Fic: Taken 10/10 Life on Mars, Gene/Sam, Adult
Fic: Taken 10/10
Author: amproof
Rating: Brown Cortina (consensual sex, psychological torture)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I sure wouldn't
do this to them.
Characters: Gene/ Sam
Words: 9,000
Notes: The End! And just in time for me to start NaNoWriMo planning. Thank you to everyone who has read the story. I appreciate it. Hopefully this has wrapped up all the dangling strings and done justice to the rest of it.
Summary: Sam attacks Gene in a violent and terrible way. The next morning, he doesn't remember anything, and the Guv isn't about to remind him--or tell him why he thinks Sam needs to spend more time in the boot of the Cortina. Just as Sam thinks the Guv has gone off his rocker, someone he loves dies, his prospect of getting home is practically destroyed, and in 2006 he's getting a visitor no one wants. Oh, and the Guv has started having uncomfortably pleasant dreams of Sam, even as he wonders if his DI is a psychopath.
1. A favor gone wrong. Red Cortina (Rape, Violence)
2. A bad joke interpreted…badly. Blue Cortina (language, some violence)
3. Driving in circles. Blue Cortina (Language)
4. An action out of character. Blue Cortina (Language)
5. Understanding the unspoken. Blue Cortina (mild het!sex)
6. The wrong mystery solved…sort of. Blue Cortina (language, death of a minor character)
7. All turned to dust. Blue Cortina. (language)
8. What can't be taken back. Blue Cortina (language)
9. 9. Stripped. Blue Cortina (language)
Illness did curious things to a person. Made him see his mum and the Guv at the same time, for example. Sam hadn't understood, at first, how the two of them were sitting side by side next to him as if they pulling double duty on bedside vigil. They didn't speak, hardly looked at each other, which Sam thought was uncharacteristically rude of his mum, and downright out of sync for Gene, who hadn't aged a day that he could see. Might be something to a diet of booze and bacon after all. They spent all their time staring at him, and he talked to both of them because it was wonderful to be awake, and home, and he'd be well soon, just had to get out of bed, fight the fever off and get up. Fit as sunshine, he'd be. Just you wait.
The doctor walked in, and they all three looked at him expectantly.
"I'm afraid he's contracted an infection," the doctor said.
Sam tried to tug the man's coat to get him to turn around and address him. Hello? Patient awake. Don't act like I'm not here…
The doctor focused his talk towards Gene and Sam's mum.
"We've given him antibiotics…"
"Is it from the machine getting switched off last week?" his mum said. She wrung her hands in her lap.
"No, we, fortunately, didn't see any direct effects of that…on his body, at least. His mind…who's to say until he wakes up?"
"My mind's fine, you prick," Sam said. He glanced at his mother, instinctively waiting for a scolding. It didn't come.
"He were out in the rain," Gene said quietly. His own hands were clasped on his knees, and he stared down at them. "Shoulda got him into dry clothes." He glanced up at the doctor, then quickly down again. "I weren't thinking."
"It's never been proved that weather causes illness," Sam said. He was ignored all around. Well. If waking up was going to be like this, he might as well go back to sleep.
"I'll just check his vitals, and then he's all yours again."
The doctor turned around. Morgan. The breath in Sam's throat froze. Help. He couldn't push the word out. It clattered over his tonsils and wheezed to nothing. His body was heavy as lead. Morgan raised Sam's wrist and pressed two fingers against it. Sam twitched. He screamed for Morgan to get off him. For someone to help. Gene. Mum. They heard, God, they heard, after so long of not, they did, and they reached him at the same time. They reached out to him together, hands on his wrist. He felt them on him, but when he looked, he saw only one hand and two arms coming from it, one extending to Gene and one to his mum, and he stopped.
It was white, when he stopped. And gray and pink, too. Nothing in front of him, nothing behind. Nothing above or below. Nothing. He opened his mouth, meaning to scream, and instead a song burst out of him, a single note, long and powerful and reaching across the vastness with no obstacle to stop it from going on forever.
A blow from something unseen struck him in the chest. He sputtered. The colors faded. The song ended.
He returned where he started, in the room with mum, Gene, and Morgan looking at him. Nurses, too, now, all scurrying about, yelling things.
Sam blinked. No. His mum did. Her whole person disappeared and reappeared before him, as if someone had stuck her in a room on her own and flicked the light on and off, except instead of the light going out, she was. She came back, flickering, watching with tear-filled eyes as nurses converged on Sam with metal paddles and tore down the front of his hospital gown. Sam looked at Gene, who had moved to the foot of the bed and was staring at him with an expression so desperate that it made Sam scream for help, but Gene was flickering, too, on and off, off and on, Gene and mum, mum and Gene, both disappearing at the same time and returning together until the paddles hit him a third time and his mum didn't come back. The doctor and nurses poked Sam. He didn't bother answering. He stared at Gene and tried to remember if he'd ever seen him cry before. Never that he could think of, never like this, with heaving great sobs that bent him almost in half. He tried to turn away and couldn't. So he closed his eyes to give the man a bit of privacy. If he ever got to rights, he wouldn't tell anyone about it. No one needed to know.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in a room without carpeting and damp cinderblock walls. He was tucked up in a cot, the blankets so tight around him that he couldn't move.
"Sam?"
He turned his head. Gene was there, sitting on a wooden chair beside him, leaning forward and looking a mixture of anxious and relieved. He touched Sam's forehead.
"Your fever's breaking. I thought we were going to lose you, Sammy."
"Where are we?"
"In a cell in Hyde's interim PD."
"Did I go to hospital?"
"Morgan wouldn't allow it. But I been with you the whole time. Trust the Gene Genie to get you well, Sam."
"And you did."
"Are you hungry? You ain't eaten in…"
"How long have we been here, Gene?"
"Us? Oh, two days or so."
"Or so?" Sam peeled the blankets back and tried sitting up. Gene got up to help.
"No windows. Only guessing, really."
"Morgan kept you two days? He's not going to charge you, is he?"
"I think he'll be chuffed to see the back of me. He's tried to send me home, but I've kicked up a fuss-and a few plod's arses, so he's left me be. I think he wants you to himself, Sammy, but I'm not going to let that happen. He'll have to do a bit more than send plods in."
"Gene, does anyone know we're here?"
"I don't know. This whole thing, it don't seem so official, like."
"What do you mean?"
"Plods ain't got uniforms for starters, aside from those two who arrested us. The rest are all dressed in civvies. They don't act… I don't think they're coppers."
"You think this is a…"
"I think Morgan's gone off his head and he's playing make believe. We're in a church basement, Sam. You smell that? Used to be a wine cellar, I'd reckon."
"Are you sure?"
"Heard a choir singing yesterday. Doing warm ups or something. Just holding out one note. It were…"
"Heavenly?"
"I were gonna say 'earsplitting'."
"Right."
"Most definitely-'earsplitting.' Now, you want to explain why everyone around here is calling you 'Williams'?"
Sam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Morgan says it's my name. He says I've got amnesia and Sam Tyler doesn't exist. He took me out to a cemetery and showed me a grave. Sam Tyler's grave. He says that's where the name came from. He says my real name is Williams, and I'm working undercover at CID to stop you."
"Stop me from what?"
"Being you, I think."
"Is that what you're doing, Sam?"
"I don't know who Sam Williams is. I'm Sam Tyler and you're my guv. That's what I know."
"Just see you don't forget it."
"I've done enough harm to you…"
"Better things to worry about now, Sam."
"You have to go next time they let you. How else are you going to get me out if no one knows where we are?"
"Ray'll be on it."
"But he doesn't know…"
"Ray will be on it. You go back to sleep now. You need your strength up for what's next."
"What's next?"
"I don't know, Sammy. But I'm not thinking it's good."
