Fic: Coffin For Sam (5/13), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Coffin For Sam (5/13)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1844 this part; [8306 overall]
Rating: blue cortina
Pairing: some heavy-handed Sam/Gene wink-wink/nudge-nudge, but no direct slashing of the boys
Warnings: angst, just a teeny-tiny bit o' blood
Spoilers: Set after 2.02, 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: This is a response to a plot bunny posted by ausmac. Premise and title taken from the "Starsky and Hutch" episode "Coffin For Starsky."
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
“This isn’t the Arms.”
“Eyes still work, I see.” Gene switched off the engine. “Nelson doesn’t serve food anymore do to a few...unsavory incidents in the past. This place is the next best thing.” Gene tried to ignore Sam’s slowing pace as he followed his deputy inside the Bull and Carriage. The barman gave them a friendly nod as he chatted with one of the regulars. “So then, Tyler, what’ll it be?”
“Chicken in a basket?” Sam leaned heavily on the counter.
“I see the poison hasn’t attacked your sense of humor, yet.”
“Actually, it probably gave me one,” Sam stared hard at the menu, absently rubbing a hand across his stomach. “I don’t know, Guv. Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Stomach upset?”
Sam pulled himself onto the bar stool. “No. But sicking up is about the only thing I haven’t done yet and I would like to keep it that way.”
“Keep it simple then. Make a good sausage an’ mash here. Never seen a good sausage turn a man’s stomach before.”
“Sure,” Sam shrugged then winced for no apparent.
“Go get us a table then, Tyler.”
“Yes Guv.” Sam shuffled away with such a painfully defeated stride, movement so devoid of his usual confidence and swagger, that Gene had to look away.
*
“At the rate you’re going, I’ll be more fit to drive us back to the station.”
“A man has a right to a decent drink with his meal.”
“We haven’t even gotten our food yet.”
“I’ve got to do something while we wait, haven’t I? We’re in a pub. Makes perfect sense that something should be drinking.”
“You’re going to die before you’re fifty, I swear,” Sam shook his head.
“Nonsense. Constitution of a lion, that’s me.”
“A smoking, drinking, grease-eating, lion of corpulence.”
“I’m going to let that slide, Tyler, seeing’s how--”
“I’m dying. Yeah.” Sam slouched back against the wall, loosely crossing arms. “I don’t need you to keep reminding me, Gene. The pain is doing a fine job of that on it’s own.”
Tyler’s mood swings were enough trouble on the best of days but even on his worst, things had never been this bad. One minute he was the normal picky pain, the next he’d be tearing Gene’s head off, and a second later he could be laughing like a little girl, or sobbing like one. It unnerved Gene. How was he supposed to handle it? With kid-gloves? Sam kept insisting he shouldn’t be treated any differently but then looked mortally wounded over a good-natured jab. He knew the stress the lad must be under.
Gene sipped his pint. Actually, he didn’t. He’d never even been close to dying before. He came near with Reg Cole but that was different. The three of them had all been in there together, all going through the same exact process. As much as he told himself he wasn’t, Sam was on his own through this. Trying to solve a case, stay focused, all the while slowly succumbing to more and more pain, Gene couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Sam. He didn’t know how to ask him, either. It was all too, bloody emotional for the Gene Genie.
He set down the pint glass. “Sam.”
“Hm? What?” Sam rubbed his eyes, fighting off the drowsiness.
Christ, had the boy been asleep? Gene had another drink. “Anyone you need Cartwright to call? Back in Hyde or...”
“Well I’m not really going to die, am I Guv? So we don’t have to worry about that.” Sam forced himself to sit up a little straighter in the booth.
“I know that but--”
“Is our food here yet?” Sam looked around the uncrowded pub. “I am starting to feel a bit hungry.”
“Sam, I’m trying to--”
“Well don’t,” he snapped, then immediately looked ashamed, covering his face with his hand. The food arrived just in time. Gene dove into his steak and ale pie as Sam carefully unwrapped his cutlery, laid the napkin across his lap, and started poking at the food with his fork.
