RL with DCI Gene Hunt

[out_of_my_time]

'You're buying me a drink.'  DCI Hunt had told him curtly.  'Tomorrow.'

Sam hadn't bothered to ask why; it wasn't as if it was important enough to needle the man about, anyway, and certainly he'd find out when he bought the Guv his drink anyway.  Like as not it was some stupid attempt to get him out of the station so he wouldn't 'get in the way' of

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[manc_sheriff]

'I am.' Gene waves towards the two empty glasses and noticeable lack of coins on the bar. He knocks back the rest of the beer and slides the third glass near its mates. 'Your round,' he says, and returns Sam's grin with one of his own -- slightly sharper -- smiles.

It's not long since he's been here, a few hours maybe since leaving CID and stopping off for a quick meal with Gladys. Not that it was actually with her, as she dropped the plate in front of him before retreating to the bedroom, but that's nothing new. She figured out even before he did that he was married to the job, which Gene respects her for. She always did have a sound head on her shoulders. He supposes she would need one, to put up with him for so long. It's fine, for what it is, marriage, and Gene has enough beer in him to appreciate that right now

[manc_sheriff]

The smile Sam sports disturbs Gene. It's one of those daft, slap-happy grins that either means he's hit on something brilliant or is about to do something that could get him fitted for a white coat with the arms on backwards. Gene lights a cigarette and wordlessly meets Sam's look of challenge with one of his own. Whatever Tyler has cooked up, Gene will face it, head on and stoic, like always

[out_of_my_time]

Sam feels like he could scream. He'd thought, just for a moment, that he'd found proof. He'd felt so clever, so sure that he'd finally found indisputable evidence, something solid and real and undeniable. Actual, real proof that he isn't insane, something he could show the Guv, to prove that he isn't from bloody Hyde, that he doesn't belong here. A reassurance for himself as much as it was to prove a point to Gene

[manc_sheriff]

'All you've bloody got?'

Sam's just touched on his last nerve. All Gene's trying to do is fix this, solve this, whatever this is that is making Sam go hair-brained crazy for the time. Tight on the job, tight at the pub, tight even now when there's nothing there to irritate him except this damn machine. Gene's given him every opportunity to work it out himself -- drink it out, argue it out, punch it out and Sam's throwing it all back for one of his stupid pandering wankery attacks

[out_of_my_time]

The sudden, resonant crack of Gene's fists down on his desk barely registers with Sam. He's speaking, but it's as if there's a layer of static between Sam and whatever he's saying- just words, muffled and muted. Standing facing Gene's poster of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, his fists clenched at his sides, his ears are filled with the unfriendly beep of hospital machinery, voices speaking as if from the next room over.

'Sam's increased heart rate could very possibly be a response to stress, a good indicator that his neuromuscular system it still responsive.'

'Responsive? What's there for it to respond to?'

'Coma patients can occasionally experience hallucinations or- for want of a better word- dreams. This is caused-'

The voices begin to echo, mocking him relentlessly and Sam squeezes his eyes shut, as though that would stop them.

'Random neurons fire in the brain-'

'The brain tissue is very delicate, we still don't-'

'It's alright, Sammie. We'll get you back, I know it.'

Get you backSam wants to clap his hands to his

[manc_sheriff]

Usually that tone of voice guarantees Gene some sort of reaction. At the very least, it can earn him a glance from Sam, if not an entire speech of bollacks. But this time -- nothing. Sam doesn't even look up at him when Gene threatens to replace him. All he does is stand there, staring blankly out into space, with knuckles painted the direct opposite of tar.

'Take a trip to the land of the fairies again, Tyler?' Gene waits for a response but there's nothing. 'Tyler? Tyler!'

Sam ignores him or doesn't hear him or something. His shoulders look about as stiff as the good whiskey Gene keeps in the bottom desk drawer.

'This is no time for one of your bloody attacks,' Gene says, but it's pointless. He might as well be speaking to thin air. Sam's about as aware of him as Gene knows what's happening three blocks away. 'Sam,' he tries again. 'Sam.' And if he sounds worried, it's because he is. His DI is going on another bender that Gene can't possibly explain

[out_of_my_time]

It would be a lie to say he wasn't shaken, but nevertheless, he can't help but lift a wry eyebrow at Hunt's words. If that's how Gene sees things, well, that's nothing to Sam's own feelings on the subject. He snorts dryly.

'More's the pity.'

Because yeah, a manual would be nice. Some way, for example, to keep himself from hearing voices. That would be right bloody convenient right about now

[manc_sheriff]

'At least then there'd be something to throw at you when you go off your head.'

Even a few sips from the flask help to settle Gene's nerves. He no longer feels the helpless agitation that comes whenever Sam goes off his trolley.

Gene doubts it ever occured to Sam, but it's not easy to watch him during those moments. For anybody. Chris, Cartwright -- even Ray -- they all get the same look on their faces, just like the one Gene sported a few moments ago. The one that quite clearly asks the question: Do I ring the loony bin now or wait to see if he improves?Yet for all that Gene might threaten it, he knows deep in his gut he could never reach for the phone at a time like this. This is something that affects his department, and anything that affects the department gets taken care of in the department. Alone

[out_of_my_time]

'All right.' He echoes Gene, and with just as much sarcasm

[manc_sheriff]

Now that he's not on about stupid machines or Gene's method of driving, Sam seems content to just pout in silence.

