Trust
Title: Trust
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Rating/Warnings: PG, or Cortina equivalent.
Spoilers: Brief mention of the Railway Incident, 2.8. Nothing horrific but probably best to have seen it.
Author’s note: May be multi-parter, we’ll see how the work load is. Sorry, un-beta'd.
Summary: He followed Sam in silence, and with the look of a man carrying something extraordinarily heavy on his shoulders. It was a look opposite to how Sam was feeling. Indestructible. Like he could fly. Like he could soar.
There were many times, in 1973, before he’d left, that he’d been driven home by Gene. It had occurred to him several times that letting Gene drive him with a gullet half full of whiskey was possibly not the best idea. Now, he sat in the passenger seat as Gene pulled up, absorbing the smell of smoke and aftershave, of leather seats and wax polish, not moving. Gene waited for a long time, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, he sighed.
“If we’re gonna be sat ‘ere a while d’you mind if I ‘ave a smoke?”
Sam looked round. Why ask? “S’your car.”
“Oh bloody well then,” he replied, rolling his eyes and lighting up. “Won’t bother askin’ your opinion next time. ‘Onestly, yeh try to be considerate…”
Sam laughed. “Considerate? You?” He couldn’t stop laughing. Gene just sat watching as the laughter shook Sam, until he couldn’t resist it anymore. Something about Sam’s giggling fit tickled him, and soon he couldn’t stop either. They sat in the car for a very long time, as it filled with smoke, laughing ridiculously at the whole silly thing at the railway tracks, until slowly the laughter quietened. Sam glanced at Gene’s cigarette.
“Can I?” he asked suddenly, nodding towards it. Gene blinked.
“Y’don’t smoke?”
Sam shook his head. “Just want one.”
Gene shrugged. Sam had meant a new one, but Gene took a quick final drag and held out his own. “‘Ere.”
Hesitating only momentarily, Sam took it, and breathed in very slowly. Of course, he hadn’t smoked in so long that he nearly coughed his lungs up, Gene watching him with barely concealed delight, but he felt it all. The nicotine, the soreness in his throat, tasted tobacco and what he thought, for a bizarrely intense second, might have been Gene. It was this thought that made him realise just how intimate it was. Sharing a cigarette. Sitting alone in a darkened car in the street in the middle of the night and not caring that it was cold, that it was cramped. Breathing each other’s air suddenly seemed luxuriously close, not that Gene would admit it. Sam looked over and grinned at him.
“You’re a weird one, Sammy,” Gene said, with levity. “We were nearly killed today. No, forget killed. We were nearly obliterated. And you’re ‘appier than I’ve ever seen yeh.”
Sam nodded gleefully. “I’m alive, Gene, what’s not be happy about?”
Gene’s gaze fell momentarily, betraying him in way that never would have happened if he’d have stared Sam down. He lifted his chin again, but it was too late, Sam had seen the uncertainty.
“D’you want to come in? I think I might have a bottle of single malt, somewhere…”
Gene’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded brusquely. “Alright.”
He followed Sam in silence, and with the look of a man carrying something extraordinarily heavy on his shoulders. It was a look opposite to how Sam was feeling. Indestructible. Like he could fly. Like he could soar.
The first thing Gene noticed, undoubtedly, was that Sam’s bed was gone.
“Bloody ‘ell, where’s the bedmobile gone?”
Sam gestured to the new bed. The new, wide, clean bed. Oh, but it was enticing. Like a warm summer field after months of city winter. It was still a tiny flat - it had to be shoved into the corner and the wardrobe had been replaced with something smaller in order the fit anything else in the room, but as long as he didn’t have to sleep on that bloody thing anymore, he didn’t care.
“Got rid of it. Couldn’t stand it a day longer, knowin’ I was here to stay.”
“Well…” Gene said, eyebrows raised. “I have to say, tha’s squashed any doubt I ‘ad in my mind.”
Sam gave him a look. “Pfft, you never doubted me. Not really.”
But Gene was staring intently at him.
“Thing is, I did, Sammy. For a while there, I really, really did.”