"Guv, if Morgan's mad, then why haven't we knocked the doors down and gotten out of here?"
"Tried that. Got put back in before you could say 'fancy knickers'. We're in his game, Sammy. Not the other way around. Just have to figure out how to play it."
"They'll put you in cuffs if you keep beating on the plod, you know."
"If they'd quit asking me to leave, I wouldn't have to keep beating on them."
"King of logic, you are."
Gene nodded, the familiar prideful smirk taking up residence on his face. Despite the situation, Sam grinned right back. He yawned, and started the descent into sleep again.
When he woke, Gene was sitting against the wall, watching him.
"You scared I'm going somewhere, Guv?"
Gene gave a small, tight, smile, and shook his head. Sam closed his eyes.
When Sam woke again, Gene was gone. He got up, and when he stood, it felt like he hadn't been upright in days.
"You don't look good, son." Vic Tyler was sitting on the end of the bed, his long legs tucked up to his chin. "I've asked that Silver bloke to bring you some soup, but it seems he can't see me."
"I wouldn't be too surprised by that, Dad."
"No. I guess not."
Sam touched the wall to get his balance before taking a hesitant step towards the door. It was locked, but seconds after he rattled the knob, it opened and Silver was there, smiling politely.
"Hello, DI Williams. Glad to see you're feeling better. DCI Morgan is expecting you."
"It's Tyler. Where's DCI Hunt?"
"DCI Morgan had him moved to another area. Now that you're getting well, he thought you could benefit from some alone time so your rest isn't interrupted."
"Right neighborly of him."
"Yes, sir." Silver put an arm out to steady Sam as they walked together, down a wide hallway carpeted in red, towards a room at the end where he could see Morgan sitting at a desk. The walls of the hall were festooned in children's drawings of angels and men standing on hilltops with shepherd's crooks.
"Where's the Guv?"
"I'm right here, Sam."
"Where's my guv?"
"Gene Hunt is not your guv, Sam. You work for me. You always have. I don't appreciate having to arrest one of my own men."
"I didn't do anything."
"I had so much hope for your future. You were going to make DCI one day."
"Where's the guv?"
Morgan flicked a hand towards Silver. "Take him back."
Silver stepped forward. Sam held up a hand for him to wait. He did. "DCI Morgan…you can't hold me here without evidence. You know that."
"We'll talk more tomorrow, Sam."
"You can't keep me here."
Morgan turned his attention to the papers on his desk, expression as placid as ever. "You have to let me go." Sam thrust towards him, but Silver drew him back and he allowed the officer to lead him away.
He spent the night listening for Gene. He heard clattering pipes instead.
When Silver came for him, Sam was rinsing his head in the basin. Silver waited as he toweled off and put his shirt on. He walked without assistance to Morgan's office, and waited for the man to look up from his desk so it could start again.
Sam lost track of how many times it started again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
"Where were you on October 15?"
"I don't know."
"You have no recollection? It wasn't that long ago." Morgan never got up as he questioned Sam. He did everything in the opposite way that Gene Hunt did. He sat when Gene would stand, he was still when Gene would move. He was quiet when Gene would shout.
"No." Sam refused to let his weariness show, in case it made Morgan think he was wearing him down. He wasn't. Sam could tell this man 'no' until the end of time.
"Well, that seems odd. Bright man like you, having no memory of an entire night."
"Sir." Sam never looked directly at Morgan unless he was told to. Morgan did not tell him to.
"Do you suppose, that you might have wandered over towards your old division, perhaps?"
"No, sir."
"And why is that, Sam? Don't you like us over here?"
"Haven't had a reason to wander over here since my transfer. Don't see why I should suddenly have one."
"Perhaps you'd heard Vic Tyler was in the area. I have acquired the case file from his disappearance from CID. You are noted as taking a 'particular interest' in Tyler. Interesting phrase, isn't it? 'Particular interest'."
Sam snorted. Readjusted his feet. Shoulder-width apart. Kept his hands locked behind his back.
"No? Well. Maybe it wasn't Tyler you were coming to see. Perhaps it was me. Let me tell you what I think. You came here to blow up Hyde PD, but Victor Tyler saw you, and you killed him."
He looked at Morgan, saw him smirking. "Why would I blow up Hyde PD?"
"Perhaps you wanted to blow me up."
"You? I'd just shoot you."
"These are not the words of an innocent man, Sam."
Sam stared at the wall behind Morgan.
"May I go now?"
"Yes. You may go. I'll see you tomorrow. I do look forward to these conversations. As, I'm sure, do you."
"Sir."
The questions never changed. Sam kept his answers to one word. Morgan was patient, but his tolerance had a limit. Sam discovered this when he returned to his cell one day to find that the chair was missing. Then the bed frame was gone. Next the blanket, leaving only the thin mattress on the floor. Interrogation became the highlight of his day because it was the only time he wasn't freezing. They took his belt and shoes so he wouldn't hang himself. He hadn't considered that, though he might hang them if he had the chance. Morgan had no evidence. If he did, he wouldn't be pressing so hard for a confession. Knowing this, Sam stopped worrying about what he had done that night. Whatever it was, it wasn't Morgan's business. He knew he had the power to end it. All he had to do was confess and he'd be whisked off to a court and dealt with. Executed, most likely, after the verdict came down. But he had not done what Morgan said, and knew that he hadn't. So he waited for the Guv to come blasting in on his horses and set him free. And while he waited, he practiced holding in his bladder for hours at a time because now they only let him out to pee twice a day. And he practiced standing without fainting for just as long and ignoring the pangs of cold that crept into his bare feet. And he practiced smiling and not letting the 'fuck you' in his heart bleed into his expression whenever they spoke to him. All in all, he kept pretty busy.
"Was your cover threatened?" Morgan had explained time and again about the Williams thing. Sam's real name was Williams, he said. Sam was working undercover to bring down DCI Hunt. Sam was Morgan's lapdog. Sam needed to snap out of it and remember his place.
Sam did remember his place. And it wasn't where Morgan wanted it to be. It was, however, the reason for their failure to communicate.
"I was not undercover."
"Hunt suspected, did he? So you blew up Hyde PD to get him off your scent. To please him. Tell me he told you to do it, and I'll set you free."
"Fuck. Off."
Morgan signaled Silver. "Take him back."
He saw Gene, once, as Silver escorted Sam back from the loo. The Guv was walking in front of Carew, easy as you please. Sam sprinted towards him on a rush of energy. Silver chased behind.
"Guv! You alright?" Sam hugged him without thinking.
"Fanbloodytastic," Gene said, but Sam noticed that Gene's arms were strong around him and he wasn't letting go. The officers pried them apart, and they continued on their separate ways. Sam looked behind to see where Gene was being taken, but he and Carew turned a corner and that was all he saw.
Silver hovered in the door of Sam's cell for a moment, and Sam waited to be told off for what he'd done, breaking out like that.
"They say Gene Hunt was a great man," Silver said, finally.
"He still is. Are they…are they hurting him?" He thought of Gene walking so easily in front of Carew, like a pet. Why would he do that? Bile rose in his throat. And the way Gene clung to him-and he to Gene-they would pay for it, and he had been stupid to let his instinct drive his actions. A right idiot.
The officer's lip disappeared behind his teeth for a moment, but he shook himself out of whatever he was thinking. "He's not my responsibility. You are."
The latch slid on the door, and Sam was alone again. Then he turned around and his father was there, looking sympathetic. This was the other thing Sam did to keep occupied. He talked to his dad. It made him forget the cold.
"You know, Dad, this is the most I've ever seen you. It's been… I always wished…"
"I know, Sammy. Me, too." Vic leaned against the wall. He was always leaning, casual as could be. He never paced, never ran his hand through his hair. He wasn't much like Sam.
