Secret Challenge, by jantalaimon
TITLE: Straw, pt. 1 of 2 Pt.2 can be found here.
WORD COUNT: 10,648 (in total, not each part separately)
STYLE/RATING: Gen, Red Cortina (some horrific elements and general darkness)
SPOILERS: Through S2.01 only.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Extra-special thanks to the fantabulously awesome lozenger8, whose brilliant beta-ing made this all possible and helped polish this fic so it shines like a pair of Phyllis' prized handcuffs. Also thanks to neuralclone, who added a bunny to the hutch for this story, where it was allowed to happily scamper and wreak much havoc with its other bunny friends. XD
The last thing he ever thought he'd miss was his electric razor.
Long ago, of course, he'd learnt the basics of shaving with a clunky
old-fashioned much like the one he now held in his hand. So it wasn't as if he
didn't know how; it was more that he didn't prefer it. Sometimes, that
was really more the point of things than those things themselves.
Take scribbling down notes on a notepad, for instance. On occasion, it was all
right, but he much preferred the clean, crisp efficiency of communication via
electronic or semi-electronic means. Even the mere act of typing up a memo to
hand to someone else in his unit was infinitely preferable; for one thing, it
meant far fewer questions about what this or that squiggle meant. Therefore,
theoretically at least, with a well-written memo, very few questions were
necessary. People just went about their work quietly and efficiently. His unit
was like the proverbial well-oiled machine, and it suited him incredibly well.
Of course, he figured that was why he couldn't have it
anymore. Once he'd gotten a semblance of normalcy and cocooned himself within it soundly, something had to come along and shake things up. Things with Maya. Coming back to 1973. Being without his bloody electric razor. This was all symptomatic of being Sam Tyler, and he was quite sure he didn't like it terribly well, to say the least. Especially the lack of proper toiletries.
"Good thing you remembered to buy a cucumber, your eyes look terrible,"
his reflection mocked. "You might try some yoghurt too, your skin's not looking
its baby-soft best," it continued snidely.
"SHUT IT!" Sam yelled, slamming the door on the medicine chest hard enough to
crack the glass slightly, but not quite hard enough to knock it out entirely.
"Bit testy this morning, aren't we? Cheer up, there's a love, soon you'll have
all the grande macchiato half-cafs you'd like. And before you tell me that isn't
the point, I know you're salivating at the mere mention, so it's no use," his
reflection informed him.
"Aren't you supposed to leave this sort of thing to the girl with the clown? I
thought she'd cornered the market on terrorising me when I'm at my most
vulnerable," Sam spat, sucking some water out of a glass into his mouth,
swishing it around, and spitting it out again in the basin below the mirror.
Great, he thought, now I've
bitten my tongue.
"If that's how you like it, fine, but you know I'm right," his reflection
retorted one last time before doing as asked.
And thusly, another day began.
******
"Mornin, Boss. Didn't sleep so well last night, then?" Chris cheerfully greeted
Sam as he entered CID.
Sam responded with a small guttural noise that would have sounded to the
untrained ear a bit like throat-clearing, only Chris knew better. "Sorry to hear
that, Boss," Chris responded, smile fading into seriousness. "Guv wants a word
with you first thing."
A slight hint of something crossed Sam's eyes, just for a tenth of a second or
so, but Chris didn't know what. Deciding discretion was the better part of
valour in this and most other cases where his boss' mental state was concerned,
he said nothing and instead stepped neatly aside. Or would have done, had he not
just as neatly caught his hip on the corner of the desk next to him, causing a
reflexive wince and rubbing of said hip.
Carefully making his face as blank as possible, Sam slunk into the Guv's office.
"How kind of you to show up. Wouldn't want to cause you any inconvenience," the
Guv spoke around his cigarette, fresh remains of several more like it already
littering the ashtray on his desk.
"It's hardly an inconvenience when I know I've you to wake up to of a morning,"
Sam's voice dripped sarcasm even as he smiled as sunnily as he knew how.
