in his chair.
Sam was blushing like mad as his teammates snickered and whispered and returned to their duties. Only Gene remained still, continuing to watch as Tyler ran a finger nervously around his shirt collar and began scouring the reports he had taken from the Collator’s.
He couldn’t pin it down but the Gene Genie knew something was off. A half hour later, Gene watched from his office as Tyler scurried away in the direction of the bogs and decided to follow up on that hunch. The Guv sauntered out to Sam’s desk and curiously began to pick through the files Sam had so recently been obsessing over.
Kim Trent.
Stephen Warren.
Tony Crane.
What the bloody hell was this? Gene decided he’d had enough of Tyler’s mucking about and followed Sam’s path to the toilets. Any lewd comments he had planned remained unspoken as he saw Tyler hunched over the sinks scratching feverishly at his arm. No, feverishly wasn’t strong enough a word. The boy was in a frenzy, nearly tearing the leather of his precious coat with his hurried fingers.
“Tyler,” he barked but Sam didn’t respond. “Tyler!” He shouted again and stormed over, ripping the DI’s hand from his arm. “What in bloody blazes are you doing?”
Sam refused to speak and tried to pull away but Gene held his arm tightly and began stripping him of his jacket.
“Leave it...” Sam finally said. No, not said. Begged. Gene didn’t listen and began rolling up the man’s sleeve, exposing a clearly inflamed puncture wound. For a dangerously long time, Hunt stared at the fresh injury. Sam was fidgeting and sweating. He had an obvious needle mark on his forearm. It didn’t take Gene long to piece together the truth and when he did, he released Tyler as if burned, a look of pure disgust pasted across his features.
“How long?” He spat, unable to look at his former deputy any longer.
“It’s not--”
“That where you ran off to last night?”
“No--”
“Needed to dope yourself up? Get high?”
“Gene--”
Hunt turned on him now, shoving him painfully against the stall wall, not caring at the crack which sounded from Tyler’s skull as his head bounced of the metal.
“Maybe I should just drop you off down by the canal so you can be with all your druggie mates,” he snarled viciously, then gasped as Sam landed a knee to his groin.
“I’m not a junkie you stupid, bloody bastard! God...” Sam stepped away from the wall, freeing himself from Gene’s confinement, and rubbed a hand over his now bruised head. “I didn’t...someone...”
Gene watched with growing confusion as Sam paced to the other side of the room and leaned back heavily on the opposite wall. He waited for a more detailed explanation but Tyler didn’t appear to have one readily available or was not willing to give the one he had.
“Someone what?” Gene straightened himself up, still wincing inwardly at the well-placed kick.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sam replied sulkily, crossing his arms and keeping his head low.
“Well I’m afraid that means we have something else to disagree upon, Inspector, and since I’m in charge I’m saying we stay in here until you tell me what’s crawled up your jacksie and died this week.” Gene checked his watch in a dramatic gesture. “And just so you know, Carling’s do in here any minute for his morning excursion an’ I know for a fact he had beans and toast for breakie.”
The mention of DS Carling failed to get any sort of rise out of Tyler. Not even a roll of the eyes or an aggravated sigh. Hunt didn’t have much patience left. It was being replaced with something that could have vaguely passed for “worry.”
“Someone broke into my flat last night,” the solitary man finally revealed.
“Told yeh you should get that lock fixed.”
“I wouldn’t have to if my DCI didn’t keep breaking down my door,” Sam snapped. Gene felt more comfortable about the situation.
“What’d they take? Your precious collection of proper evidence collection books?” Gene quipped as he saw Sam’s eyes cloud over. For a moment, he really hoped Sam didn’t have a set of precious proper evidence book that could have been stolen.
“He knocked me down,” Sam started itching at his arm again. “Injected me with something.”
“So...” Gene attempted to sort out the situation. “Some bloke injects you some thing? Very detailed report, Inspector.”
Sam crossed his arms, looking at the ceiling, at the grimy floor, anywhere but at Gene. “Why I told you to leave it.”
“Well c’mon then, Dopey Doris. Don’t keep me in suspense. What’d you get drugged with this time?”
“Not sure,” Sam shrugged still itching at his arm. Gene could now see little red specks bleeding into shirt.
“Tyler.”
Sam dropped his hands for a moment. “Check my jacket pocket,” he sighed.
Gene bent over and scooped up the black leather from where he had dropped it on the floor, rummaging his hands through the very neat and uncluttered pockets until he found a crumpled piece of paper.
“Didn’t say anything,” Sam explained. “Just left that after he...”
“You’ve been administered with a unique, slow-acting, experimental drug,” Gene read from the note. “Sounds quite exciting that, Sammy-boy.” Sam was not amused. Gene saw why after he kept reading. “If it works properly, in no more than thirty-six hours you should be dead.” Gene’s voice got quieter. “Compliments of an old friend Mr. Tyler.” Gene did not speak for the next few moments, rereading the note silently to himself. Finally he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Load of rubbish that.”
“Yeah,” Sam meekly agreed.
“Who’d you piss off this time, Dr. No?”
The Inspector laughed briefly and shook his head. “Does sound pretty ridiculous, doesn’t it?”
“Total bluff,” Gene nodded.
“Just trying to scare me.”
There was a long pause as both men stared at the floor. Sam started itching his arm again.
“So, when did he shoot you up?” Gene asked, completely unconcerned.
“About four a.m. A little after,” Sam disclosed.
“And it’s what, eleven now?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“Six an’ a half hours then.”
“Twenty-nine and a half to go, at most.”
Gene walked over and grabbed Sam’s left hand, preventing him from scratching any deeper as tiny motes of blood were now appearing all over his shirt sleeve. It was then that he noticed his deputy was shaking.
“Slow day. Wouldn’t hurt to look into it. It’s an assault on one of my officers if nothing else.”
Sam stayed soundless, still staring at his arm.
Gene pat him on the shoulder. “Go get that bandaged up then meet us back in CID. We’ll sort it.”
“Yes Guv,” Sam nodded and made for the door.
“Sam,” Gene called after him. “You know it’s a load of nonsense this. Mind games. Probably were just water or summit.”
“I know,” he said uncertainly, reaching for the door handle and stumbling before he got there. Sam caught himself on the wall before he could fall all the way to the floor and hurried out of the bogs.
Gene read the note again while he took a hefty swig from his flask. “Load of rubbish. Utter nonsense.” He stuffed the note in his own pocket, grabbed Tyler’s jacket from where he had set it on the sinks, and went to address his men.
______
Part 2