Sam saw the truth there, as Gene fixed him with a penetrating stare. He poured him a drink, and handed it to him as Gene made himself comfortable, stretching out on the fresh covers. Sitting next to him, elbows resting on his knees, Sam watched Gene sipping his whiskey, looking back over his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean for you to doubt my loyalty Gene,” he said, trying to find words to console or reassure, or what ever it was that Gene was looking for.
“It’s not about loyalty, you daft twat. Loyalty’s what yeh get from a dog, from a subordinate. From Ray or Chris or a bloody plod. Loyalty’s nothin’ but duty.”
“So what did you doubt?” Sam asked.
Gene stared so hard at the bottom of his scotch glass that Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if it had melted, and whiskey went all over the sheets. Finally, Gene looked up.
“Us, Sam.”
“‘Us’?”
He was answered with a nod. “We’re meant to be more than loyalty, more than duty. We’re meant to want to work together, trust each other. I’ve trusted you. For longer than I care to admit, and I when you turned your back, it ‘urt, Sam, there’s no denyin’ that. Hurt more’n anythin’ I’ve felt for a long time.”
Sam nodded. He wasn’t going to argue. He poured another glass of whiskey and slid back, into the corner, next to Gene, leaning again the headboard, stretching his legs out beside his DCI’s. He was right though, he wasn’t just his DCI. They were meant to be more.
“Y’came back though,” Gene said, sniffing. “Tha’s what matters.”
“But you still doubt me?” Sam already knew the answer. Gene emptied his whiskey glass, nodding.
“‘Fraid so, Tyler.”
“I’ll fix it,” Sam muttered. “I’m here, I’m staying. You’ve got my loyalty, and you’ve got anything else you ask for. Just ask, Gene.” He grinned a little. “Ask and you will receive.”
Gene held his eye for a long time. “Doesn’t tha’ depend on what I ask for?”
Sam smiled and shook his head, handing his empty glass over to Gene. Gene still looked contemplative.
“You can smoke, if you want,” Sam said after a long time in silence.
Gene glanced at him, looking him over carefully. He pulled his cigarette packet from his top pocket, only lowering his gaze to fish out a cigarette. He held it out to Sam.
“Split it?”
Sam, smiling grimly, agreed, taking the narrow stick between his fingers. Gene lit it, staring at Sam. Sam nearly looked away from the intensity in those green, green eyes. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Don’t singe the duvet.”
“No sir, Sammy.”
By the end of the cigarette, the filter was damp, and Sam more aware than ever of his and the Guv’s proximity. But it was still unresolved. Gene was still here, and still looked miserable.
“Eh,” Gene uttered, quietly, as they stubbed out the cigarettes in one of the glasses. “I’ve got it. Got me request.”
“It’s not a one-time only thing, Gene, don’t feel you have to-”
“Kiss me.”
Sam blinked. “You what?”
“You ‘eard. ‘Ard enough sayin’ it once, I’m not sayin’ it again. You said if I asked, I’d receive. I’ve asked. Will you do it?”
“Never thought you’d ask me that, though-”
“So you won’t?”
“I didn’t say that-”
“Yeah, but if you were cocker’oop about the idea it’d be done already.” He shook his head. “Sam, if I can’t trust you teh-”
Sam tasted like cigarettes. It wasn’t what he’d have imagined. It was almost sudden, except that Sam had paused, nose to nose with him, just before his mouth had met his. It was a strange sensation. He felt so disconnected from his body. But at the same time, fire erupted in his chest through panic and elation. He’d expected something harder, if Sam had done it, and it’d been a possibility that he wouldn’t have. But it wasn’t. It was so unobtrusive he wasn’t even sure it was happening at all.
When Sam pulled back to have a look at him, Gene saw he was panting a bit. It made him very aware of what had happened. All too aware, and suddenly a huge doubt the size and weight of a bowling ball landed in his stomach, and felt like it was crushing his intestines. The last time he’d felt his stomach go from high to low to quickly he’d been on the Roller Coaster in Blackpool. Sam was waiting for him to say something.
So he just nodded. “Good boy.” He got up, slipped on his coat, downed his whiskey and opened the door. “Good start.”
Sam stared, watching him go, and licked his lips.
&
Thanks very much, comments and queries gratefully received. To be continued?
