Fic: Coffin For Sam (7/13), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Coffin For Sam (7/13)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1413 this part; [11,786 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." Didn't expect to have this done so early but who am I to argue with an inability to sleep past 9am and a bunny gnawing at my nerve endings?
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
He was fat, with annoying round glasses, and a tiny little mustache just like his brother’s. He was also bleeding from a roughed up nose. Gene didn’t care. It only served to remind him of what Sam was going through.
“I have been locked in this room for the better part of an hour and then this...man,” he sneered at Ray, “Barges in here and punches me with absolutely no warning? I would like a explanation for all this.”
“DC Skelton?” Gene was in full Guv mode. No room for arguments.
“Yes Guv.”
“I need you to check on WDC Cartwright. She’s in the locker room with DI Tyler. Make sure they have everything they need.” His eyes never left the doughy figure of Paul Bond.
“Yes sir.”
No room for arguments. No room for mercy. Chris didn’t need to see that. The door open and shut. Gene’s fist collided with a jaw.
“What in God’s name was that for?” The man asked wide-eyed, an effect aided by his glasses, as he sat back up in the chair rubbing the side of his face.
“For supportin’ United.”
“I don’t even pay attention to the football!”
Gene punched him again. “That’s for bein’ a downright girly bastard. Even Gladys watches football.”
The man sat up, rubbing the other side of his face. “Is that your wife?” He asked in all sincerity. Ray chuckled. Gene could only hit one of them at a time. He settled for Bond.
“Jesus Christ! I’ll answer your questions if you would simply ask them. There’s no need to keep hitting me.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Who?”
Gene rested both fists menancingly on the table.
“DI Tyler. What did you give him?”
“I don’t even know who DI Tyler is.”
Gene stood up straight. “Ray, hold him.”
“With pleasure, Guv.” The DS moved behind the chair and pinned back Bond's arms much to the man’s protest. Gene walked around the table and stared down at their suspect. The man was short to begin with and sitting down, Gene towered over him.
“You said you would answer my questions, Mr. Bond.”
“I-I will. I would if I knew what you were asking.”
“Your brother Pete’s in gaol, isn’t he?”
“This is about Peter?”
“Havin’ a rough go of it from what I heard.” Gene paced slowly back and forth. He was a lion, carefully examining his prey, and Bond knew it.
“There was a bad fight. Peter’s not as tough as he thinks he is.”
“So your little brother lands himself in hospital an’ you want compensation.”
“Not monetary, I--”
Gene laid it all out for him. “You go to the city but the city, rightly, doesn’t give a shit. So where does that leave you?”
“I-I don’t follow...”
“Why not blame the copper that put ‘im away?”
“Is that your DI Tyler?” Bond asked cautiously. Gene punched him in his overabundant gut.
“Oh! Clever little bastard we’ve got here, Raymondo.” Gene hit him again and again. Then hauled him from Ray’s grasp and chucked him against the wall, pinning him there. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. I swear! I didn’t even know the name of Peter’s arresting officer. I was attending a series of pharmaceutical conferences in the States. I was too ashamed of him to come home during the trial.”
“But you were upset when your brother got ‘imself roughed weren’t yeh? In a right state, I bet.” Gene whispered against his ear, more of a hiss than actual speech.
“I was concerned and upset, yes. With the way our gaols are being run! The ratio of prison guards to inmates is...well, it’s completely unacceptable to put it mildly. If there had been more guards on duty when the fight occurred it could have been stopped before Peter ended up with a cracked skull.”
Gene didn’t move from where he held him.
“Sir, my brother killed a man, a friend, over something so inane as a football match and that, well, it’s unforgivable. But I would appreciate if he could serve his time without having to worry for his life. Two deaths don’t make either right.”
Muffled shouting reverberated outside in the corridor. As it became louder and closer, it was soon obvious it was Chris shouting “Guv!” The door to Lost and Found burst open the minute the noise became clear. Chris was hysterical, panting wildly.
“Guv it’s--”
Gene didn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what it was about. He dropped Bond to the floor and raced to the locker room. His heart fell as he witnessed Tyler on the floor in the fetal position, shivering violently. Cartwright was by his side but she seemed as lost as Gene felt.
“I don’t know what happened sir,” she was nearly crying. Gene couldn’t blame her. “He was fine, then just had this massive fit and I can’t wake him.”
Gene resisted the urge to push Cartwright away as he, too, knelt by Sam’s side. “Ray!” He hadn’t needed to shout. Ray was standing right there. He shouted anyway. “Tell plod to lock up Bond. Get the keys and get the car started.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Ray was off, Cartwright was trying to wake him, and Chris looked lost. Gene could see that the lad must have felt useless. His mentor like this and nothing he could do. The Guv scooped the unresponsive Sam into his arms. “Chris, get the door for us. Then the lift.”