"I wish Gene were here. You know, he'd like you." Sam began practicing deep squats. It was difficult, without a chair.
"He didn't like me when I was alive. Can't see as I've changed much."
"You stay now. And he stays, so. You've got that in common."
"That's not a hell of a lot, Sammy."
"I guess not." He stretched an arm over his head, curved it, and raised one foot to hover over the other.
"And, not to be the voice of reason or anything, but, uh, he can't see me. So…"
"But I wish he could." He hopped, switching in the air so when he landed his feet had reversed position.
"Then so do I."
A full day passed with no visit from Silver. Sam put it off as long as he could, but when he couldn't wait any longer, he wedged himself into a corner farthest from his bed and urinated against a crack on the wall, hoping it would drain away.
No toilet breaks meant no food, either, and he went to bed hungry.
Silver stuck his head in the next day, sniffed-Sam avoided looking at him-and left. He returned with a mop and bucket of warm, soapy water. He left Sam alone with them, and Sam cleaned the wall as best he could. When Silver returned, he offered Sam a small smile, though Sam couldn't say if he was pleased that Sam had cleaned the wall or that Sam had not drowned himself in the bucket-a fleeting consideration-as that would surely have cost Silver his job.
Sam was allowed to the toilets that day, but no one came with food or water. On his evening trip to the loo, he drank as much as he could from the faucet, and forced himself to urinate a second time before he opened the door and returned himself to Silver's custody.
The fourth day without food, Silver entered with a chair. He responded to Sam's greeting with a flicked glance towards him, turned, and marched out. He left the door open. This had never happened before. Sam remained where he was, standing near the back of the room, and watched it. If he were Gene, he'd have bolted the moment Silver was out of sight. But Sam was cautious. And anyway, he wasn't sure even Gene was Gene anymore. Just as he decided to venture a cautious step forward, an officer Sam had never seen before arrived carrying a small round table, which she set up beside the chair. Another added a pot of tea and a single saucer and mug. They worked briskly, neither speaking to each other nor to Sam, who continued standing in silence. They exited. Sam stared at the tea, trying to remember when he'd last had any. He was almost to it when Morgan appeared. Sam steeled his legs against stumbling backwards. It was the first time Morgan had come to the cells.
Morgan looked around, as if he were making a house call. Sam half expected him to say 'Nice place you got here'. Instead, he asked permission to come in. A useless formality, they both knew, but Sam nodded anyway. There was only one thing he would refuse Morgan; everything else was inconsequential. Morgan thanked him and stepped over the threshold. He took the chair and poured out the tea. "Do you mind?" he asked. Another formality. He was sipping before Sam could shake his head to the negative. "Oh…" He stopped, as if remembering something, and dug in his jacket pocket until he pulled out a crumpled packet of biscuits. He broke open the cellophane and, with great care, arranged them along the saucer's edge. They were pink. Sam began to feel ill. He wondered if he could sit, if Morgan would mind him sinking to the floor, or if he should ask, though that went against the farce they were playing-what host asked his guest's permission to do something? He kept standing. It seemed the safest decision.
"I understand you have not been eating. Is the food not up to your standards?"
So this was how he'd play it. Acting like it was Sam's decision not to eat.
"I'm sure it's fine." Sam was careful not to confirm or deny Morgan's implication with his answer. If he had learned anything, it was to let Morgan set the way.
"Well. You will eat something tomorrow, I hope."
Sam gave a noncommittal shrug.
"We don't want you to be ill, Sam. We do worry about your well-being, you know. I still consider you one of my men, even though you evidently do not."
"You do not exist. You are in my mind. I'm making you all up because I'm in a coma in 2006 and I need something to do to pass the time." He slammed his eyes closed so Morgan would not see the hatred. It would not help him. He opened them when the feeling was sufficiently buried.
"Very well. We are all figments of your imagination. In that case, you should have no problem telling me that Gene Hunt arranged the explosion. Just say it, Sam. Three words: Hunt did it. And you can go. This part of your dream will be over."
"What about Gene?"
"He doesn't exist; what do you care? Or, perhaps you could imagine him into another story. Why don't you do that now, Sam? Close your eyes and imagine Gene wherever you want him to be."
Sam closed his eyes.
"Are you with him, Sam?"
A rustle of pant leg as Morgan stood. Soon Sam felt Morgan's breath on his cheek. "You'll never be free so long as you are."
Sam opened his eyes to see Morgan walking out. As soon as the door closed, he flung himself at the table. He carefully swept the biscuit crumbs into his hand and, one by one, ate each with the particularity of an epicurean enjoying a fine French meal. When he finished, he painstakingly licked each finger clean and his palm, too, for good measure. He raised the mug and drained it. The pot was empty. Sam watched in dismay as a lone drop rolled out and splashed into the mug. He drank it anyway.
"I don't like that man," Vic said.
Sam looked up and wondered how his dad had figured out how to sit upside down on the ceiling. Clever trick, he thought. Really must try it sometime.
Sam spent the rest of the day ignoring the cramping in his stomach. When Silver came for him, he had to be helped to the toilets. On the way back, Silver pushed something into his hand. It crinkled. "Keep it to yourself, right?"
Sam didn't nod, didn't dare do anything in case anyone was watching. Once he was safely in his cell again, he tore open the packet and swallowed the driest, most delicious month-old chocolate he'd ever had in his life.
When Silver returned, Sam asked him where Gene was.
"Told you, he's not in my care."
"I want to see him." He had to know what Gene was doing, if he was still there. Why he was still there. Whether he'd stuck about for a lark when he could be getting out, saving Sam-if by not saving Sam he was acting on a revenge he claimed to not care about. Was Gene Hunt a lying hypocrite or a prisoner? This was what Sam wanted to know.
"I'll see what I can do."
Sometime in the night, or what Sam guessed was the night, he heard the door open, saw the light in his room went on, and the door close. Gene was standing in front of it, looking as confused as Sam. Then, seeing Sam, his expression cleared.
"You know, during the War, the officers used to reward the soldiers for a job well done with a bit of tail."
"Is that why they let you come?" Sam couldn't help glancing at the door. Surely Morgan would come through any moment…
"I don't know. You done something worth rewarding?" Gene wore a mask of bravado, but Sam could see he was wavering, not quite frightened but cautious, perhaps.
"No."
Gene stepped up to him, chest to chest, and met Sam's hesitant gaze with narrowed eyes. His head dipped, and he kissed Sam on the mouth. His movements were slow but insistent, and Sam responded in kind, noting that the Guv did not taste of alcohol, or anything really, except breath and water. So Morgan hadn't been sharing his tea with Gene, either. When Gene lifted his head away, he didn't move back, just as he never moved back after punching Sam, either.
"You don't…have to… They might not have meant for us…"
"Shut up, Sam."
Sam knew then that it wasn't true, what he had suspected about Gene hanging about on a lark but really free to come and go as he pleased. Gene was just as much a prisoner as he was. Needed contact just as much as he did. Otherwise, he wouldn't be fumbling with the buttons on Sam's shirt, trying to get them open. Sam should stop him, put his arm up to block him…or say no. 'Just say no'. But Sam was a prisoner, too, and he wanted it to happen. Besides, in the long run, it really wouldn't matter. It was like when they were trapped in the dumpster and he'd held onto Gene's foot the whole time. Certain behavior became acceptable under certain conditions. This, most definitely, was a certain condition.
Sam started to touch Gene, but stopped. He didn't have any right, with the rape, to put his hands on him. But he wanted Gene, and a blind-deaf man would know Gene wanted him from the way he was pawing him and making incoherent near grunting noises. Sam's belly pulsed, first away, then towards, Gene's fingers as they skirted over his torso, causing his skin to prickle, pushing the undershirt upwards. Sam held his hands out, palms up as if prepared for cuffs, but really he was waiting, open for anything Gene wanted. And yet, Sam spoke first.
