Fic: Coffin For Sam (6/13), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Coffin For Sam (6/13)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2067 this part; [10,373 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." Crikey. I really hadn't meant this to get over 10,000 words. Who keeps feeding the bunny? Raise your hands. I need someone to blame.
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
“You alright?”
“D’you...really want me...to answer...that?”
“Relatively speaking, then.”
“Just...out of breath.”
They’d reached the top of the station steps. Gene held open the door as Sam leaned against the front wall, making no effort to continue inside. “Christ, Gladys, ‘m not goin’ to carry you over the threshold. Get your arse inside.”
Instead of a snide remark, Sam simply nodded and stumbled through the doorway. Stumbled so much, Gene had to immediately catch him to prevent him from falling down for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. Sam was heavier than he looked and hoisting him around had started taking a toll on Gene’s own physicality as well.
As Tyler struggled to regain his balance, Hunt struggled to hold him upright, each muttering their own string of taunts and curses as their tangled limbs blocked the entrance to the station. Finally, each man seemed able to stand on his own two feet and they were able to extricate themselves from each other, though Gene kept his hands firmly on Tyler’s shoulders.
“I feel dizzy.”
“Probably hungry. What d’you want to eat?”
“Anything I won’t bleed on,” Sam moped.
“Care to be more specific?”
Sam stared at his feet, in silent thought for just a moment, before slowly lifting his head, chewing on his lower lip almost hopefully. “Treacle sponge?”
It was Gene’s turn to sigh. “You are not eating treacle sponge for lunch.”
“Oh, c’mon Guv. I’m dying here.”
“Will you eat the whole thing?”
“Yes.”
“With a sandwich?”
“Ham?”
“Phyllis...” but Gene didn’t even need to call her name to get the Desk Sergeant’s attention. She’d been staring at them open-mouthed from the moment they blundered through the doors. “Get a plonk to bring us a ham sandwich--”
“And a treacle sponge,” Sam interjected.
“I know, bloody tosser. And a treacle sponge to--”
“With mint custard?”
“You’ll get what you’ll get and you’ll eat it. Now, Sammy go wait by the lift while the grown-ups talk.”
“Yes, Guv.” Sam slowly strolled away, pressing the button for the lift. When Gene saw that familiar, little grin, he knew Sam had been winding him up, not that he needed any confirmation. Gene approached the Phyllis, whose face was not one of amusement but of horror.
“They said it were just a trick, Guv,” she whispered, stealing glances at DI Tyler.
“Yeah well, we thought it was.” Gene’s own eyes followed DS Dobbs’ and saw that Sam was nearly falling asleep standing up. “He hasn’t eaten all day. Get a plonk, preferably a decent lookin’ bird, to bring us up a ham sandwich an’ treacle sponge to CID.” Gene turned to leave, then doubled back, almost forgetting. “With mint custard.”
“Right away, Guv.” Phyllis was immediately on the phone, barking orders to the canteen.
The metal doors slid open on Gene’s arrival, just as they should he decided, and Sam followed him inside. As soon as the lift started to move up, Tyler started to go down.
“Ohhh...” he moaned, crouching done in the corner and tucking his head between his knees, fingers laced behind his neck.
“Oh now you’re just being silly,” Gene griped but went to help him up anyway.
“It’s...it’s the movement. The lift...like being seasick. But worse.”
“It’s three bloody floors and the stairs would’ve killed yeh. We’ll be there in mo.” Gene didn’t remember doing it but he was kneeling down by his deputy’s side, rubbing his back and whispering to him that he’d be just fine. He wasn’t sure Sam heard him. True to the Guv’s word, the lift soon stopped at the third floor and, has had become custom over the day, Gene helped Sam up and out.
CID was as loud as ever, the sounds of laughter, arguments, and football echoing over the walls and into the corridor. Gene prayed that they had taken his words seriously. They would have a lot to answer for if they hadn’t.
Sam kept his eyes closed as Gene guided him to the bullpen door. He had to hunch down and throw Sam’s arm over his neck to give the lad the proper amount of support he needed now. Gene knew this. He could do this. They’d done it as part of their training in the service.
So as per usual, Hunt and Tyler entered CID side by side, just not in the manner expected of them. For all the noise they had been making moments before, the room became deadly silent as the officers witnessed their DCI hauling the very weakened body of their DI down the path to Tyler’s desk.
“I need to sit down,” Sam whispered in distress.