“Yes Guv.” Chris performed his job to perfection. Any officer on the third floor emerged from their hiding places to watch as DCI cradled his Inspector and ran him down the hall. To Gene it was mostly a blur. He gave the orders he needed to give. He didn’t let go of Sam. He kept his face hard. It was about all he could do.
The Cortina was already running when the trio, plus Sam, made it out of the station and down the steps. Chris opened the door for the Guv before hurrying in the front seat. Annie crawled in the back on the other side and Gene and Sam filled the last remaining space. The door was barely closed before Carling took off.
With nothing else, all Gene could do was look at Sam. He was wan and sweaty, lifeless except for the regular heartbeat and breathing. His nose had started bleeding again somewhere along the way. Gene knew it must have gotten on his shirt. Everything slowed in the car. All sounds were muted. Everything but his voice and Sam’s breathing.
“C’mon Sammy-boy. C’mon. We’re supposed to have another twenty-three hours yet. We need that time, okay? So stop bein’ such a twonk. You’re warm. You’re too warm,” Gene shook his head and started peeling off the leather jacket. Sam’s usually crisp and clean shirt was soaked in sweat, dotted with bloodstains from his nosebleeds and sore arm.
Gene held him tight in his lap with one arm and stroked his damp hair with the other. “Hang in there Sam. Fight it. You have to fight it.” How old was he? His face looked so young. Thirty-six? That wasn’t old enough. Not nearly. Sam was a boy. He was just a boy. He should be playing football with his mates. Chatting up girls and winning them over with that stupid, silly grin and that bastard big brain.
“Don’t do this to me Tyler. Don’t you dare.” Instead he was lying in some Neanderthal’s arms, shaking and sweating and quite simply dying. It wasn’t fair. “It’s not fair.” Gene held him tighter.
They made it to hospital. Gene moved mechanically, responsively, like how they had taught him in National Service. Out of the car. Into the hospital. Shouting orders. Sam was ripped from his arms by a group of doctors and nurses. Laid out on a bed. Taken away. All Gene could do was watch. At some point after Sam was taken, Gene’s fist collided with a wall. He didn’t remember doing it but he saw the hole in the wall, he saw the plaster on his knuckles, he saw his officers shocked stares. He could put two and two together. He was a detective and he was going to find the bastard who did this to his Sam and tear him apart slowly, piece by piece, drawing out the suffering, making it last as long as Sam’s. Longer.
_______
Part 8
Author: dak
Word Count: 1413 this part; [11,786 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." Didn't expect to have this done so early but who am I to argue with an inability to sleep past 9am and a bunny gnawing at my nerve endings?
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
He was fat, with annoying round glasses, and a tiny little mustache just like his brother’s. He was also bleeding from a roughed up nose. Gene didn’t care. It only served to remind him of what Sam was going through.
“I have been locked in this room for the better part of an hour and then this...man,” he sneered at Ray, “Barges in here and punches me with absolutely no warning? I would like a explanation for all this.”
“DC Skelton?” Gene was in full Guv mode. No room for arguments.
“Yes Guv.”
“I need you to check on WDC Cartwright. She’s in the locker room with DI Tyler. Make sure they have everything they need.” His eyes never left the doughy figure of Paul Bond.
“Yes sir.”
No room for arguments. No room for mercy. Chris didn’t need to see that. The door open and shut. Gene’s fist collided with a jaw.
“What in God’s name was that for?” The man asked wide-eyed, an effect aided by his glasses, as he sat back up in the chair rubbing the side of his face.
“For supportin’ United.”
“I don’t even pay attention to the football!”
Gene punched him again. “That’s for bein’ a downright girly bastard. Even Gladys watches football.”
The man sat up, rubbing the other side of his face. “Is that your wife?” He asked in all sincerity. Ray chuckled. Gene could only hit one of them at a time. He settled for Bond.
“Jesus Christ! I’ll answer your questions if you would simply ask them. There’s no need to keep hitting me.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Who?”
Gene rested both fists menancingly on the table.
“DI Tyler. What did you give him?”
“I don’t even know who DI Tyler is.”
Gene stood up straight. “Ray, hold him.”
“With pleasure, Guv.” The DS moved behind the chair and pinned back Bond's arms much to the man’s protest. Gene walked around the table and stared down at their suspect. The man was short to begin with and sitting down, Gene towered over him.
“You said you would answer my questions, Mr. Bond.”
“I-I will. I would if I knew what you were asking.”
“Your brother Pete’s in gaol, isn’t he?”
“This is about Peter?”
“Havin’ a rough go of it from what I heard.” Gene paced slowly back and forth. He was a lion, carefully examining his prey, and Bond knew it.
“There was a bad fight. Peter’s not as tough as he thinks he is.”
“So your little brother lands himself in hospital an’ you want compensation.”