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Rating/Warnings: PG, or Cortina equivalent.
Spoilers: Brief mention of the Railway Incident, 2.8. Nothing horrific but probably best to have seen it.
Author’s note: May be multi-parter, we’ll see how the work load is. Sorry, un-beta'd.
Summary: He followed Sam in silence, and with the look of a man carrying something extraordinarily heavy on his shoulders. It was a look opposite to how Sam was feeling. Indestructible. Like he could fly. Like he could soar.
There were many times, in 1973, before he’d left, that he’d been driven home by Gene. It had occurred to him several times that letting Gene drive him with a gullet half full of whiskey was possibly not the best idea. Now, he sat in the passenger seat as Gene pulled up, absorbing the smell of smoke and aftershave, of leather seats and wax polish, not moving. Gene waited for a long time, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, he sighed.
“If we’re gonna be sat ‘ere a while d’you mind if I ‘ave a smoke?”
Sam looked round. Why ask? “S’your car.”
“Oh bloody well then,” he replied, rolling his eyes and lighting up. “Won’t bother askin’ your opinion next time. ‘Onestly, yeh try to be considerate…”
Sam laughed. “Considerate? You?” He couldn’t stop laughing. Gene just sat watching as the laughter shook Sam, until he couldn’t resist it anymore. Something about Sam’s giggling fit tickled him, and soon he couldn’t stop either. They sat in the car for a very long time, as it filled with smoke, laughing ridiculously at the whole silly thing at the railway tracks, until slowly the laughter quietened. Sam glanced at Gene’s cigarette.
“Can I?” he asked suddenly, nodding towards it. Gene blinked.
“Y’don’t smoke?”
Sam shook his head. “Just want one.”
Gene shrugged. Sam had meant a new one, but Gene took a quick final drag and held out his own. “‘Ere.”
Hesitating only momentarily, Sam took it, and breathed in very slowly. Of course, he hadn’t smoked in so long that he nearly coughed his lungs up, Gene watching him with barely concealed delight, but he felt it all. The nicotine, the soreness in his throat, tasted tobacco and what he thought, for a bizarrely intense second, might have been Gene. It was this thought that made him realise just how intimate it was. Sharing a cigarette. Sitting alone in a darkened car in the street in the middle of the night and not caring that it was cold, that it was cramped. Breathing each other’s air suddenly seemed luxuriously close, not that Gene would admit it. Sam looked over and grinned at him.
“You’re a weird one, Sammy,” Gene said, with levity. “We were nearly killed today. No, forget killed. We were nearly obliterated. And you’re ‘appier than I’ve ever seen yeh.”
Sam nodded gleefully. “I’m alive, Gene, what’s not be happy about?”
Gene’s gaze fell momentarily, betraying him in way that never would have happened if he’d have stared Sam down. He lifted his chin again, but it was too late, Sam had seen the uncertainty.
“D’you want to come in? I think I might have a bottle of single malt, somewhere…”
Gene’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded brusquely. “Alright.”
He followed Sam in silence, and with the look of a man carrying something extraordinarily heavy on his shoulders. It was a look opposite to how Sam was feeling. Indestructible. Like he could fly. Like he could soar.
The first thing Gene noticed, undoubtedly, was that Sam’s bed was gone.
“Bloody ‘ell, where’s the bedmobile gone?”
Sam gestured to the new bed. The new, wide, clean bed. Oh, but it was enticing. Like a warm summer field after months of city winter. It was still a tiny flat - it had to be shoved into the corner and the wardrobe had been replaced with something smaller in order the fit anything else in the room, but as long as he didn’t have to sleep on that bloody thing anymore, he didn’t care.
“Got rid of it. Couldn’t stand it a day longer, knowin’ I was here to stay.”
“Well…” Gene said, eyebrows raised. “I have to say, tha’s squashed any doubt I ‘ad in my mind.”
Sam gave him a look. “Pfft, you never doubted me. Not really.”
But Gene was staring intently at him.
“Thing is, I did, Sammy. For a while there, I really, really did.”