“Almost there,” Gene answered back. “C’mon Sammy,” he said in an even lower voice. “You’ve gotta fight back.”
Sam nodded and tried to place more weight on his feet. The room stayed still as they finally reached Sam’s desk. Instead of a sigh of relief, Sam let out an involuntary hiss of pain as he was placed in his chair.
Gene squeezed his shoulder. “Food’ll be up in a minute, okay? Think you can still eat it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Sam nodded his head, setting off another nosebleed.
“Shit,” Gene cursed as blood started to drip on the picky pain’s orderly desktop. “Who’s got a clean handkerchief?”
No one moved. Sam held his hand to his face in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding.
“I asked for a goddamned handkerchief!” He bellowed with all his might and Ray stepped forward, holding one out. Gene ripped it out of his Sergeant’s hand and placed it over Sam’s face, clearing Tyler’s hand away, then replacing it on top of the fresh hanky. “Hold it there. Can you do that Sam?”
Sam agreed with a weak, half-nod and Gene reluctantly pulled his hand away from Sam’s.
“It...” Ray started, “it’s not a joke, then.”
“This,” Gene demanded in an icy tone, “better be a damn good lead.”
*
Carling, Skelton, and Cartwright were all gathered round Sam as he obediently picked at his food. Gene would’ve rather discussed the new developments in the privacy of his office but Sam would want to know what was going on and Gene did want him moving again for a long period of time.
“What did you find?” Sam asked after a bite of treacle, which he had to eat first, he swore, so that it wouldn’t get cold. Gene could easily imagine Tyler as a child. Probably had his mummy wrapped right around his skinny little finger.
The three officers were speechless as they watched DI Tyler slowly spoon more treacle and custard into his mouth but Sam was watching them right back, and so rolled his eyes, and set down the spoon.
“Yes. I’m dying. Clearly, I’m not dead yet, an act we can stop from happening if you focus on doing your jobs. You’re all detectives. You can all figure this out, if you work at it. Even Ray.”
“Oi,” Carling sneered, offended but not stupid enough to hit their failing DI in front of their DCI.
“We were looking through DI Tyler’s old cases,” Cartwright cut in. “Since we seemed to have ruled out all the obvious possibilities, we decided to look into those that would be less so,” she handed the file in her hand to Gene.
“Pete Bond?” He read off the tab. “That stupid piece of United scum who tried to get City blamed for murder?”
“That stupid United scum had you believing City was at fault,” Sam took pleasure in reminding him.
“Trust you to stick with your own kind. So what has Burns got to do with any of this?”
Cartwright reached behind her and picked another paper off a nearby desk. “He was assaulted in gaol three weeks ago,” she revealed handed over the record. “Roughed up badly. Even had to spend a few nights in hospital. His brother filed a complaint against the city claiming gross negligence led to the attack.”
“And let me guess, the city told ‘im to shove his gripe up the wrong end of ‘is stool shoot.” Gene was sick of those whinging relatives who couldn’t handle that their darling kith and kin were filth and while in gaol would be treated as such.
“Spot on, Guv,” Ray nodded.
“And this is helpful how?” Sam asked, adjusting uncomfortably in his chair as he prepared to taste his freshly prepared ham sandwich.
“Bond's brother is a licensed chemist,” Chris told them.
“He even teaches a class on pharmaceuticals at the Polytechnic,” Annie elaborated.
Gene and Sam moved at the same time, only Sam was forced back in his chair as soon as the Guv realized his intentions.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To bring him in,” Sam tried to stand.
“Half hour ago you were crying cos the lift made you woozy.” Gene held him down. “And you still haven’t finished your lunch.”
“It’s a sandwich. I’ll take it with me.”
“You’re staying.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes. You are.”
“Actually...” Ray coughed and got their attention. “You can both stay. We’ve already got ‘im in Lost and Found.”
Sheriff and deputy stared wide-eyed at the Sergeant.
“You brought him in already? Even though you thought it was a hoax?” If Sam wasn’t in shock before, he certainly was now.
All three detectives shrugged.
“Guv sounded like ‘e wanted us to take this seriously. Beat workin’ on that Hawkins mess,” Ray tried to downplay their actions.
“An’ I don’t want to be castrated yet,” Chris informed them. “ ‘M not even married.”
“Ray, you an’ Chris go get our suspect ready for interrogation. Cartwright, wait in the corridor. I’ll speak to you in a mo.” Gene waited for them to depart before turning back to Sam. “You’re not goin’ in there.”