“Alright?” Gene asked when Sam had yet to actually taste his food.
“Yeah. It smells pretty good, surprisingly.”
“Told yeh. Best sausage an’ mash in the county.” Gene devoured another bite of his pie, washing it down with a good bit of bitter.
Sam began to delicately cut into the first sausage, prepared to take a bite, when he froze. Gene looked down at Tyler’s plate and saw a small bit of red on top of the food. Sam’s nose was bleeding again and had dripped right on the bite he was going to eat.
“We can pick that part off--” Gene started but silenced himself as Sam furiously chucked his knife and fork onto the table. He thought the fit was over until Sam suddenly gave into his bottled up rage and shoved the plate of food off the table, letting it crash and splatter all over the floor.
If he had been anyone other than DCI Hunt, the owner would have kicked them out and banned them immediately.
“Let’s go Sam,” Gene rose and tried to take Tyler by the elbow but Sam wrestled out of his grasp.
“Why won’t they tell me what’s going on?” He shouted and Gene had never been more thankful for an empty pub. “No one will talk to me. Why won’t they say anything? Where are they?”
“We’re leaving. Sam, c’mon.” Taking great effort to control his DI without causing him any more damage, Gene bundled him out the door and over to the Cortina, where Sam broke free again.
“This is their fault!” He continued to rage. “They must have screwed up my medication or tried another test. I just...” Sam didn’t have the strength to maintain the outburst but he tried anyway.
“Let’s get in the car, Sammy.” Tyler’s normal funny turns and the life-threatening drug were not mixing well and Gene knew he had to get him out of the public eye.
“I just want to wake up,” he wept. “I just...” and he fainted.
“Shit.” Gene couldn’t get there in time to catch him but scooped his limp body off the concrete and laid him out in the backseat of the car.
“Alpha One to Eight-Seven-Zero. Come in Eight-Seven-Zero.”
Gene reluctantly left Sam as he moved to the front to grab the radio. “What is it Phyllis?”
“DS Carling and WDC Cartwright think they may have a lead on that assailant what attacked the Boss.”
Gene could have made love to his radio right then, if they had the time. “Phyllis, you are a gorgeous bird and I would kiss you on the mouth if I weren’t afraid of catchin’ something.”
“Right back at yeh, Guv. Alpha One out.”
“Hear that, Sammy-boy? May be hope for you yet,” Gene looked back to see Tyler still passed out, his breathing shallow and irregular, his face so young. Too young for the horrors of this job. Unconscious like that, Gene thought Sam would’ve made a better footballer or a chef. Anything that didn’t involve life or death situations.
This wasn’t a job for boys like Tyler and Skelton. It was a job for tough men, rough men, like him and Carling. Men who could get down in the gutters and scrape up the scum. Men who had nothing else to offer society. Men who could be replaced.
“Hang on Sam. We’re going to fix this.”
*
Tyler began to groan by the time the Cortina pulled up to the station.
“Sam?”
He groaned again. Gene switched off the engine and immediately left the car, opening the back door and helping Sam sit up.
“How’re you feeling?”
Sam leaned forward, keeping his eyes shut and rubbing his head, blood smeared beneath his nose and on his chin. “Like I was hit by a lorry then dunked in the canal. My head is swimming.”
Gene felt his forehead and this time Sam didn’t push him away, instead leaning gently into the touch. “Think your fever kicked it up a notch.”
“Bam.”
“What?”
“Sorry. I can barely tell you my own name right now. I wouldn’t take anything I say seriously.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. Never do normally.” Sam smiled. Gene noticed he still hadn’t moved his hand. He lowered it to Sam’s shoulder instead. If he let go, he thought he might lose him. “Good news for you, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Looks like that team of ours may have come up with a lead.”
“Oh. Good.” Sam began to notice his surroundings. “When did we get back to the station?”
“You fainted, like a little girl, remember?”
“Sort of. Not really. I’m still hungry.”