"Gene, let me…" He wanted to say 'make love', but he'd never used that phrase for anyone, not even Maya, because of how girly it sounded, and logic told him that using it now would kill the possibility, so he said 'fuck you' instead. "Gene, let me fuck you," but he meant 'make love', and he hoped Gene knew it too, and would give him credit for not using the gayboy term for it. "Tell me what to do," Sam said. "I won't do anything you don't tell me. I want to get it right this time. The two of us." Gene glanced up. Their eyes locked, and Sam saw that he understood.
"Undo my trousers."
Sam did, opening the button and zip.
"Now yours." Gene's voice was heavy.
Sam obeyed. In moments, they both had their trousers and pants off. Sam wore only his undershirt. Gene pulled his own shirt off, so he was completely nude. The bruises from the rape had faded. There were no new ones that Sam could see, so whatever they had done to control Gene had been psychological, just as it was for Sam. He touched Gene's hip, where the bruise shaped like his hand had once been. He wished, perversely, that it were still there. Gene pulled Sam's hand towards him and placed it on his cock. He squeezed Sam's hand, showing him the proper pressure and the exact way to move from base to tip and back again. Then he let go. Sam leaned forward, head down, until the top of it stopped against Gene's shoulder. He watched his hand stroking Gene. Gene nuzzled against him and said his name. He touched Sam, wrapping his fingers around his prick. Sam jerked as Gene's calluses slid over his sensitive skin. Gene's breathing grew louder. Sam forced his head up, and dropped it again, this time onto Gene's neck. He mouthed the skin, their bodies now as close as they could be. He came.
Gene grabbed Sam's arms above the elbows and squeezed, harsh and unyielding, and for an instant Sam panicked. He'd be turned over, thrown down, and shown how it felt to be raped, to be Gene-his heart pounded; the pulse in his neck made it impossible to breathe. Then Gene's breath hitched, too, his hands relaxed, and the moment ended, changed and Sam understood it was desire, not a waking nightmare. Gene came, too. It splattered over Sam's hands, and they raised them up together, Gene sucking Sam's fingers clean, and Sam licking Gene's as they entwined with his own. He leaned up and kissed Gene on the mouth, tasting some of himself. Gene's tongue pushed against his, and he opened wider, letting it in. Hands went to heads, Sam's stroking, tugging Gene's long hair, and Gene's thumbing over Sam's earlobe. Sam breathed Gene's name into his mouth.
Gene broke the kiss, broke the touch. He looked at Sam, and then, without a word, turned around and lay on his stomach on the mattress. He rested his head on his forearms. Sam knelt between his legs. He worked his hands beneath Gene's hips and gently nudged him.
Since he had asked to fuck Gene, he had expected Gene to say something about always knowing Sam was a 'bloody fairy' or a 'nancy-arsed bender', and stop what they were doing dead in its tracks. This would be the prime time for it, as Sam adjusted his position, knelt to the mattress, and pushed Gene's bum apart with his hands so he could get closer, first with his lips and then, tentatively, his tongue. Didn't get much gayer than that. Gene didn't say anything, though. Instead, he spread his legs and offered a slight tilt of his pelvis in the direction Sam's prodding indicated. Sam licked until he was hard again, even without touching himself.
Sam pushed a finger in as gently as he could. Gene raised himself higher. Sam started fucking him with it.
"More."
Sam added another finger and worked until he could wiggle them around a bit.
"Sammy…"
"Almost, Gene…"
"Don't know how long we've got…"
Sam decided to believe Gene meant how long until Silver came back and not how long they actually had in the grand scheme of things. But either way, the immediate result would be the same. He pulled his fingers out and lined up his cock.
"Ready?"
Gene's groan answered him, and Sam pushed forward. It was a slow entry, encouraged by Gene's moaning and the odd 'fuck, Sammy' sprinkled in. He folded himself over Gene's back once he was inside him, and waited. Gene was sweating. Sam put his arms around him. Gene's heart was beating a dangerous pace. Sam's was, too. He could feel it thudding inside him, knew that Gene could feel it against his back. Slowly, his hips started to move. Gene was tight, and it hurt a little, fucking him, but it was warm, too, and Gene arched towards him, and Sam stopped being frightened that he was hurting him and allowed himself to go faster and harder, but always listening to Gene, checking that the noises he was making never turned into protests. Sam thought he heard the door open as he came, but when he turned to look, it was closed.
Even so, he and Gene cleaned up quickly. Having no water, they used tongues and hands and almost began fucking again, except Gene was certain it had been the door-he'd heard it, too, and he forced Sam to put his trousers on, as he did up his own and did up his shirt, but got the buttons wrong, so when Silver returned, it was to the sight of Sam buttoning up Gene's shirt for him. He waited, looking over their heads as Gene squeezed Sam's hip and pulled away. He left without a word. Silver followed him.
Sam was alone. He laid down. The mattress smelled of sex. He had the feeling he would never see Gene again.
They fed him the next day. He ate everything. When they took him to see Morgan, he confessed and then took it back, just to see what Morgan would do.
He sent him back to the cell and stopped the food. A day passed. Two. Three. Sam peed in the corner again and again and again. Silver brought a mop and watched him clean up, even though he was almost too weak to move.
Silver did not bring chocolate.
Sam sat down and waited to die. Then, the door opened and it wasn't Silver or Morgan.
"Sam Tyler?"
Sam looked up at the woman filling the doorway. She was regarding him with gentle but thorough appraisal. More from instinct than habit, he scrambled to his feet. She came towards him and laid her hands on his shoulders. Despite their chubbiness, her touch was unerringly delicate.
"Yes," he said.
She nodded and made to perform some type of motherly crush, pressing him to her bosom. He allowed this, as he was too surprised to do anything but, and he knew better than to interfere with a woman who was feeling matronly. "Aye, ye poor wee laddie. Got yourself in a right mess, didn't you, dear? Well, we'll see what we can do about you, won't we, now?"
"Who are you?"
"Your bloody saviour. Come on." She grabbed his wrist and together they went into the hallway.
"Where are the guards?"
"Don't worry. Sandra will have taken care of that. She's quite resourceful."
"Are you police?" Sam asked as the woman peered professionally around the corner before proceeding.
"Nope. You know where they're keeping Gene?"
"No. They never…" She pressed her hand to his sternum, and he stopped speaking.
"He's locked up in there, third door down. Cover me." She pulled a cricket bat from behind herself. Sam stared at it.
"Where did you have that?"
She smirked. "Benefit of a long skirt, son. Here."
Sam took the bat, gave it a few practice swings. He nodded. Together, they crept forward. The way was clear. When the woman reached the door, she pulled a pin from her hair and picked the lock. In no time, the door was open. Gene was standing inside, legs set at a fighting stance. When he saw the woman, his fists dropped. As Sam watched, the Guv's fierce expression turned into a smile and he moved forward as quickly as Sam had ever seen him, when not lured by the promise of a beer or whiskey. The woman was moving towards Gene, too, and when they met the only thing missing was the music.
When at last they stopped kissing, the woman turned to Sam, pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to dry it, and said, "Now that's the way to be rescued."
Gene came up, still grinning, and lightly smacked her bottom. "Oi, enough chatting, you're not done being white knight, yet. You know the way out?"
"Of course."
Gene looked at Sam and held his hand out. Without thinking, Sam placed his own in it. The woman looked between the two of them, her expression unreadable but not, Sam thought, condemning. Gene noticed, too, and yanked his hand back. "Bat, Gladys. Believe it's mine."
Sam slowly handed it over. "It's yours? From your house? How did..?" He looked at the woman.