“I had a feeling you might say that,” Sam smiled knowingly, pushing his sandwich around on the plate.
“You know you need to take it easy.”
“Gene I--”
“Name one part of you that’s not in pain right now, Tyler.”
Sam couldn’t answer and couldn’t stifle the shudder of pain that took that inopportune moment to course through his body.
“You look like shite.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Bags under your eyes size of me wife’s knickers, an’ she ain’t a size six no more. You’ve ‘ad food. Now you need some kip.”
“It’s only four-thirty,” Sam’s brain might be arguing but his body seemed pleased at the prospect of rest.
“I’ll wake you when it’s over. C’mon.” Gene helped him to his feet than allowed his own body to be used as a human crutch as he walked Sam out into the hall, past the concerned Annie, and into the locker room. Sam allowed himself to be placed on the ratty sofa and the soft fabric and dip in the cushions were already causing his eyes to shut. “Jacket off or on?”
“Leave it on,” Sam mumbled and hugged the leather closer to him as Gene helped him lay down, making sure the good pillow was under his head and, despite all his protests, Gladys was asleep as soon as he was horizontal. Gene took the opportunity to check his temperature again and damn it if the poor boy wasn’t hotter. As much as Sam might fight it, a trip back to hospital was in his near future.
Certain as he could be that Tyler was comfortable, Gene left him alone in the room and sought out Annie. “Cartwright.”
“Yes Guv?” She was by his side in a flash.
“You may not like it but I need you to play nursemaid for awhile. Dorothy’s in there sleepin’ but I need someone to keep an eye on ‘im an’ you’re the closest thing we’ve got to proper medical attention.”
“Yes sir.” She accepted her duty graciously and Gene was thankful that women’s liberation shite that got her in the force to begin with wasn’t keeping her from taking orders.
“You need me, you know where we’ll be.”
A muffled thud emanated from lost property.
“I’ll keep him safe, sir.”
“Good girl.” Not that she wasn’t a half-decent detective when she put her mind to it. Gene watched her disappear into the locker room then let his glare turn cold as he focused it on Lost and Found, desperate to forget that exactly one day from now, he could be a man down.
______
Part 7
Author: dak
Word Count: 2067 this part; [10,373 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." Crikey. I really hadn't meant this to get over 10,000 words. Who keeps feeding the bunny? Raise your hands. I need someone to blame.
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
“You alright?”
“D’you...really want me...to answer...that?”
“Relatively speaking, then.”
“Just...out of breath.”
They’d reached the top of the station steps. Gene held open the door as Sam leaned against the front wall, making no effort to continue inside. “Christ, Gladys, ‘m not goin’ to carry you over the threshold. Get your arse inside.”
Instead of a snide remark, Sam simply nodded and stumbled through the doorway. Stumbled so much, Gene had to immediately catch him to prevent him from falling down for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. Sam was heavier than he looked and hoisting him around had started taking a toll on Gene’s own physicality as well.
As Tyler struggled to regain his balance, Hunt struggled to hold him upright, each muttering their own string of taunts and curses as their tangled limbs blocked the entrance to the station. Finally, each man seemed able to stand on his own two feet and they were able to extricate themselves from each other, though Gene kept his hands firmly on Tyler’s shoulders.
“I feel dizzy.”
“Probably hungry. What d’you want to eat?”
“Anything I won’t bleed on,” Sam moped.
“Care to be more specific?”
Sam stared at his feet, in silent thought for just a moment, before slowly lifting his head, chewing on his lower lip almost hopefully. “Treacle sponge?”
It was Gene’s turn to sigh. “You are not eating treacle sponge for lunch.”
“Oh, c’mon Guv. I’m dying here.”
“Will you eat the whole thing?”
“Yes.”
“With a sandwich?”
“Ham?”
“Phyllis...” but Gene didn’t even need to call her name to get the Desk Sergeant’s attention. She’d been staring at them open-mouthed from the moment they blundered through the doors. “Get a plonk to bring us a ham sandwich--”
“And a treacle sponge,” Sam interjected.
“I know, bloody tosser. And a treacle sponge to--”
“With mint custard?”
“You’ll get what you’ll get and you’ll eat it. Now, Sammy go wait by the lift while the grown-ups talk.”