“Not monetary, I--”
Gene laid it all out for him. “You go to the city but the city, rightly, doesn’t give a shit. So where does that leave you?”
“I-I don’t follow...”
“Why not blame the copper that put ‘im away?”
“Is that your DI Tyler?” Bond asked cautiously. Gene punched him in his overabundant gut.
“Oh! Clever little bastard we’ve got here, Raymondo.” Gene hit him again and again. Then hauled him from Ray’s grasp and chucked him against the wall, pinning him there. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing. I swear! I didn’t even know the name of Peter’s arresting officer. I was attending a series of pharmaceutical conferences in the States. I was too ashamed of him to come home during the trial.”
“But you were upset when your brother got ‘imself roughed weren’t yeh? In a right state, I bet.” Gene whispered against his ear, more of a hiss than actual speech.
“I was concerned and upset, yes. With the way our gaols are being run! The ratio of prison guards to inmates is...well, it’s completely unacceptable to put it mildly. If there had been more guards on duty when the fight occurred it could have been stopped before Peter ended up with a cracked skull.”
Gene didn’t move from where he held him.
“Sir, my brother killed a man, a friend, over something so inane as a football match and that, well, it’s unforgivable. But I would appreciate if he could serve his time without having to worry for his life. Two deaths don’t make either right.”
Muffled shouting reverberated outside in the corridor. As it became louder and closer, it was soon obvious it was Chris shouting “Guv!” The door to Lost and Found burst open the minute the noise became clear. Chris was hysterical, panting wildly.
“Guv it’s--”
Gene didn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what it was about. He dropped Bond to the floor and raced to the locker room. His heart fell as he witnessed Tyler on the floor in the fetal position, shivering violently. Cartwright was by his side but she seemed as lost as Gene felt.
“I don’t know what happened sir,” she was nearly crying. Gene couldn’t blame her. “He was fine, then just had this massive fit and I can’t wake him.”
Gene resisted the urge to push Cartwright away as he, too, knelt by Sam’s side. “Ray!” He hadn’t needed to shout. Ray was standing right there. He shouted anyway. “Tell plod to lock up Bond. Get the keys and get the car started.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Ray was off, Cartwright was trying to wake him, and Chris looked lost. Gene could see that the lad must have felt useless. His mentor like this and nothing he could do. The Guv scooped the unresponsive Sam into his arms. “Chris, get the door for us. Then the lift.”
“Yes Guv.” Chris performed his job to perfection. Any officer on the third floor emerged from their hiding places to watch as DCI cradled his Inspector and ran him down the hall. To Gene it was mostly a blur. He gave the orders he needed to give. He didn’t let go of Sam. He kept his face hard. It was about all he could do.
The Cortina was already running when the trio, plus Sam, made it out of the station and down the steps. Chris opened the door for the Guv before hurrying in the front seat. Annie crawled in the back on the other side and Gene and Sam filled the last remaining space. The door was barely closed before Carling took off.
With nothing else, all Gene could do was look at Sam. He was wan and sweaty, lifeless except for the regular heartbeat and breathing. His nose had started bleeding again somewhere along the way. Gene knew it must have gotten on his shirt. Everything slowed in the car. All sounds were muted. Everything but his voice and Sam’s breathing.
“C’mon Sammy-boy. C’mon. We’re supposed to have another twenty-three hours yet. We need that time, okay? So stop bein’ such a twonk. You’re warm. You’re too warm,” Gene shook his head and started peeling off the leather jacket. Sam’s usually crisp and clean shirt was soaked in sweat, dotted with bloodstains from his nosebleeds and sore arm.
Gene held him tight in his lap with one arm and stroked his damp hair with the other. “Hang in there Sam. Fight it. You have to fight it.” How old was he? His face looked so young. Thirty-six? That wasn’t old enough. Not nearly. Sam was a boy. He was just a boy. He should be playing football with his mates. Chatting up girls and winning them over with that stupid, silly grin and that bastard big brain.
“Don’t do this to me Tyler. Don’t you dare.” Instead he was lying in some Neanderthal’s arms, shaking and sweating and quite simply dying. It wasn’t fair. “It’s not fair.” Gene held him tighter.
They made it to hospital. Gene moved mechanically, responsively, like how they had taught him in National Service. Out of the car. Into the hospital. Shouting orders. Sam was ripped from his arms by a group of doctors and nurses. Laid out on a bed. Taken away. All Gene could do was watch. At some point after Sam was taken, Gene’s fist collided with a wall. He didn’t remember doing it but he saw the hole in the wall, he saw the plaster on his knuckles, he saw his officers shocked stares. He could put two and two together. He was a detective and he was going to find the bastard who did this to his Sam and tear him apart slowly, piece by piece, drawing out the suffering, making it last as long as Sam’s. Longer.
_______
Part 8