"You'll need that cheery disposition of yours; we've got an ugly one just in
this morning but I didn't want to interrupt your beauty sleep," the Guv said,
humour in his voice, but less showing on his face.
"O captain, my captain, lead the way." Sam offered a mock-salute.
******
"There's a body found in Dead Entry," Gene began, pausing to light another cigarette.
"Our killer hasn't got a sense of irony, has he?" Sam drawled, one muscle group
at the lower right-hand corner of his mouth twitching slightly, as though with suppressed grim mirth.
"Hang on, Harriet, aren't you the one always telling me it could be a bird and I
shouldn't assume things?" Gene was skeptical.
Sam glared at him sullenly and said nothing, which was the opposite of how such
conversations usually went. "All right, Sammy-boy?" Gene tried to keep his tone
light, but a note of genuine concern crept in anyway.
"I haven't been sleeping well lately. I'll be fine," Sam's tone was hushed and
slightly clipped. And did he really sound as though he wished the Guv would
ask a few more questions?
"I know what always knocks me right out. Maybe you could get WDC Cartwright to
give you a hand?" Gene smirked.
"Can't you show a little more respect for someone you've just promoted?" Sam
returned, outraged. Which was precisely what the Guv wanted.
"Respect is earned, not given. Never forget that." Gene turned back to business
as they reached his Cortina, which was parked at the roadside.
"Funny, I'd have thought she'd well earned your respect by now. I forget,
though, you do have your image to maintain," Sam continued.
"A very interesting point you raise," Gene said as he opened the door and
unceremoniously booted Sam into his seat whilst swinging the door firmly (but
gently) closed in one smooth motion.
******
"Were there any witnesses?" Sam finally asked, breaking a silence of about five
minutes that he'd passed sulking and boring holes into the side of Gene's face
with his eyes.
"None that've come forward yet," Gene played oblivious to this show, further
provoking Sam into the state of stress under which he performed his best.
"Why aren't we bringing a whole team with us, then? How long has the subject
been dead? Has someone even roped off the crime scene yet?" Sam, as ever, was
stuck on procedure almost as much as it was stuck on him.
"Because I wanted you to see this first. The others are coming down after us."
Gene said quietly, flickering his full attention on Sam for a second or so as he
told him this.
******
Shreds of something beige and furry decked the shrubbery along the path at
intermittent distances as the two made their approach, almost as though some
large ground-based bird had been gathering nesting material in the area. Perhaps
an ostrich. Although that didn't account for the chunky bloody bits...
Ooo. That will have stung, Sam thought but immediately kept to himself as they
came to what Gene was leading them toward.
"I'm not quite sure what I'm looking at, Guv." Sam squinted at the mess on the
ground in front of him. It smelled of a slaughterhouse; fear, piss, shit, and
above all, of course, the unmistakable coppery scent of blood.
"Word is, it used to be human." Gene carefully stepped around the mess,
surveying the scene and also keeping an eye on his DI to gauge his reaction.
"It looks like a day at the butcher's," Sam waved a hand in front of his nose in
disgust.
"Had I known you'd have such brilliant insight, I'd have invited DC Skelton
along instead of waiting for you to turn up." Gene remarked dryly.
"Sorry, Guv, but aren't you at all disturbed by what's here? I only hope you can
find it in your heart to forgive me for not immediately giving you an instant
line to the killer," Sam retorted, a slight hint of how shaken he was filtering
through his indignance.
"Course I'm disturbed. We're all disturbed in this job. Thing is, we're meant to
protect our people from this, and in order to do that, we have to be able to
separate ourselves from it. If you can't do that, Tyler, then you shouldn't be
wearing the white hat. I hear there's an opening with the plonks up a level from
us if you're interested." Gene's dressing down of Sam was not without sympathy,
but did quite clearly relay its message.
"No thanks, Guv, I have the matter well in hand." Sam rolled his eyes in disgust
and rubbed his temples. These migraines were getting worse and worse all the
time and while he usually didn't think so, this time he rather wished he was
blind whilst surveying this particular scene.