"Maggie, you went through all the trouble of rescuing him and didn't introduce yourself?"
"Really wasn't time, Gene."
Gene sighed, his smile having settled into a look of permanent adoration. "Sam, this is Margaret, my missus."
She took Sam's hand. "Pleased to finally meet you, Sam. I've heard so much about you."
Sam nodded. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. There was no way he was going to compare to her. He felt like a fool, seeing the two of them together, for ever thinking that Gene would consider being with him, even in secret. If first impressions were everything, this woman was amazing. "Pleased to meet you, too."
"Now let's go. Sandra is holding up the guards."
"Sandra?"
"A friend. I met her when I went to visit my mum."
"On a march, you mean." Gene said.
"Gene-how long have you known?"
"Just about forever, love."
They ran up a set of stairs, Margaret and Gene each vying for the lead and the thrill of checking around corners first. Sam's legs gave out on the second flight, and only the banister stopped him from falling. Gene ran back down and hooked Sam's arm around his shoulders.
"He alright?" Margaret said, already at the top of the flight.
"They haven't been feeding him proper. You go on. I've got him."
"It's alright, we're almost out."
Sure enough, the next door was the exit, and parked right outside was a rust colored car with a woman leaned against it, her arms crossed. "All clear," she said.
"Gene, Sam, this is Sandra."
Sam waved weakly. Gene nodded.
"We didn't see a single plod. How'd you distract them?"
"Challenged them to a drinking game for charity. Told them I was from the Ladies League." Sandra thumbed behind the car, and they all looked. There, hunched over chairs around a small table, were Silver, Carew, and others Sam had seen during his captivity, all either groaning or unconscious. "Seems they hadn't heard of the reputation of the League around here."
"Wait-you actually are with the Ladies League?" Sam asked.
"Of course."
"What about Morgan? How did you…?"
"That was me," Margaret said. "I got to his office once Sandra had the plod out and I told him I was there to discuss the church's next social. Took charts in and everything."
"He put up with that?"
"Let's just say it distracted him enough that he didn't notice the vase coming down on his head."
"Shit, I love you," Sandra said. Sam looked at Gene. His smile had dropped, but he quickly recovered and put his arm around Margaret.
"Don't we all," he said.
Margaret smiled at him and Sandra.
"If you were twenty years younger, I'd tell you to look into becoming a WPC," Gene said. Sandra and Margaret smiled at each other.
"What?"
"Sandra's already on the force, love."
"Oh. Well, good for you."
"She's a DCI."
"She's a what? No such thing as a WDCI."
"You're an MDCI?" Sandra asked.
"It's just DCI, love."
"Funny-same where I'm from. For everyone."
"So where is this place? Just women on the force, is it?"
"And men. Few dogs, too. For drug-sniffing and the like."
"Here I thought Hyde was the PD from another planet. Seems I was wrong."
Sam laughed. Gene thumped him in the stomach. Only the fact that Sam's arm was still around Gene's shoulders, held in place by Gene's hand stopped him from falling. The laugh turned to a cough.
"Gene, you be nice to that boy."
"It's ok, Mrs. Hunt. This is a love tap from him," Sam said.
"Gene…"
"Enough chatting. Let's go before somebody wakes up." Sandra unlatched the back door. Gene loaded Sam inside, and then got in himself. Sam tumbled onto the seat, righting himself against the opposite door. He looked over at Gene, whose smile had disappeared. He was watching Sandra and Margaret.
"She's a bit like you, don't you think?" Sam said.
"Don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do."
"She seems an all-right bird. Nice tits."
"It's like you're checking yourself out, Guv."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Good one, there."
"You think she and your missus are…"
"Sam."
Sam nodded. Right. So they were ignoring that, letting Gene act the gentleman and not broach the subject until his wife brought it up. Though, as Sam watched Sandra open the car door for her, and the tender way she caught Margaret's hair to stop it from getting caught in the door, he didn't know how much longer they could go on denying it. Sam looked over at Gene, saw the thin set of his lips, and recognized that he felt the same.
"You're alright now, boys," Sandra said. "So, you just settle back and get some rest and let me and Mags take care of ya's."
"I would kill for a bacon butty and chips," Gene said as they got underway.
"Right you are, love," Sandra said. "What about you, Sammy?"
"I could go for some chips, yeah."
"We'll stop in at a pub on the way home."
As she spoke, Sam's eyes became heavy. He struggled against the weariness, but it was a losing battle. Voices sang in his head, his mother, Aunt Heather, Maya, the coffee girl at the corner shop who knew his order without asking but didn't know his name… Sam closed his eyes and woke up.
It was white, as he remembered, and his mother was there, sitting beside him. He made a sound and she startled towards him. "Sammy?" No tears from her, she wasn't the type. "We've been waiting for you so long. I'll get the doctor…" She started to hurry out, and he choked out, "we?" A hand touched his wrist and he turned to his other side. Gene, older, grayer, slimmer, but still so very Gene, was looking at him, crying.
"Guv?"
"I knew it," Gene said.
"Knew what?"
"That I didn't imagine you. They said I did some damage, from the drinking, got to my liver, got to my brain, they said. Told me I made you up. But I knew that I… It is you, isn't it? Because I'll feel a right old fool if I've been sneaking in here all this time, getting your mum to let me stay even after, I swear it were an accident, Sam, I wasn't trying anything… and you're not…"
"Camel hair coat. Cortina. Ray. Chris. Annie."
Gene nodded, his face awash with tears.
"Thought the Gene Genie didn't cry."
"You tell anyone, you won't live to see another day."
Sam nodded, his eyes closing again.
"Sam? Don't…"
"Going back, Gene, not done with you yet, not done with 1973 yet." He forced his eyes open. "Besides, get the feeling you're not quite done with me. Take care of my mum, would you?"
The last thing he felt, as he let himself get tugged under, was Gene's chapped lips on his own.
He pushed himself through the place where there was no place, through the song with one note, and landed, again, on a vinyl seat vibrating gently against him and the smell of vinegar and chips assaulting his nose. Something warm was at his back, large and firm and smelling of Hai Karate and he smiled and sank into its comfort.
----------------------
Epilogue:
There were secrets a man kept, both to keep sane and to protect the ones he loved. Gene wasn't sure that 'love' applied to how he felt about Tyler-not a nancy, after all-but he was damned certain that he'd never be telling Sam how he'd bargained with Silver to save Sam. The man was bleeding pervert, and if Gene hadn't heard him talking to Carew about Sam, who knew what would have happened? But he did hear, and he threatened the bastard with instant death, and when that didn't work, he tried something else, which did work. It worked on Silver and it worked on Carew and anyone else who came by. Morgan was the only one not lining up for the Genie's throat. When Gene asked Silver why, the prat said Morgan didn't know-didn't even know Gene was still there. They were hiding him, he'd said; of course he could go anytime, but they'd kill Sam the second he set foot out the door. Then he told him they'd stopped feeding Sam, so Gene offered up a Curly Whirly he'd been saving and told Silver to give it to him, and he'd sucked him off a second time, just to be certain that he would.
But he'd never tell Sam that, couldn't act like he was hurting, like the captivity had been anything but a walk in the park for him. Like he wouldn't shoot Silver on sight if he ever saw him again. So they went to the pub, and he dragged Sam in, too because he wanted to be around people, even Margie and Sandra weren't enough, and he wasn't going to leave Sam alone. No one in the pub gave the sleeping Sam a second glance, aside from someone cracking that usually it was pub first, sleep after. They drank and ate and got back in the car with Sam and his chips wrapped up in paper.
"Oi, Tyler! You going to eat that?" Gene poked Sam, who didn't budge from his sleeping. "More for me, then." Tyler wasn't waking up. He knew he was tired, but…
"Oh, Gene, don't eat the boy's chips. You've had your own and half mine already," Margaret said in a good-humored reprimand.
