Another Fine Mess I've Got Myself Into

Nov 07, 2010 12:43

 

The first thing Sam noticed when he woke up was that the bed he was lying in was comfortable.  It therefore wasn’t his own bed and it didn’t feel like a hospital bed.  Besides which the normal hospital bleeps and voices were missing, so he was sure he wasn’t in hospital either in 2006 or 1973.  The next thing he noticed was that he seemed to be wearing a hideous red patterned pyjama jacket, and a quick glance confirmed that he was indeed also wearing the matching trousers.  The colour hurt his eyes and he became aware that he had a thumping headache.  Also, the pyjamas were clearly too big for him as he discovered when he wriggled around inside them.

He turned over carefully, wincing as he found out that it wasn’t just his head that hurt and noticed that there was someone else in the bed.  He peered at the sleeper and saw that whoever it was was wearing a flowery housecoat.  Gene’s missus!  Sam lay very still and tried hard to remember how he’d got where he was and, more importantly, how he was going to get out of there alive.

He reflected on the events of the past week.  It had been such a shock discovering the sort of man his father was and watching as his hopes that he could create a happy childhood for young Sam had come crashing down.  He’d even pulled a gun on Gene; he was so desperate to preserve the dream.  He’d stumbled through the following week, trying to put things behind him and he’d been only too willing to go to the pub to have a drink to numb the pain he felt.  That much he could remember.  He assumed he’d had a few drinks, probably more than a few, but try as he might he couldn’t fill in the gap between The Railway Arms and Gene Hunt’s bedroom with Gene Hunt’s wife.

#######

Gene hadn’t been too surprised that having had several drinks Tyler had said he’d had enough and was going home.  For some reason the events of the previous week had badly upset his DI and he seemed to be taking a while to get over it.  Gene watched him leave and hoped that after the weekend he would revert to his usual self.  He had come to enjoy their disagreements and even, though he wasn’t going to admit it, appreciate that this new-fangled style of policing had some benefits.  So when Tyler failed to argue back, despite Gene’s deliberately provocative comments, he knew there was something wrong.

Preparing to leave the pub, Gene noticed there was something on the floor.  He picked the object up and discovered they were Sam’s keys.  Gene cursed.  The twonk couldn’t have noticed he’d dropped them and now wouldn’t be able to get into his flat.  Gene looked at the clock.  If Sam had made it home and realised he’d lost his keys, he would have had time to come back for them.  Since he hadn’t it probably meant that he was still on his way home or back and would be soaking wet as it was pouring with rain.  In which case, since Gene didn’t want a DI with pneumonia on top of everything else, he would take the keys and give him a lift back home.  The alternative was that having got back to his flat, Sam had given up and fallen asleep outside his door.  Gene knew that the door lock wasn’t that strong, but he doubted that Sam would be able to force it, even if he had been sober.  The sheriff would have to come to the rescue.

Gene drove slowly to the flat, looking out for bedraggled DIs as he went.  The rain was heavy enough to dissuade anyone except those who absolutely needed to from coming out, so he would have had no trouble spotting him.  Since he hadn’t seen him, Gene went up to the flat.  There was still no sign of the dipstick.  He rattled the door, but experience told him that no-one had forced an entry.  Gene swore again, now he not only had a miserable DI who was almost certainly going to get pneumonia, but also one that was probably lost.

He decided that the best option was to drive back to The Railway Arms, checking in doorways as he went.  Once back at the pub, Gene got out of the car and looked around.  There was a stretch of waste ground which Sam could have decided to use as a short cut since it was raining.  He’d better take a look and see if the div had fallen over a dandelion and was crying because he’d grazed his knee.  Gene took the torch out of the boot, a legacy from when Tyler had been feeling better and had insisted that they were prepared ‘for all eventualities’, and started walking.

Gene shone the torch from side to side as he tramped across the deserted ground.  He was starting to think that it was a total waste of time and that he’d be the one who got pneumonia, when the light showed up what looked like a leather jacket amongst a collection of discarded pipes.  He carefully clambered over the rubble in front of the pipes.  There, curled in a ball, was his very bedraggled DI.

“Oy, Tyler,” he shouted, “this isn’t the night for sleeping under the stars.”