Between Sam and Gene, lying on the ground, was a body. Or what should have been
a body. Perhaps it was most of a body, but it was impossible to tell at this
angle and without the aid of any sort of special forensic technology. Given what
information they were currently able to take in with their own faculties, it
would have been more accurate to say a man's clothes were on the ground between
them, and that those clothes were bloodied to the point where it was nearly
impossible to tell what colour or colours they'd originally been.
"I'd judge it was a man, perhaps in his thirties, going by the clothes. He
hasn't got any hands, feet, or head though; IDing's going to be rather difficult
I'd say," Sam tried to dissuade himself from disgorging the contents of his
stomach on the crime scene with his right hand and attempted to pass it off as
nonchalantly and thoughtfully chewing his index nail down. "Are you next going
to tell me you've found his missing appendages elsewhere?" Sam's eyes locked on
Gene's intently.
"Not that I know of. This scene is fresh to us and you and I are the first ones
down here. The others should be here any minute and we'll start squaring things
away then. I just wondered if you and your mad blood pattern science bobbins
might make something of this before I let the rest of CID loose on the scene."
Gene tried, but he couldn't keep a certain note of pride out of his voice as he
addressed Sam. Much as he'd have liked to, he couldn't get round the fact he'd
come to depend on his DI quite a lot, particularly in recent time.
"What's going on, boss?" DC Skelton asked, shortly before seeing the crime scene
for the first time behind Sam and heaving up all over Sam's shoes.
"WDC Cartwright, would you be a love and take care of DC Skelton here? I'm
afraid he's come over with a bad case of crime scene tampering and could use a
glass of water and a lie-down," Gene barked irritably before Sam even had the
chance to react.
"Begging your pardon, Sir, but shouldn't you have a plonk do that?" Annie said
calmly, not batting an eye.
Gene searched her eager, open face for any sign of insubordination intended or
implied and found none. Satisfied she was merely standing up for herself and
unwilling to admit he was secretly quite proud of her for doing so, he merely
grunted and nodded. "Best get started on the crime scene detail then, sweets.
After you see DC Skelton taken care of."
Annie turned away, rolling her eyes slightly but otherwise giving no sign of the
indignance she felt. "Judy, will you escort DC Skelton back to the station?"
******
By the time the CID team had investigated the crime scene thoroughly and the
forensic team had secured every bit of evidence they could turn up, it was well
past four in the morning. All parties were utterly drained of any energy; Ray
couldn't even muster much more than a sort of blank stare outward as they drove
back to the station, let alone offer any scathing remarks to anything Sam had to
say. Which wasn't much, anyway; as with everyone else, Sam was lost in his own
thoughts as Gene silently drove them back toward CID in his Cortina.
As they pulled up, Gene finally broke the silence. "Fancy a curry?" Sam blinked.
Gene looked serious.
"Not me, boss, I think I ought to turn in for the night," Ray exaggeratedly
stifled a yawn. "What little night there is left, anyway."
"Yeah, that'd be great, Guv." Sam responded guardedly.
Ray got out of the car and headed down the street toward his flat as Gene pulled
away and started driving back toward Rusholme.
"I wouldn't think you'd be so keen on eating after what we'd just seen." Sam
looked puzzled.
"On the contrary, I'm famished. I haven't eaten since well before teatime and
when you've seen the things I have, the mess we've just cleaned up can't phase
you." Gene said, putting up more bravura than he actually felt. Truth was, he
hadn't seen anything nearly this bad before. He wasn't sure he'd be able to
sleep, though, so eating only made sense as shagging was probably out of the
question at this exact moment and though he was a talented and prodigious
drinker, the thought of a drink on his empty and already angry stomach seemed
suspect at best.
"Besides, I wondered if maybe we could enquire round near our crime scene, maybe
do a bit of listening, see what we turn up." Gene smiled wolfishly as was his
wont.