"Too late, dearest. He deserves it, anyway. Sleeping through a pub visit like that." Don't let the worry show. Not ever. Gene had already plucked the bag from Sam's loose grip. He munched loudly, smacking his lips. Sandra threw the car into another turn, and, again, everyone and everything in it slid over. Gene found himself pressed into the door, and, as Sam was sleeping and unable to hold himself upright, he had landed against Gene. Gene checked the front seat to see if he was watched, and threw an arm around Sam, tugging him against his chest. Bits of chip crumb tumbled into Sam's hair as he continued to eat.
Sam began to stir, his first movement in minutes. Gene kept his arm firmly around him. Sam opened his eyes and looked around. "Guv?" he said, and sounded as if he couldn't believe where he was. He said the names of the women, too, with just as much astonishment.
"Hello, sleepy head," Margaret said.
"You slept through the pub, Betsy," Gene said. "Don't you fret, though. You got your round in."
"Gene lifted your wallet," Sandra said. "So if you're wondering later why you're short five quid…"
"Oh." Sam blinked lazily. Gene expected him to move away, but he didn't, if anything, he snuggled into a more comfortable position before snatching the empty chip bag away.
"You ate my chips."
"That's what you get for falling asleep, Gladys," Gene said. Margaret had moved closer to Sandra in the front. He stamped down on the jealousy bubbling inside him. He should be glad she was happy. He should be glad she and Sandra had saved him and that he and Sam were alive.
Sam sighed and closed his hand over Gene's, pushing it against his chest, and Gene found that he was not glad, but grateful.
He bent forward and laid a small kiss on the top of Sam's crumb-laden head.
The End
Author: amproof
Rating: Brown Cortina (consensual sex, psychological torture)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I sure wouldn't
do this to them.
Characters: Gene/ Sam
Words: 9,000
Notes: The End! And just in time for me to start NaNoWriMo planning. Thank you to everyone who has read the story. I appreciate it. Hopefully this has wrapped up all the dangling strings and done justice to the rest of it.
Summary: Sam attacks Gene in a violent and terrible way. The next morning, he doesn't remember anything, and the Guv isn't about to remind him--or tell him why he thinks Sam needs to spend more time in the boot of the Cortina. Just as Sam thinks the Guv has gone off his rocker, someone he loves dies, his prospect of getting home is practically destroyed, and in 2006 he's getting a visitor no one wants. Oh, and the Guv has started having uncomfortably pleasant dreams of Sam, even as he wonders if his DI is a psychopath.
1. A favor gone wrong. Red Cortina (Rape, Violence)
2. A bad joke interpreted…badly. Blue Cortina (language, some violence)
3. Driving in circles. Blue Cortina (Language)
4. An action out of character. Blue Cortina (Language)
5. Understanding the unspoken. Blue Cortina (mild het!sex)
6. The wrong mystery solved…sort of. Blue Cortina (language, death of a minor character)
7. All turned to dust. Blue Cortina. (language)
8. What can't be taken back. Blue Cortina (language)
9. 9. Stripped. Blue Cortina (language)
Illness did curious things to a person. Made him see his mum and the Guv at the same time, for example. Sam hadn't understood, at first, how the two of them were sitting side by side next to him as if they pulling double duty on bedside vigil. They didn't speak, hardly looked at each other, which Sam thought was uncharacteristically rude of his mum, and downright out of sync for Gene, who hadn't aged a day that he could see. Might be something to a diet of booze and bacon after all. They spent all their time staring at him, and he talked to both of them because it was wonderful to be awake, and home, and he'd be well soon, just had to get out of bed, fight the fever off and get up. Fit as sunshine, he'd be. Just you wait.
The doctor walked in, and they all three looked at him expectantly.
"I'm afraid he's contracted an infection," the doctor said.
Sam tried to tug the man's coat to get him to turn around and address him. Hello? Patient awake. Don't act like I'm not here…
The doctor focused his talk towards Gene and Sam's mum.
"We've given him antibiotics…"
"Is it from the machine getting switched off last week?" his mum said. She wrung her hands in her lap.
"No, we, fortunately, didn't see any direct effects of that…on his body, at least. His mind…who's to say until he wakes up?"
"My mind's fine, you prick," Sam said. He glanced at his mother, instinctively waiting for a scolding. It didn't come.
"He were out in the rain," Gene said quietly. His own hands were clasped on his knees, and he stared down at them. "Shoulda got him into dry clothes." He glanced up at the doctor, then quickly down again. "I weren't thinking."
"It's never been proved that weather causes illness," Sam said. He was ignored all around. Well. If waking up was going to be like this, he might as well go back to sleep.
"I'll just check his vitals, and then he's all yours again."
The doctor turned around. Morgan. The breath in Sam's throat froze. Help. He couldn't push the word out. It clattered over his tonsils and wheezed to nothing. His body was heavy as lead. Morgan raised Sam's wrist and pressed two fingers against it. Sam twitched. He screamed for Morgan to get off him. For someone to help. Gene. Mum. They heard, God, they heard, after so long of not, they did, and they reached him at the same time. They reached out to him together, hands on his wrist. He felt them on him, but when he looked, he saw only one hand and two arms coming from it, one extending to Gene and one to his mum, and he stopped.
It was white, when he stopped. And gray and pink, too. Nothing in front of him, nothing behind. Nothing above or below. Nothing. He opened his mouth, meaning to scream, and instead a song burst out of him, a single note, long and powerful and reaching across the vastness with no obstacle to stop it from going on forever.
A blow from something unseen struck him in the chest. He sputtered. The colors faded. The song ended.
He returned where he started, in the room with mum, Gene, and Morgan looking at him. Nurses, too, now, all scurrying about, yelling things.
Sam blinked. No. His mum did. Her whole person disappeared and reappeared before him, as if someone had stuck her in a room on her own and flicked the light on and off, except instead of the light going out, she was. She came back, flickering, watching with tear-filled eyes as nurses converged on Sam with metal paddles and tore down the front of his hospital gown. Sam looked at Gene, who had moved to the foot of the bed and was staring at him with an expression so desperate that it made Sam scream for help, but Gene was flickering, too, on and off, off and on, Gene and mum, mum and Gene, both disappearing at the same time and returning together until the paddles hit him a third time and his mum didn't come back. The doctor and nurses poked Sam. He didn't bother answering. He stared at Gene and tried to remember if he'd ever seen him cry before. Never that he could think of, never like this, with heaving great sobs that bent him almost in half. He tried to turn away and couldn't. So he closed his eyes to give the man a bit of privacy. If he ever got to rights, he wouldn't tell anyone about it. No one needed to know.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in a room without carpeting and damp cinderblock walls. He was tucked up in a cot, the blankets so tight around him that he couldn't move.
"Sam?"
He turned his head. Gene was there, sitting on a wooden chair beside him, leaning forward and looking a mixture of anxious and relieved. He touched Sam's forehead.
"Your fever's breaking. I thought we were going to lose you, Sammy."
"Where are we?"
"In a cell in Hyde's interim PD."
"Did I go to hospital?"
"Morgan wouldn't allow it. But I been with you the whole time. Trust the Gene Genie to get you well, Sam."
"And you did."
"Are you hungry? You ain't eaten in…"
"How long have we been here, Gene?"
"Us? Oh, two days or so."
"Or so?" Sam peeled the blankets back and tried sitting up. Gene got up to help.
"No windows. Only guessing, really."
"Morgan kept you two days? He's not going to charge you, is he?"
"I think he'll be chuffed to see the back of me. He's tried to send me home, but I've kicked up a fuss-and a few plod's arses, so he's left me be. I think he wants you to himself, Sammy, but I'm not going to let that happen. He'll have to do a bit more than send plods in."