“We’ll fix you up with something from canteen.”
“It really is my lucky day.”
“C’mon. Let’s go find out what Raymondo and Flash Knickers have got for us.” Gene stood and offered a hand to Sam, which the man didn’t immediately take.
“Guv? Is...” Sam didn’t finish his question, or he didn’t want to.
“Out with it Tyler.”
“Is it going to matter?”
“Sounds like there should be an ‘if’ in there somewhere.”
Sam took a deep breath, staring at his hands. “If we find him?”
“Course it will.”
“The note...the note didn’t say anything about there being an antidote. A cure. What if waste all this time finding him and it doesn’t matter in the end?”
Gene had never even considered that option before. The path had seemed so clear to the DCI. His DI was poisoned. The pisser that did it would have the cure. They’d find the tosser. Sam would get the cure. Drinks at the pub by five. “Well we can’t know that for sure if we don’t catch ‘im, will we?”
The words did little to comfort the sullen DI. Gene couldn’t blame him. That simple possibility that it may all be hopeless no matter what, it wasn’t very comforting to Gene either. “Tyler, you said earlier you wanted the team to keep a clear head, well the same goes for you. Every time you throw a fit, you get worse. I know...this whole thing is just shite but I need you to do your best to keep it together. Can you do that?” Sam didn’t answer. “If you want them to fight for you, they need to see you fightin’ for yourself.”
“They still think it’s a hoax,” he said tiredly.
“Then we better go set ‘em straight.”
Sam nodded and moved to stand.
“Wait.” Gene pulled out his backup handkerchief and started cleaning the blood off Sam’s face. “Can’t have you waltzin’ in there like some man-eating zombie from the black lagoon.”
Once it was all cleared, Gene stuffed the hanky away and Sam used the frame of the Cortina to get to his feet. His balance and coordination were notably worse than before. Gene remembered the note had said Tyler would have “no more than” thirty-six hours to live. At the rate Sam was going, it was looking like it could be significantly less than that.
________
Part 6
Author: dak
Word Count: 1844 this part; [8306 overall]
Rating: blue cortina
Pairing: some heavy-handed Sam/Gene wink-wink/nudge-nudge, but no direct slashing of the boys
Warnings: angst, just a teeny-tiny bit o' blood
Spoilers: Set after 2.02, 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: This is a response to a plot bunny posted by ausmac. Premise and title taken from the "Starsky and Hutch" episode "Coffin For Starsky."
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
“This isn’t the Arms.”
“Eyes still work, I see.” Gene switched off the engine. “Nelson doesn’t serve food anymore do to a few...unsavory incidents in the past. This place is the next best thing.” Gene tried to ignore Sam’s slowing pace as he followed his deputy inside the Bull and Carriage. The barman gave them a friendly nod as he chatted with one of the regulars. “So then, Tyler, what’ll it be?”
“Chicken in a basket?” Sam leaned heavily on the counter.
“I see the poison hasn’t attacked your sense of humor, yet.”
“Actually, it probably gave me one,” Sam stared hard at the menu, absently rubbing a hand across his stomach. “I don’t know, Guv. Maybe I shouldn’t.”
“Eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Stomach upset?”
Sam pulled himself onto the bar stool. “No. But sicking up is about the only thing I haven’t done yet and I would like to keep it that way.”
“Keep it simple then. Make a good sausage an’ mash here. Never seen a good sausage turn a man’s stomach before.”
“Sure,” Sam shrugged then winced for no apparent.
“Go get us a table then, Tyler.”
“Yes Guv.” Sam shuffled away with such a painfully defeated stride, movement so devoid of his usual confidence and swagger, that Gene had to look away.
*
“At the rate you’re going, I’ll be more fit to drive us back to the station.”
“A man has a right to a decent drink with his meal.”
“We haven’t even gotten our food yet.”
“I’ve got to do something while we wait, haven’t I? We’re in a pub. Makes perfect sense that something should be drinking.”
“You’re going to die before you’re fifty, I swear,” Sam shook his head.