"Bit of surveillance with your vindaloo?" Sam had to grin.
"You know what they say about old dogs, Sam." Gene allowed himself to relax
enough to grin back for just a moment as he met and searched Sam's gaze.
"When they get to a certain point, they're best shot?" Sam tried his best to
imitate Gene's voice and earned a particularly vicious punch to his right arm
for his trouble.
******
An hour or so later, both Gene and Sam were so knackered that even if the murderer had come waltzing into Madras House of Curry accompanied by a thirty piece orchestra, both of them would have been hard pressed to find the energy to nick him.
Well, perhaps not quite that knackered, but close enough. It was clear
they weren't successfully putting the multi with the tasking and were instead
just filling their empty, angry stomachs with butter chicken and a pleasantly
garlicky naan (although to Sam's dismay, they were out of mango lassi).
"I'll not expect you in till at least 10, all right?" Gene nodded decisively in
agreement with himself and his generosity as he smoked an after-dinner fag. Much
better than mints, to his mind.
"You're all heart, Guv." Sam sounded almost his normal self, except he couldn't
quite stifle a yawn escaping through his "Guv," which rather ruined the effect.
"Let's get out of here, Sammy-boy."
"Right behind you."
******
On the drive back, somewhere in between Madras and Sam's flat, Sam fell asleep
leaning against the passenger side window. Gene thought about waking him up but
decided his DI needed more sleep anyway and left him alone for the remaining
five minutes it took to get where he was going.
Sam began mumbling in his sleep, growing more and more anxious and abrupt as he
went on. Eventually he shouted something Gene couldn't have made out if he
tried. He wasn't even sure it was English. Whatever it was, it made him pull
over to the side of the road immediately, all thoughts of his nice soft bed,
prewarmed by his nice soft missus immediately left him.
"Sam. SAM. WAKE UP." Gene grabbed Sam's shoulders and shook him roughly.
"Guv. I'm sorry, I must've fallen asleep." Sam yawned so hugely his jaw cracked.
"Thanks for drivin me home."
"You can thank me by getting a decent night's sleep. Forget what I said about
ten; don't come in till you wake up on your own, no alarms. Okay? Except if it's
after noon, don't come in at all." Gene looked genuinely worried.
"I'll be fine, you don't have to worry about me," Sam began to get out of the
car.
"Get back here, we're not to your flat yet." Gene tugged Sam's right arm back
toward him, forcing him to sit back down in the passenger seat.
"Why'd you stop then?" Sam looked slightly bewildered and eerily like he had an
idea of what Gene had witnessed moments previously.
"You were having some sort of fit in your sleep. Yelling lots of stuff." Gene
began driving once more.
"What did I say?" Sam gazed at Gene in wonderment.
"Dunno, I couldn't make it out. You sounded pretty serious, whatever it was."
Gene remarked.
"Sometimes I have... these..." Sam trailed off. Visions, he wanted to
say. Visions of where I come from, where I should be right now, what I should
be doing, who I AM... his mind trailed off. Of course he couldn't tell that
to Gene. Not now anyway. Chances were good Gene already thought him completely
mad; he didn't want to add fuel to an already well-stoked fire. "Nightmares," he
finished, rather lamely.
"You sure that's all they are?" Gene's accompanying look was disbelieving.
"Pretty sure, yeah. Stress, you know how it goes," Sam said as Gene pulled to a
smooth stop in front of Sam's building.
"Good night of sleep will set you right. Here, I've got another trick of the
trade for you," Gene reached into the inside pocket of his coat and handed out a
half-drained small bottle of Jameson.
"Guv, you don't have to do that," Sam batted Gene's hand away lightly.
"It's my job to look after my men, and you look like you need looking after.
Don't make me force you into bed." Gene said, starting to open the driver's door
as he did so.
"While that's tempting, I believe I'll just take the whiskey," Sam was back on
form now they weren't talking quite so personally about him.
Some things, I just can't seem to say. Sam allowed himself to reflect as
he walked away from the Cortina and dug his keys out of his pocket.