"Gene, does anyone know we're here?"
"I don't know. This whole thing, it don't seem so official, like."
"What do you mean?"
"Plods ain't got uniforms for starters, aside from those two who arrested us. The rest are all dressed in civvies. They don't act… I don't think they're coppers."
"You think this is a…"
"I think Morgan's gone off his head and he's playing make believe. We're in a church basement, Sam. You smell that? Used to be a wine cellar, I'd reckon."
"Are you sure?"
"Heard a choir singing yesterday. Doing warm ups or something. Just holding out one note. It were…"
"Heavenly?"
"I were gonna say 'earsplitting'."
"Right."
"Most definitely-'earsplitting.' Now, you want to explain why everyone around here is calling you 'Williams'?"
Sam rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Morgan says it's my name. He says I've got amnesia and Sam Tyler doesn't exist. He took me out to a cemetery and showed me a grave. Sam Tyler's grave. He says that's where the name came from. He says my real name is Williams, and I'm working undercover at CID to stop you."
"Stop me from what?"
"Being you, I think."
"Is that what you're doing, Sam?"
"I don't know who Sam Williams is. I'm Sam Tyler and you're my guv. That's what I know."
"Just see you don't forget it."
"I've done enough harm to you…"
"Better things to worry about now, Sam."
"You have to go next time they let you. How else are you going to get me out if no one knows where we are?"
"Ray'll be on it."
"But he doesn't know…"
"Ray will be on it. You go back to sleep now. You need your strength up for what's next."
"What's next?"
"I don't know, Sammy. But I'm not thinking it's good."
"Guv, if Morgan's mad, then why haven't we knocked the doors down and gotten out of here?"
"Tried that. Got put back in before you could say 'fancy knickers'. We're in his game, Sammy. Not the other way around. Just have to figure out how to play it."
"They'll put you in cuffs if you keep beating on the plod, you know."
"If they'd quit asking me to leave, I wouldn't have to keep beating on them."
"King of logic, you are."
Gene nodded, the familiar prideful smirk taking up residence on his face. Despite the situation, Sam grinned right back. He yawned, and started the descent into sleep again.
When he woke, Gene was sitting against the wall, watching him.
"You scared I'm going somewhere, Guv?"
Gene gave a small, tight, smile, and shook his head. Sam closed his eyes.
When Sam woke again, Gene was gone. He got up, and when he stood, it felt like he hadn't been upright in days.
"You don't look good, son." Vic Tyler was sitting on the end of the bed, his long legs tucked up to his chin. "I've asked that Silver bloke to bring you some soup, but it seems he can't see me."
"I wouldn't be too surprised by that, Dad."
"No. I guess not."
Sam touched the wall to get his balance before taking a hesitant step towards the door. It was locked, but seconds after he rattled the knob, it opened and Silver was there, smiling politely.
"Hello, DI Williams. Glad to see you're feeling better. DCI Morgan is expecting you."
"It's Tyler. Where's DCI Hunt?"
"DCI Morgan had him moved to another area. Now that you're getting well, he thought you could benefit from some alone time so your rest isn't interrupted."
"Right neighborly of him."
"Yes, sir." Silver put an arm out to steady Sam as they walked together, down a wide hallway carpeted in red, towards a room at the end where he could see Morgan sitting at a desk. The walls of the hall were festooned in children's drawings of angels and men standing on hilltops with shepherd's crooks.
"Where's the Guv?"
"I'm right here, Sam."
"Where's my guv?"
"Gene Hunt is not your guv, Sam. You work for me. You always have. I don't appreciate having to arrest one of my own men."
"I didn't do anything."
"I had so much hope for your future. You were going to make DCI one day."
"Where's the guv?"
Morgan flicked a hand towards Silver. "Take him back."
Silver stepped forward. Sam held up a hand for him to wait. He did. "DCI Morgan…you can't hold me here without evidence. You know that."
"We'll talk more tomorrow, Sam."
"You can't keep me here."
Morgan turned his attention to the papers on his desk, expression as placid as ever. "You have to let me go." Sam thrust towards him, but Silver drew him back and he allowed the officer to lead him away.
He spent the night listening for Gene. He heard clattering pipes instead.
When Silver came for him, Sam was rinsing his head in the basin. Silver waited as he toweled off and put his shirt on. He walked without assistance to Morgan's office, and waited for the man to look up from his desk so it could start again.
Sam lost track of how many times it started again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
"Where were you on October 15?"
"I don't know."
"You have no recollection? It wasn't that long ago." Morgan never got up as he questioned Sam. He did everything in the opposite way that Gene Hunt did. He sat when Gene would stand, he was still when Gene would move. He was quiet when Gene would shout.
"No." Sam refused to let his weariness show, in case it made Morgan think he was wearing him down. He wasn't. Sam could tell this man 'no' until the end of time.
"Well, that seems odd. Bright man like you, having no memory of an entire night."
"Sir." Sam never looked directly at Morgan unless he was told to. Morgan did not tell him to.
"Do you suppose, that you might have wandered over towards your old division, perhaps?"
"No, sir."
"And why is that, Sam? Don't you like us over here?"
"Haven't had a reason to wander over here since my transfer. Don't see why I should suddenly have one."
"Perhaps you'd heard Vic Tyler was in the area. I have acquired the case file from his disappearance from CID. You are noted as taking a 'particular interest' in Tyler. Interesting phrase, isn't it? 'Particular interest'."
Sam snorted. Readjusted his feet. Shoulder-width apart. Kept his hands locked behind his back.
"No? Well. Maybe it wasn't Tyler you were coming to see. Perhaps it was me. Let me tell you what I think. You came here to blow up Hyde PD, but Victor Tyler saw you, and you killed him."
He looked at Morgan, saw him smirking. "Why would I blow up Hyde PD?"
"Perhaps you wanted to blow me up."
"You? I'd just shoot you."
"These are not the words of an innocent man, Sam."
Sam stared at the wall behind Morgan.
"May I go now?"
"Yes. You may go. I'll see you tomorrow. I do look forward to these conversations. As, I'm sure, do you."
"Sir."
The questions never changed. Sam kept his answers to one word. Morgan was patient, but his tolerance had a limit. Sam discovered this when he returned to his cell one day to find that the chair was missing. Then the bed frame was gone. Next the blanket, leaving only the thin mattress on the floor. Interrogation became the highlight of his day because it was the only time he wasn't freezing. They took his belt and shoes so he wouldn't hang himself. He hadn't considered that, though he might hang them if he had the chance. Morgan had no evidence. If he did, he wouldn't be pressing so hard for a confession. Knowing this, Sam stopped worrying about what he had done that night. Whatever it was, it wasn't Morgan's business. He knew he had the power to end it. All he had to do was confess and he'd be whisked off to a court and dealt with. Executed, most likely, after the verdict came down. But he had not done what Morgan said, and knew that he hadn't. So he waited for the Guv to come blasting in on his horses and set him free. And while he waited, he practiced holding in his bladder for hours at a time because now they only let him out to pee twice a day. And he practiced standing without fainting for just as long and ignoring the pangs of cold that crept into his bare feet. And he practiced smiling and not letting the 'fuck you' in his heart bleed into his expression whenever they spoke to him. All in all, he kept pretty busy.
"Was your cover threatened?" Morgan had explained time and again about the Williams thing. Sam's real name was Williams, he said. Sam was working undercover to bring down DCI Hunt. Sam was Morgan's lapdog. Sam needed to snap out of it and remember his place.
Sam did remember his place. And it wasn't where Morgan wanted it to be. It was, however, the reason for their failure to communicate.
"I was not undercover."
"Hunt suspected, did he? So you blew up Hyde PD to get him off your scent. To please him. Tell me he told you to do it, and I'll set you free."