“Nonsense. Constitution of a lion, that’s me.”
“A smoking, drinking, grease-eating, lion of corpulence.”
“I’m going to let that slide, Tyler, seeing’s how--”
“I’m dying. Yeah.” Sam slouched back against the wall, loosely crossing arms. “I don’t need you to keep reminding me, Gene. The pain is doing a fine job of that on it’s own.”
Tyler’s mood swings were enough trouble on the best of days but even on his worst, things had never been this bad. One minute he was the normal picky pain, the next he’d be tearing Gene’s head off, and a second later he could be laughing like a little girl, or sobbing like one. It unnerved Gene. How was he supposed to handle it? With kid-gloves? Sam kept insisting he shouldn’t be treated any differently but then looked mortally wounded over a good-natured jab. He knew the stress the lad must be under.
Gene sipped his pint. Actually, he didn’t. He’d never even been close to dying before. He came near with Reg Cole but that was different. The three of them had all been in there together, all going through the same exact process. As much as he told himself he wasn’t, Sam was on his own through this. Trying to solve a case, stay focused, all the while slowly succumbing to more and more pain, Gene couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Sam. He didn’t know how to ask him, either. It was all too, bloody emotional for the Gene Genie.
He set down the pint glass. “Sam.”
“Hm? What?” Sam rubbed his eyes, fighting off the drowsiness.
Christ, had the boy been asleep? Gene had another drink. “Anyone you need Cartwright to call? Back in Hyde or...”
“Well I’m not really going to die, am I Guv? So we don’t have to worry about that.” Sam forced himself to sit up a little straighter in the booth.
“I know that but--”
“Is our food here yet?” Sam looked around the uncrowded pub. “I am starting to feel a bit hungry.”
“Sam, I’m trying to--”
“Well don’t,” he snapped, then immediately looked ashamed, covering his face with his hand. The food arrived just in time. Gene dove into his steak and ale pie as Sam carefully unwrapped his cutlery, laid the napkin across his lap, and started poking at the food with his fork.
“Alright?” Gene asked when Sam had yet to actually taste his food.
“Yeah. It smells pretty good, surprisingly.”
“Told yeh. Best sausage an’ mash in the county.” Gene devoured another bite of his pie, washing it down with a good bit of bitter.
Sam began to delicately cut into the first sausage, prepared to take a bite, when he froze. Gene looked down at Tyler’s plate and saw a small bit of red on top of the food. Sam’s nose was bleeding again and had dripped right on the bite he was going to eat.
“We can pick that part off--” Gene started but silenced himself as Sam furiously chucked his knife and fork onto the table. He thought the fit was over until Sam suddenly gave into his bottled up rage and shoved the plate of food off the table, letting it crash and splatter all over the floor.
If he had been anyone other than DCI Hunt, the owner would have kicked them out and banned them immediately.
“Let’s go Sam,” Gene rose and tried to take Tyler by the elbow but Sam wrestled out of his grasp.
“Why won’t they tell me what’s going on?” He shouted and Gene had never been more thankful for an empty pub. “No one will talk to me. Why won’t they say anything? Where are they?”
“We’re leaving. Sam, c’mon.” Taking great effort to control his DI without causing him any more damage, Gene bundled him out the door and over to the Cortina, where Sam broke free again.
“This is their fault!” He continued to rage. “They must have screwed up my medication or tried another test. I just...” Sam didn’t have the strength to maintain the outburst but he tried anyway.
“Let’s get in the car, Sammy.” Tyler’s normal funny turns and the life-threatening drug were not mixing well and Gene knew he had to get him out of the public eye.
“I just want to wake up,” he wept. “I just...” and he fainted.
“Shit.” Gene couldn’t get there in time to catch him but scooped his limp body off the concrete and laid him out in the backseat of the car.
“Alpha One to Eight-Seven-Zero. Come in Eight-Seven-Zero.”
Gene reluctantly left Sam as he moved to the front to grab the radio. “What is it Phyllis?”