“Yes, Guv.” Sam slowly strolled away, pressing the button for the lift. When Gene saw that familiar, little grin, he knew Sam had been winding him up, not that he needed any confirmation. Gene approached the Phyllis, whose face was not one of amusement but of horror.
“They said it were just a trick, Guv,” she whispered, stealing glances at DI Tyler.
“Yeah well, we thought it was.” Gene’s own eyes followed DS Dobbs’ and saw that Sam was nearly falling asleep standing up. “He hasn’t eaten all day. Get a plonk, preferably a decent lookin’ bird, to bring us up a ham sandwich an’ treacle sponge to CID.” Gene turned to leave, then doubled back, almost forgetting. “With mint custard.”
“Right away, Guv.” Phyllis was immediately on the phone, barking orders to the canteen.
The metal doors slid open on Gene’s arrival, just as they should he decided, and Sam followed him inside. As soon as the lift started to move up, Tyler started to go down.
“Ohhh...” he moaned, crouching done in the corner and tucking his head between his knees, fingers laced behind his neck.
“Oh now you’re just being silly,” Gene griped but went to help him up anyway.
“It’s...it’s the movement. The lift...like being seasick. But worse.”
“It’s three bloody floors and the stairs would’ve killed yeh. We’ll be there in mo.” Gene didn’t remember doing it but he was kneeling down by his deputy’s side, rubbing his back and whispering to him that he’d be just fine. He wasn’t sure Sam heard him. True to the Guv’s word, the lift soon stopped at the third floor and, has had become custom over the day, Gene helped Sam up and out.
CID was as loud as ever, the sounds of laughter, arguments, and football echoing over the walls and into the corridor. Gene prayed that they had taken his words seriously. They would have a lot to answer for if they hadn’t.
Sam kept his eyes closed as Gene guided him to the bullpen door. He had to hunch down and throw Sam’s arm over his neck to give the lad the proper amount of support he needed now. Gene knew this. He could do this. They’d done it as part of their training in the service.
So as per usual, Hunt and Tyler entered CID side by side, just not in the manner expected of them. For all the noise they had been making moments before, the room became deadly silent as the officers witnessed their DCI hauling the very weakened body of their DI down the path to Tyler’s desk.
“I need to sit down,” Sam whispered in distress.
“Almost there,” Gene answered back. “C’mon Sammy,” he said in an even lower voice. “You’ve gotta fight back.”
Sam nodded and tried to place more weight on his feet. The room stayed still as they finally reached Sam’s desk. Instead of a sigh of relief, Sam let out an involuntary hiss of pain as he was placed in his chair.
Gene squeezed his shoulder. “Food’ll be up in a minute, okay? Think you can still eat it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Sam nodded his head, setting off another nosebleed.
“Shit,” Gene cursed as blood started to drip on the picky pain’s orderly desktop. “Who’s got a clean handkerchief?”
No one moved. Sam held his hand to his face in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding.
“I asked for a goddamned handkerchief!” He bellowed with all his might and Ray stepped forward, holding one out. Gene ripped it out of his Sergeant’s hand and placed it over Sam’s face, clearing Tyler’s hand away, then replacing it on top of the fresh hanky. “Hold it there. Can you do that Sam?”
Sam agreed with a weak, half-nod and Gene reluctantly pulled his hand away from Sam’s.
“It...” Ray started, “it’s not a joke, then.”
“This,” Gene demanded in an icy tone, “better be a damn good lead.”
*
Carling, Skelton, and Cartwright were all gathered round Sam as he obediently picked at his food. Gene would’ve rather discussed the new developments in the privacy of his office but Sam would want to know what was going on and Gene did want him moving again for a long period of time.
“What did you find?” Sam asked after a bite of treacle, which he had to eat first, he swore, so that it wouldn’t get cold. Gene could easily imagine Tyler as a child. Probably had his mummy wrapped right around his skinny little finger.
The three officers were speechless as they watched DI Tyler slowly spoon more treacle and custard into his mouth but Sam was watching them right back, and so rolled his eyes, and set down the spoon.
“Yes. I’m dying. Clearly, I’m not dead yet, an act we can stop from happening if you focus on doing your jobs. You’re all detectives. You can all figure this out, if you work at it. Even Ray.”
“Oi,” Carling sneered, offended but not stupid enough to hit their failing DI in front of their DCI.
“We were looking through DI Tyler’s old cases,” Cartwright cut in. “Since we seemed to have ruled out all the obvious possibilities, we decided to look into those that would be less so,” she handed the file in her hand to Gene.