******
WORD COUNT: 10,648 (in total, not each part separately)
STYLE/RATING: Gen, Red Cortina (some horrific elements and general darkness)
SPOILERS: Through S2.01 only.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Extra-special thanks to the fantabulously awesome lozenger8, whose brilliant beta-ing made this all possible and helped polish this fic so it shines like a pair of Phyllis' prized handcuffs. Also thanks to neuralclone, who added a bunny to the hutch for this story, where it was allowed to happily scamper and wreak much havoc with its other bunny friends. XD
The last thing he ever thought he'd miss was his electric razor.
Long ago, of course, he'd learnt the basics of shaving with a clunky
old-fashioned much like the one he now held in his hand. So it wasn't as if he
didn't know how; it was more that he didn't prefer it. Sometimes, that
was really more the point of things than those things themselves.
Take scribbling down notes on a notepad, for instance. On occasion, it was all
right, but he much preferred the clean, crisp efficiency of communication via
electronic or semi-electronic means. Even the mere act of typing up a memo to
hand to someone else in his unit was infinitely preferable; for one thing, it
meant far fewer questions about what this or that squiggle meant. Therefore,
theoretically at least, with a well-written memo, very few questions were
necessary. People just went about their work quietly and efficiently. His unit
was like the proverbial well-oiled machine, and it suited him incredibly well.
Of course, he figured that was why he couldn't have it
anymore. Once he'd gotten a semblance of normalcy and cocooned himself within it soundly, something had to come along and shake things up. Things with Maya. Coming back to 1973. Being without his bloody electric razor. This was all symptomatic of being Sam Tyler, and he was quite sure he didn't like it terribly well, to say the least. Especially the lack of proper toiletries.
"Good thing you remembered to buy a cucumber, your eyes look terrible,"
his reflection mocked. "You might try some yoghurt too, your skin's not looking
its baby-soft best," it continued snidely.
"SHUT IT!" Sam yelled, slamming the door on the medicine chest hard enough to
crack the glass slightly, but not quite hard enough to knock it out entirely.
"Bit testy this morning, aren't we? Cheer up, there's a love, soon you'll have
all the grande macchiato half-cafs you'd like. And before you tell me that isn't
the point, I know you're salivating at the mere mention, so it's no use," his
reflection informed him.
"Aren't you supposed to leave this sort of thing to the girl with the clown? I
thought she'd cornered the market on terrorising me when I'm at my most
vulnerable," Sam spat, sucking some water out of a glass into his mouth,
swishing it around, and spitting it out again in the basin below the mirror.
Great, he thought, now I've
bitten my tongue.
"If that's how you like it, fine, but you know I'm right," his reflection
retorted one last time before doing as asked.
And thusly, another day began.
******
"Mornin, Boss. Didn't sleep so well last night, then?" Chris cheerfully greeted
Sam as he entered CID.
Sam responded with a small guttural noise that would have sounded to the
untrained ear a bit like throat-clearing, only Chris knew better. "Sorry to hear
that, Boss," Chris responded, smile fading into seriousness. "Guv wants a word
with you first thing."
A slight hint of something crossed Sam's eyes, just for a tenth of a second or
so, but Chris didn't know what. Deciding discretion was the better part of
valour in this and most other cases where his boss' mental state was concerned,
he said nothing and instead stepped neatly aside. Or would have done, had he not
just as neatly caught his hip on the corner of the desk next to him, causing a
reflexive wince and rubbing of said hip.
Carefully making his face as blank as possible, Sam slunk into the Guv's office.
"How kind of you to show up. Wouldn't want to cause you any inconvenience," the
Guv spoke around his cigarette, fresh remains of several more like it already
littering the ashtray on his desk.
"It's hardly an inconvenience when I know I've you to wake up to of a morning,"
Sam's voice dripped sarcasm even as he smiled as sunnily as he knew how.