When there was no response he bent down and noticed that as well as being soaked to the skin Sam had been bleeding.

“Bloody ‘ell.  I thought you could have at least got home without having someone hold your hand.”

Sam stirred slightly and moaned, but made no effort to stand up.

“Right Gladys.  I’m not leaving you ‘ere.  DIs who die of exposure create all sorts of paperwork and while that may appeal to you I have no intention of completing any.  So up you get.”

Gene hauled Sam to his feet and got his arm round his shoulders.  They set off back to the car, with Gene half carrying him, whilst Sam stumbled along.  Once at the car, Gene pushed his unresisting DI into the passenger seat and got in himself.  He debated about taking Sam to his flat, but decided that he was in no condition to be left on his own.  There was no other option, he would have to take him home and explain to the missus why he was even later than usual and accompanied by something that the cat might have brought in.

When they drew up at Gene’s house the lights were still on, which meant that the missus had waited up.  Gene groaned.  No sooner had he switched the engine off than the front door was thrown open.

“What time do you call this?”

Gene ignored her and walked round to the passenger door.  He pulled Sam out, picked him up and carried him into the house.

“You remember DI Sam Tyler, don’t you?” he asked cheerfully.

“What ‘ave you done to him?”

“You stupid woman, I ‘aven’t done anything to him.  I found him like this.  You wouldn’t want me to leave him outside in the rain, would you?”

Gene dumped Sam on a kitchen chair, from where he promptly tumbled onto the floor.

“Well, you can’t leave him there either,” Gene’s wife pointed out.  “He’s soaking wet.  He’ll get pneumonia.”

“What do you suggest I do then?”

“I’ll go and run a bath.”

“He’s in no state to take a bath.  He’ll drown.”

“Then you’ll have to help him.”

Gene thought about arguing, but one look from his wife and he changed his mind.  Picking Sam up again, he carried him upstairs and once the bath had been run, took him into the bathroom, undressed him and put him in the bath.  Sam sighed as the warm water enveloped his body.  He started to sink down, but Gene grabbed his shoulders.  Sam winced as Gene touched a bruise on his shoulder.

The bathroom door opened and Mrs Hunt came in.

“You can’t come in here,” Gene objected.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.  I’ve brought you a towel and some pyjamas.”

“But they’re mine.”

“Well, he won’t fit my nightie.  Anyway, you keep telling me you think they’re hideous.  I’ll leave you to it.”

Somehow Gene managed to get Sam out of the bath and into the pyjamas.  He cleaned the cut on his head as gently as he could, trying not to cause him to wince any more than he could help.  Lifting him up again he helped him into the bedroom and onto the bed.  Sam promptly lay down and fell asleep.

“He shouldn’t be left alone tonight.  He’s taken a bad knock on his head.” Gene said.

“You’re right,” the missus agreed.  “I’ll gather some bits together and go into the spare room.”

“I’m not sharing the bed with him.  What do you take me for, a nancy boy?  I’ll go in the spare room.  You’ll have to sleep with him.”  Then, seeing that his wife was about to object, he added, “It’s not as if he’s in any state to try anything on.”

Mrs Hunt sighed, decided to leave her house coat on and got into bed.

#######

The bedroom door opened and Gene came in.  ‘This is it,’ thought Sam, ‘I’m about to die.’

Instead, Gene walked round the bed.  “I’ve brought you a cuppa,” he said to his wife.  She acknowledged the tea with a grunt as he put it down.

Gene looked across the bed.  “I see you’re awake as well.  Do you want a cup of tea?”

Sam nodded his head slightly and then wished he hadn’t.

“Do you mean, ‘Yes please, Gene, that would be very kind of you’?”  Another slight nod.

Gene disappeared and re-appeared a few minutes later bearing two mugs of tea.

“Can you manage to sit up?” he asked.

Sam started to sit up and then stopped.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m losing the pyjama bottoms.”  Sam could feel himself starting to blush.

“It’s alright dear, I’ll close my eyes while you sort yourself out,” Mrs Hunt offered.

Sam looked at Gene expectantly.

“’Ow do you think you got them on in the first place?” was his reply.

Sam turned a brighter shade of red.

“I think you’d better tell me how I got here.”

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