Well, fine. Two can play at that game, and at least Gene has his flask to pass the time.

He stares at Sam's chest while Sam stares over his head and tries to think where the man could buy such God-awful shirts. It's like Gene's old maths class went and spewed all over the fabric to create painful geometric lines and dots and patterns.

It's with some relief to his eyes that Gene looks up when Sam finally says something.

'Oi! Respect Deaf Smith. He could give you a run for your bollocks.' Gene takes another swig and then sets the flask on the desk to cross his arms. He regards Sam with a half-smug expression. 'I hate to see what you go to the flicks for. Probably some nimby-arse romantic picture. Or do you just let Cartwright pick?' He smirks at the joke and then kicks out the chair in front of his desk for Sam to sit. 'Now stop feeling up my cabinets and come have a drink.'

[out_of_my_time]

'Such a comfort to know chivalry isn't entirely dead.' Sam murmurs wryly, but he's fairly sure Gene doesn't hear him. Not that it really matters. The real point is that they've crossed back into comfortable territory, and any remaining echoes of doctors' voices or life support equipment in Sam's head have faded entirely.

He smirks easily at the other man as he shoulders himself off the wall and allows himself to fall into the chair. 'What, you jealous?'

[manc_sheriff]

'If chivalry includes having a drink, may I die before it,' Gene says loudly. It's obvious Sam didn't intend him to hear, but the office is small, and Gene's made the habit of listening for Sam little comments. Theycan make or break cases.

He knocks the flask towards Sam when the man sits before twisting around to collect two glasses from the ledge. They clatter to the table as Gene handwaves Sam to fill them.

'Of your loving attachment to my filing cabinet?' He snorts, trying to look detatched and possibly a bit put-off, but Sam's half-smile is contagious. The right side of Gene's mouth rises. 'Maybe your dust-drumming worked well on them in Hyde, but no skirt here I know of would fall for that.'

Gene picks up the glass, studying the skewed reflection of his face in the side. He considers. 'Well. Maybe Jackie Queen.'

[out_of_my_time]

A little chuff of laughter escapes as Sam pours out two measures of whatever Gene's got in his flask and pushes one glass across to the DCI. He'd half-expected Gene to get offended at the thoughtless comment, despite the number of times a day the Guv routinely called Sam a pouf, but it would seem not. His mouth twitches, the smirk threatening to turn into something more like a proper grin, and he lifts his glass to his lips.

'Believe me,' he says with some feeling, before taking a sip. 'I have got no designs on Jackie Queen. That's your burden, Guv.'

He tips the glass again- whiskey, single malt. Well, Gene knows what he likes, Sam has to give him that. 'Anyway,' he gave the Guv another little smirk, 'If I'm looking to pull a bird, I've got me ways. None of which, by the way, involve feeling up filing cabinets.'

[manc_sheriff]

'I thank my lucky stars for that,' Gene says, either to the Jackie Queen comment or to Sam's wooing strategy forgoing any file cabinets. 'Jackie's a right pain in my arse, and if you felt her up like my file cabinet, between the two of you, I might just have to get out of Dodge.'

He tosses a smile in Sam's direction before sucking up large mouthful from the glass. It swishes around his teeth and over his tongue, settling and relaxing the pent-up stress Sam could cause. Gene reclines back in his chair, set to enjoy the dim quiet of CID with good liquor and a pleasant Sam. Rare moments don't come round often.

'And if filing cabinets are out,' he continues after a swallow, 'what other ways have you got? I've yet to see you pull a bird around here. Except for that prozzie.'

[out_of_my_time]

Sam grimaces at the image of himself and Jackie Queen. Granted, he's not had anything even resembling sex since... well, since the 21st Century, but he likes to think he's a bit more discerning than that. He's not counting Jodi, 'that prozzie,' as Gene had it. He remembers almost nothing of that save a confused jumble of drugged-out images, anyway, and the whole affair besides was... not something he'd like to linger on.

He takes another generous mouthful, letting himself actually enjoy the drink now that he felt... somewhat calmer. His eyes crinkle at the corners with a smile as he regards Gene across the desk.

'You seem terribly interested,' he remarks. He's able to keep his voice neutral, but the smile treacherously remains, tugging at the corner of his mouth.

[manc_sheriff]

Gene quickly fills his mouth with more whiskey in order to gain time to think of something to respond. That's not the right reply. He doesn't know what's wrong with it, but he's know it's not how Ray or Chris would've answered that question.

Then again, it's not like Gene ever really asked about Sam and birds. Apart from Cartwright, the man never seem much keen on relating ideas about them, other than the mad concept that they belong in CID. Cartwright's not so bad, though, Gene grants. At least not any worse than Chris or Ray can be on a particularly annoying day.

Still, though, there's something about the way Sam smiles as he answers that makes Gene feel hot under the collar. He doesn't care any longer to continue this line of conversation.

Gene swallows roughly. 'Am not! I was only asking why it seems you are always so terribly hard-up for a skirt to take home.'