"You'll need that cheery disposition of yours; we've got an ugly one just in
this morning but I didn't want to interrupt your beauty sleep," the Guv said,
humour in his voice, but less showing on his face.
"O captain, my captain, lead the way." Sam offered a mock-salute.
******
"There's a body found in Dead Entry," Gene began, pausing to light another cigarette.
"Our killer hasn't got a sense of irony, has he?" Sam drawled, one muscle group
at the lower right-hand corner of his mouth twitching slightly, as though with suppressed grim mirth.
"Hang on, Harriet, aren't you the one always telling me it could be a bird and I
shouldn't assume things?" Gene was skeptical.
Sam glared at him sullenly and said nothing, which was the opposite of how such
conversations usually went. "All right, Sammy-boy?" Gene tried to keep his tone
light, but a note of genuine concern crept in anyway.
"I haven't been sleeping well lately. I'll be fine," Sam's tone was hushed and
slightly clipped. And did he really sound as though he wished the Guv would
ask a few more questions?
"I know what always knocks me right out. Maybe you could get WDC Cartwright to
give you a hand?" Gene smirked.
"Can't you show a little more respect for someone you've just promoted?" Sam
returned, outraged. Which was precisely what the Guv wanted.
"Respect is earned, not given. Never forget that." Gene turned back to business
as they reached his Cortina, which was parked at the roadside.
"Funny, I'd have thought she'd well earned your respect by now. I forget,
though, you do have your image to maintain," Sam continued.
"A very interesting point you raise," Gene said as he opened the door and
unceremoniously booted Sam into his seat whilst swinging the door firmly (but
gently) closed in one smooth motion.
******
"Were there any witnesses?" Sam finally asked, breaking a silence of about five
minutes that he'd passed sulking and boring holes into the side of Gene's face
with his eyes.
"None that've come forward yet," Gene played oblivious to this show, further
provoking Sam into the state of stress under which he performed his best.
"Why aren't we bringing a whole team with us, then? How long has the subject
been dead? Has someone even roped off the crime scene yet?" Sam, as ever, was
stuck on procedure almost as much as it was stuck on him.
"Because I wanted you to see this first. The others are coming down after us."
Gene said quietly, flickering his full attention on Sam for a second or so as he
told him this.
******
Shreds of something beige and furry decked the shrubbery along the path at
intermittent distances as the two made their approach, almost as though some
large ground-based bird had been gathering nesting material in the area. Perhaps
an ostrich. Although that didn't account for the chunky bloody bits...
Ooo. That will have stung, Sam thought but immediately kept to himself as they
came to what Gene was leading them toward.
"I'm not quite sure what I'm looking at, Guv." Sam squinted at the mess on the
ground in front of him. It smelled of a slaughterhouse; fear, piss, shit, and
above all, of course, the unmistakable coppery scent of blood.
"Word is, it used to be human." Gene carefully stepped around the mess,
surveying the scene and also keeping an eye on his DI to gauge his reaction.
"It looks like a day at the butcher's," Sam waved a hand in front of his nose in
disgust.
"Had I known you'd have such brilliant insight, I'd have invited DC Skelton
along instead of waiting for you to turn up." Gene remarked dryly.
"Sorry, Guv, but aren't you at all disturbed by what's here? I only hope you can
find it in your heart to forgive me for not immediately giving you an instant
line to the killer," Sam retorted, a slight hint of how shaken he was filtering
through his indignance.
"Course I'm disturbed. We're all disturbed in this job. Thing is, we're meant to
protect our people from this, and in order to do that, we have to be able to
separate ourselves from it. If you can't do that, Tyler, then you shouldn't be
wearing the white hat. I hear there's an opening with the plonks up a level from
us if you're interested." Gene's dressing down of Sam was not without sympathy,
but did quite clearly relay its message.
"No thanks, Guv, I have the matter well in hand." Sam rolled his eyes in disgust
and rubbed his temples. These migraines were getting worse and worse all the
time and while he usually didn't think so, this time he rather wished he was
blind whilst surveying this particular scene.