“DS Carling and WDC Cartwright think they may have a lead on that assailant what attacked the Boss.”
Gene could have made love to his radio right then, if they had the time. “Phyllis, you are a gorgeous bird and I would kiss you on the mouth if I weren’t afraid of catchin’ something.”
“Right back at yeh, Guv. Alpha One out.”
“Hear that, Sammy-boy? May be hope for you yet,” Gene looked back to see Tyler still passed out, his breathing shallow and irregular, his face so young. Too young for the horrors of this job. Unconscious like that, Gene thought Sam would’ve made a better footballer or a chef. Anything that didn’t involve life or death situations.
This wasn’t a job for boys like Tyler and Skelton. It was a job for tough men, rough men, like him and Carling. Men who could get down in the gutters and scrape up the scum. Men who had nothing else to offer society. Men who could be replaced.
“Hang on Sam. We’re going to fix this.”
*
Tyler began to groan by the time the Cortina pulled up to the station.
“Sam?”
He groaned again. Gene switched off the engine and immediately left the car, opening the back door and helping Sam sit up.
“How’re you feeling?”
Sam leaned forward, keeping his eyes shut and rubbing his head, blood smeared beneath his nose and on his chin. “Like I was hit by a lorry then dunked in the canal. My head is swimming.”
Gene felt his forehead and this time Sam didn’t push him away, instead leaning gently into the touch. “Think your fever kicked it up a notch.”
“Bam.”
“What?”
“Sorry. I can barely tell you my own name right now. I wouldn’t take anything I say seriously.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard. Never do normally.” Sam smiled. Gene noticed he still hadn’t moved his hand. He lowered it to Sam’s shoulder instead. If he let go, he thought he might lose him. “Good news for you, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Looks like that team of ours may have come up with a lead.”
“Oh. Good.” Sam began to notice his surroundings. “When did we get back to the station?”
“You fainted, like a little girl, remember?”
“Sort of. Not really. I’m still hungry.”
“We’ll fix you up with something from canteen.”
“It really is my lucky day.”
“C’mon. Let’s go find out what Raymondo and Flash Knickers have got for us.” Gene stood and offered a hand to Sam, which the man didn’t immediately take.
“Guv? Is...” Sam didn’t finish his question, or he didn’t want to.
“Out with it Tyler.”
“Is it going to matter?”
“Sounds like there should be an ‘if’ in there somewhere.”
Sam took a deep breath, staring at his hands. “If we find him?”
“Course it will.”
“The note...the note didn’t say anything about there being an antidote. A cure. What if waste all this time finding him and it doesn’t matter in the end?”
Gene had never even considered that option before. The path had seemed so clear to the DCI. His DI was poisoned. The pisser that did it would have the cure. They’d find the tosser. Sam would get the cure. Drinks at the pub by five. “Well we can’t know that for sure if we don’t catch ‘im, will we?”
The words did little to comfort the sullen DI. Gene couldn’t blame him. That simple possibility that it may all be hopeless no matter what, it wasn’t very comforting to Gene either. “Tyler, you said earlier you wanted the team to keep a clear head, well the same goes for you. Every time you throw a fit, you get worse. I know...this whole thing is just shite but I need you to do your best to keep it together. Can you do that?” Sam didn’t answer. “If you want them to fight for you, they need to see you fightin’ for yourself.”
“They still think it’s a hoax,” he said tiredly.
“Then we better go set ‘em straight.”
Sam nodded and moved to stand.
“Wait.” Gene pulled out his backup handkerchief and started cleaning the blood off Sam’s face. “Can’t have you waltzin’ in there like some man-eating zombie from the black lagoon.”
Once it was all cleared, Gene stuffed the hanky away and Sam used the frame of the Cortina to get to his feet. His balance and coordination were notably worse than before. Gene remembered the note had said Tyler would have “no more than” thirty-six hours to live. At the rate Sam was going, it was looking like it could be significantly less than that.
________
Part 6