Sam saw the truth there, as Gene fixed him with a penetrating stare. He poured him a drink, and handed it to him as Gene made himself comfortable, stretching out on the fresh covers. Sitting next to him, elbows resting on his knees, Sam watched Gene sipping his whiskey, looking back over his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean for you to doubt my loyalty Gene,” he said, trying to find words to console or reassure, or what ever it was that Gene was looking for.
“It’s not about loyalty, you daft twat. Loyalty’s what yeh get from a dog, from a subordinate. From Ray or Chris or a bloody plod. Loyalty’s nothin’ but duty.”
“So what did you doubt?” Sam asked.
Gene stared so hard at the bottom of his scotch glass that Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if it had melted, and whiskey went all over the sheets. Finally, Gene looked up.
“Us, Sam.”
“‘Us’?”
He was answered with a nod. “We’re meant to be more than loyalty, more than duty. We’re meant to want to work together, trust each other. I’ve trusted you. For longer than I care to admit, and I when you turned your back, it ‘urt, Sam, there’s no denyin’ that. Hurt more’n anythin’ I’ve felt for a long time.”
Sam nodded. He wasn’t going to argue. He poured another glass of whiskey and slid back, into the corner, next to Gene, leaning again the headboard, stretching his legs out beside his DCI’s. He was right though, he wasn’t just his DCI. They were meant to be more.
“Y’came back though,” Gene said, sniffing. “Tha’s what matters.”
“But you still doubt me?” Sam already knew the answer. Gene emptied his whiskey glass, nodding.
“‘Fraid so, Tyler.”
“I’ll fix it,” Sam muttered. “I’m here, I’m staying. You’ve got my loyalty, and you’ve got anything else you ask for. Just ask, Gene.” He grinned a little. “Ask and you will receive.”
Gene held his eye for a long time. “Doesn’t tha’ depend on what I ask for?”
Sam smiled and shook his head, handing his empty glass over to Gene. Gene still looked contemplative.
“You can smoke, if you want,” Sam said after a long time in silence.
Gene glanced at him, looking him over carefully. He pulled his cigarette packet from his top pocket, only lowering his gaze to fish out a cigarette. He held it out to Sam.
“Split it?”
Sam, smiling grimly, agreed, taking the narrow stick between his fingers. Gene lit it, staring at Sam. Sam nearly looked away from the intensity in those green, green eyes. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Don’t singe the duvet.”
“No sir, Sammy.”
By the end of the cigarette, the filter was damp, and Sam more aware than ever of his and the Guv’s proximity. But it was still unresolved. Gene was still here, and still looked miserable.
“Eh,” Gene uttered, quietly, as they stubbed out the cigarettes in one of the glasses. “I’ve got it. Got me request.”
“It’s not a one-time only thing, Gene, don’t feel you have to-”
“Kiss me.”
Sam blinked. “You what?”
“You ‘eard. ‘Ard enough sayin’ it once, I’m not sayin’ it again. You said if I asked, I’d receive. I’ve asked. Will you do it?”
“Never thought you’d ask me that, though-”
“So you won’t?”
“I didn’t say that-”
“Yeah, but if you were cocker’oop about the idea it’d be done already.” He shook his head. “Sam, if I can’t trust you teh-”
Sam tasted like cigarettes. It wasn’t what he’d have imagined. It was almost sudden, except that Sam had paused, nose to nose with him, just before his mouth had met his. It was a strange sensation. He felt so disconnected from his body. But at the same time, fire erupted in his chest through panic and elation. He’d expected something harder, if Sam had done it, and it’d been a possibility that he wouldn’t have. But it wasn’t. It was so unobtrusive he wasn’t even sure it was happening at all.
When Sam pulled back to have a look at him, Gene saw he was panting a bit. It made him very aware of what had happened. All too aware, and suddenly a huge doubt the size and weight of a bowling ball landed in his stomach, and felt like it was crushing his intestines. The last time he’d felt his stomach go from high to low to quickly he’d been on the Roller Coaster in Blackpool. Sam was waiting for him to say something.
So he just nodded. “Good boy.” He got up, slipped on his coat, downed his whiskey and opened the door. “Good start.”
Sam stared, watching him go, and licked his lips.
&
Thanks very much, comments and queries gratefully received. To be continued?