Between Sam and Gene, lying on the ground, was a body. Or what should have been
a body. Perhaps it was most of a body, but it was impossible to tell at this
angle and without the aid of any sort of special forensic technology. Given what
information they were currently able to take in with their own faculties, it
would have been more accurate to say a man's clothes were on the ground between
them, and that those clothes were bloodied to the point where it was nearly
impossible to tell what colour or colours they'd originally been.
"I'd judge it was a man, perhaps in his thirties, going by the clothes. He
hasn't got any hands, feet, or head though; IDing's going to be rather difficult
I'd say," Sam tried to dissuade himself from disgorging the contents of his
stomach on the crime scene with his right hand and attempted to pass it off as
nonchalantly and thoughtfully chewing his index nail down. "Are you next going
to tell me you've found his missing appendages elsewhere?" Sam's eyes locked on
Gene's intently.
"Not that I know of. This scene is fresh to us and you and I are the first ones
down here. The others should be here any minute and we'll start squaring things
away then. I just wondered if you and your mad blood pattern science bobbins
might make something of this before I let the rest of CID loose on the scene."
Gene tried, but he couldn't keep a certain note of pride out of his voice as he
addressed Sam. Much as he'd have liked to, he couldn't get round the fact he'd
come to depend on his DI quite a lot, particularly in recent time.
"What's going on, boss?" DC Skelton asked, shortly before seeing the crime scene
for the first time behind Sam and heaving up all over Sam's shoes.
"WDC Cartwright, would you be a love and take care of DC Skelton here? I'm
afraid he's come over with a bad case of crime scene tampering and could use a
glass of water and a lie-down," Gene barked irritably before Sam even had the
chance to react.
"Begging your pardon, Sir, but shouldn't you have a plonk do that?" Annie said
calmly, not batting an eye.
Gene searched her eager, open face for any sign of insubordination intended or
implied and found none. Satisfied she was merely standing up for herself and
unwilling to admit he was secretly quite proud of her for doing so, he merely
grunted and nodded. "Best get started on the crime scene detail then, sweets.
After you see DC Skelton taken care of."
Annie turned away, rolling her eyes slightly but otherwise giving no sign of the
indignance she felt. "Judy, will you escort DC Skelton back to the station?"
******
By the time the CID team had investigated the crime scene thoroughly and the
forensic team had secured every bit of evidence they could turn up, it was well
past four in the morning. All parties were utterly drained of any energy; Ray
couldn't even muster much more than a sort of blank stare outward as they drove
back to the station, let alone offer any scathing remarks to anything Sam had to
say. Which wasn't much, anyway; as with everyone else, Sam was lost in his own
thoughts as Gene silently drove them back toward CID in his Cortina.
As they pulled up, Gene finally broke the silence. "Fancy a curry?" Sam blinked.
Gene looked serious.
"Not me, boss, I think I ought to turn in for the night," Ray exaggeratedly
stifled a yawn. "What little night there is left, anyway."
"Yeah, that'd be great, Guv." Sam responded guardedly.
Ray got out of the car and headed down the street toward his flat as Gene pulled
away and started driving back toward Rusholme.
"I wouldn't think you'd be so keen on eating after what we'd just seen." Sam
looked puzzled.
"On the contrary, I'm famished. I haven't eaten since well before teatime and
when you've seen the things I have, the mess we've just cleaned up can't phase
you." Gene said, putting up more bravura than he actually felt. Truth was, he
hadn't seen anything nearly this bad before. He wasn't sure he'd be able to
sleep, though, so eating only made sense as shagging was probably out of the
question at this exact moment and though he was a talented and prodigious
drinker, the thought of a drink on his empty and already angry stomach seemed
suspect at best.
"Besides, I wondered if maybe we could enquire round near our crime scene, maybe
do a bit of listening, see what we turn up." Gene smiled wolfishly as was his
wont.
"Bit of surveillance with your vindaloo?" Sam had to grin.