“Pete Bond?” He read off the tab. “That stupid piece of United scum who tried to get City blamed for murder?”
“That stupid United scum had you believing City was at fault,” Sam took pleasure in reminding him.
“Trust you to stick with your own kind. So what has Burns got to do with any of this?”
Cartwright reached behind her and picked another paper off a nearby desk. “He was assaulted in gaol three weeks ago,” she revealed handed over the record. “Roughed up badly. Even had to spend a few nights in hospital. His brother filed a complaint against the city claiming gross negligence led to the attack.”
“And let me guess, the city told ‘im to shove his gripe up the wrong end of ‘is stool shoot.” Gene was sick of those whinging relatives who couldn’t handle that their darling kith and kin were filth and while in gaol would be treated as such.
“Spot on, Guv,” Ray nodded.
“And this is helpful how?” Sam asked, adjusting uncomfortably in his chair as he prepared to taste his freshly prepared ham sandwich.
“Bond's brother is a licensed chemist,” Chris told them.
“He even teaches a class on pharmaceuticals at the Polytechnic,” Annie elaborated.
Gene and Sam moved at the same time, only Sam was forced back in his chair as soon as the Guv realized his intentions.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To bring him in,” Sam tried to stand.
“Half hour ago you were crying cos the lift made you woozy.” Gene held him down. “And you still haven’t finished your lunch.”
“It’s a sandwich. I’ll take it with me.”
“You’re staying.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes. You are.”
“Actually...” Ray coughed and got their attention. “You can both stay. We’ve already got ‘im in Lost and Found.”
Sheriff and deputy stared wide-eyed at the Sergeant.
“You brought him in already? Even though you thought it was a hoax?” If Sam wasn’t in shock before, he certainly was now.
All three detectives shrugged.
“Guv sounded like ‘e wanted us to take this seriously. Beat workin’ on that Hawkins mess,” Ray tried to downplay their actions.
“An’ I don’t want to be castrated yet,” Chris informed them. “ ‘M not even married.”
“Ray, you an’ Chris go get our suspect ready for interrogation. Cartwright, wait in the corridor. I’ll speak to you in a mo.” Gene waited for them to depart before turning back to Sam. “You’re not goin’ in there.”
“I had a feeling you might say that,” Sam smiled knowingly, pushing his sandwich around on the plate.
“You know you need to take it easy.”
“Gene I--”
“Name one part of you that’s not in pain right now, Tyler.”
Sam couldn’t answer and couldn’t stifle the shudder of pain that took that inopportune moment to course through his body.
“You look like shite.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Bags under your eyes size of me wife’s knickers, an’ she ain’t a size six no more. You’ve ‘ad food. Now you need some kip.”
“It’s only four-thirty,” Sam’s brain might be arguing but his body seemed pleased at the prospect of rest.
“I’ll wake you when it’s over. C’mon.” Gene helped him to his feet than allowed his own body to be used as a human crutch as he walked Sam out into the hall, past the concerned Annie, and into the locker room. Sam allowed himself to be placed on the ratty sofa and the soft fabric and dip in the cushions were already causing his eyes to shut. “Jacket off or on?”
“Leave it on,” Sam mumbled and hugged the leather closer to him as Gene helped him lay down, making sure the good pillow was under his head and, despite all his protests, Gladys was asleep as soon as he was horizontal. Gene took the opportunity to check his temperature again and damn it if the poor boy wasn’t hotter. As much as Sam might fight it, a trip back to hospital was in his near future.
Certain as he could be that Tyler was comfortable, Gene left him alone in the room and sought out Annie. “Cartwright.”
“Yes Guv?” She was by his side in a flash.
“You may not like it but I need you to play nursemaid for awhile. Dorothy’s in there sleepin’ but I need someone to keep an eye on ‘im an’ you’re the closest thing we’ve got to proper medical attention.”
“Yes sir.” She accepted her duty graciously and Gene was thankful that women’s liberation shite that got her in the force to begin with wasn’t keeping her from taking orders.
“You need me, you know where we’ll be.”
A muffled thud emanated from lost property.
“I’ll keep him safe, sir.”
“Good girl.” Not that she wasn’t a half-decent detective when she put her mind to it. Gene watched her disappear into the locker room then let his glare turn cold as he focused it on Lost and Found, desperate to forget that exactly one day from now, he could be a man down.
______
Part 7