"You know what they say about old dogs, Sam." Gene allowed himself to relax
enough to grin back for just a moment as he met and searched Sam's gaze.
"When they get to a certain point, they're best shot?" Sam tried his best to
imitate Gene's voice and earned a particularly vicious punch to his right arm
for his trouble.
******
An hour or so later, both Gene and Sam were so knackered that even if the murderer had come waltzing into Madras House of Curry accompanied by a thirty piece orchestra, both of them would have been hard pressed to find the energy to nick him.
Well, perhaps not quite that knackered, but close enough. It was clear
they weren't successfully putting the multi with the tasking and were instead
just filling their empty, angry stomachs with butter chicken and a pleasantly
garlicky naan (although to Sam's dismay, they were out of mango lassi).
"I'll not expect you in till at least 10, all right?" Gene nodded decisively in
agreement with himself and his generosity as he smoked an after-dinner fag. Much
better than mints, to his mind.
"You're all heart, Guv." Sam sounded almost his normal self, except he couldn't
quite stifle a yawn escaping through his "Guv," which rather ruined the effect.
"Let's get out of here, Sammy-boy."
"Right behind you."
******
On the drive back, somewhere in between Madras and Sam's flat, Sam fell asleep
leaning against the passenger side window. Gene thought about waking him up but
decided his DI needed more sleep anyway and left him alone for the remaining
five minutes it took to get where he was going.
Sam began mumbling in his sleep, growing more and more anxious and abrupt as he
went on. Eventually he shouted something Gene couldn't have made out if he
tried. He wasn't even sure it was English. Whatever it was, it made him pull
over to the side of the road immediately, all thoughts of his nice soft bed,
prewarmed by his nice soft missus immediately left him.
"Sam. SAM. WAKE UP." Gene grabbed Sam's shoulders and shook him roughly.
"Guv. I'm sorry, I must've fallen asleep." Sam yawned so hugely his jaw cracked.
"Thanks for drivin me home."
"You can thank me by getting a decent night's sleep. Forget what I said about
ten; don't come in till you wake up on your own, no alarms. Okay? Except if it's
after noon, don't come in at all." Gene looked genuinely worried.
"I'll be fine, you don't have to worry about me," Sam began to get out of the
car.
"Get back here, we're not to your flat yet." Gene tugged Sam's right arm back
toward him, forcing him to sit back down in the passenger seat.
"Why'd you stop then?" Sam looked slightly bewildered and eerily like he had an
idea of what Gene had witnessed moments previously.
"You were having some sort of fit in your sleep. Yelling lots of stuff." Gene
began driving once more.
"What did I say?" Sam gazed at Gene in wonderment.
"Dunno, I couldn't make it out. You sounded pretty serious, whatever it was."
Gene remarked.
"Sometimes I have... these..." Sam trailed off. Visions, he wanted to
say. Visions of where I come from, where I should be right now, what I should
be doing, who I AM... his mind trailed off. Of course he couldn't tell that
to Gene. Not now anyway. Chances were good Gene already thought him completely
mad; he didn't want to add fuel to an already well-stoked fire. "Nightmares," he
finished, rather lamely.
"You sure that's all they are?" Gene's accompanying look was disbelieving.
"Pretty sure, yeah. Stress, you know how it goes," Sam said as Gene pulled to a
smooth stop in front of Sam's building.
"Good night of sleep will set you right. Here, I've got another trick of the
trade for you," Gene reached into the inside pocket of his coat and handed out a
half-drained small bottle of Jameson.
"Guv, you don't have to do that," Sam batted Gene's hand away lightly.
"It's my job to look after my men, and you look like you need looking after.
Don't make me force you into bed." Gene said, starting to open the driver's door
as he did so.
"While that's tempting, I believe I'll just take the whiskey," Sam was back on
form now they weren't talking quite so personally about him.
Some things, I just can't seem to say. Sam allowed himself to reflect as
he walked away from the Cortina and dug his keys out of his pocket.
******