"Fuck. Off."
Morgan signaled Silver. "Take him back."
He saw Gene, once, as Silver escorted Sam back from the loo. The Guv was walking in front of Carew, easy as you please. Sam sprinted towards him on a rush of energy. Silver chased behind.
"Guv! You alright?" Sam hugged him without thinking.
"Fanbloodytastic," Gene said, but Sam noticed that Gene's arms were strong around him and he wasn't letting go. The officers pried them apart, and they continued on their separate ways. Sam looked behind to see where Gene was being taken, but he and Carew turned a corner and that was all he saw.
Silver hovered in the door of Sam's cell for a moment, and Sam waited to be told off for what he'd done, breaking out like that.
"They say Gene Hunt was a great man," Silver said, finally.
"He still is. Are they…are they hurting him?" He thought of Gene walking so easily in front of Carew, like a pet. Why would he do that? Bile rose in his throat. And the way Gene clung to him-and he to Gene-they would pay for it, and he had been stupid to let his instinct drive his actions. A right idiot.
The officer's lip disappeared behind his teeth for a moment, but he shook himself out of whatever he was thinking. "He's not my responsibility. You are."
The latch slid on the door, and Sam was alone again. Then he turned around and his father was there, looking sympathetic. This was the other thing Sam did to keep occupied. He talked to his dad. It made him forget the cold.
"You know, Dad, this is the most I've ever seen you. It's been… I always wished…"
"I know, Sammy. Me, too." Vic leaned against the wall. He was always leaning, casual as could be. He never paced, never ran his hand through his hair. He wasn't much like Sam.
"I wish Gene were here. You know, he'd like you." Sam began practicing deep squats. It was difficult, without a chair.
"He didn't like me when I was alive. Can't see as I've changed much."
"You stay now. And he stays, so. You've got that in common."
"That's not a hell of a lot, Sammy."
"I guess not." He stretched an arm over his head, curved it, and raised one foot to hover over the other.
"And, not to be the voice of reason or anything, but, uh, he can't see me. So…"
"But I wish he could." He hopped, switching in the air so when he landed his feet had reversed position.
"Then so do I."
A full day passed with no visit from Silver. Sam put it off as long as he could, but when he couldn't wait any longer, he wedged himself into a corner farthest from his bed and urinated against a crack on the wall, hoping it would drain away.
No toilet breaks meant no food, either, and he went to bed hungry.
Silver stuck his head in the next day, sniffed-Sam avoided looking at him-and left. He returned with a mop and bucket of warm, soapy water. He left Sam alone with them, and Sam cleaned the wall as best he could. When Silver returned, he offered Sam a small smile, though Sam couldn't say if he was pleased that Sam had cleaned the wall or that Sam had not drowned himself in the bucket-a fleeting consideration-as that would surely have cost Silver his job.
Sam was allowed to the toilets that day, but no one came with food or water. On his evening trip to the loo, he drank as much as he could from the faucet, and forced himself to urinate a second time before he opened the door and returned himself to Silver's custody.
The fourth day without food, Silver entered with a chair. He responded to Sam's greeting with a flicked glance towards him, turned, and marched out. He left the door open. This had never happened before. Sam remained where he was, standing near the back of the room, and watched it. If he were Gene, he'd have bolted the moment Silver was out of sight. But Sam was cautious. And anyway, he wasn't sure even Gene was Gene anymore. Just as he decided to venture a cautious step forward, an officer Sam had never seen before arrived carrying a small round table, which she set up beside the chair. Another added a pot of tea and a single saucer and mug. They worked briskly, neither speaking to each other nor to Sam, who continued standing in silence. They exited. Sam stared at the tea, trying to remember when he'd last had any. He was almost to it when Morgan appeared. Sam steeled his legs against stumbling backwards. It was the first time Morgan had come to the cells.
Morgan looked around, as if he were making a house call. Sam half expected him to say 'Nice place you got here'. Instead, he asked permission to come in. A useless formality, they both knew, but Sam nodded anyway. There was only one thing he would refuse Morgan; everything else was inconsequential. Morgan thanked him and stepped over the threshold. He took the chair and poured out the tea. "Do you mind?" he asked. Another formality. He was sipping before Sam could shake his head to the negative. "Oh…" He stopped, as if remembering something, and dug in his jacket pocket until he pulled out a crumpled packet of biscuits. He broke open the cellophane and, with great care, arranged them along the saucer's edge. They were pink. Sam began to feel ill. He wondered if he could sit, if Morgan would mind him sinking to the floor, or if he should ask, though that went against the farce they were playing-what host asked his guest's permission to do something? He kept standing. It seemed the safest decision.
"I understand you have not been eating. Is the food not up to your standards?"
So this was how he'd play it. Acting like it was Sam's decision not to eat.
"I'm sure it's fine." Sam was careful not to confirm or deny Morgan's implication with his answer. If he had learned anything, it was to let Morgan set the way.
"Well. You will eat something tomorrow, I hope."
Sam gave a noncommittal shrug.
"We don't want you to be ill, Sam. We do worry about your well-being, you know. I still consider you one of my men, even though you evidently do not."
"You do not exist. You are in my mind. I'm making you all up because I'm in a coma in 2006 and I need something to do to pass the time." He slammed his eyes closed so Morgan would not see the hatred. It would not help him. He opened them when the feeling was sufficiently buried.
"Very well. We are all figments of your imagination. In that case, you should have no problem telling me that Gene Hunt arranged the explosion. Just say it, Sam. Three words: Hunt did it. And you can go. This part of your dream will be over."
"What about Gene?"
"He doesn't exist; what do you care? Or, perhaps you could imagine him into another story. Why don't you do that now, Sam? Close your eyes and imagine Gene wherever you want him to be."
Sam closed his eyes.
"Are you with him, Sam?"
A rustle of pant leg as Morgan stood. Soon Sam felt Morgan's breath on his cheek. "You'll never be free so long as you are."
Sam opened his eyes to see Morgan walking out. As soon as the door closed, he flung himself at the table. He carefully swept the biscuit crumbs into his hand and, one by one, ate each with the particularity of an epicurean enjoying a fine French meal. When he finished, he painstakingly licked each finger clean and his palm, too, for good measure. He raised the mug and drained it. The pot was empty. Sam watched in dismay as a lone drop rolled out and splashed into the mug. He drank it anyway.
"I don't like that man," Vic said.
Sam looked up and wondered how his dad had figured out how to sit upside down on the ceiling. Clever trick, he thought. Really must try it sometime.
Sam spent the rest of the day ignoring the cramping in his stomach. When Silver came for him, he had to be helped to the toilets. On the way back, Silver pushed something into his hand. It crinkled. "Keep it to yourself, right?"
Sam didn't nod, didn't dare do anything in case anyone was watching. Once he was safely in his cell again, he tore open the packet and swallowed the driest, most delicious month-old chocolate he'd ever had in his life.
When Silver returned, Sam asked him where Gene was.
"Told you, he's not in my care."
"I want to see him." He had to know what Gene was doing, if he was still there. Why he was still there. Whether he'd stuck about for a lark when he could be getting out, saving Sam-if by not saving Sam he was acting on a revenge he claimed to not care about. Was Gene Hunt a lying hypocrite or a prisoner? This was what Sam wanted to know.
"I'll see what I can do."
Sometime in the night, or what Sam guessed was the night, he heard the door open, saw the light in his room went on, and the door close. Gene was standing in front of it, looking as confused as Sam. Then, seeing Sam, his expression cleared.
"You know, during the War, the officers used to reward the soldiers for a job well done with a bit of tail."
"Is that why they let you come?" Sam couldn't help glancing at the door. Surely Morgan would come through any moment…
"I don't know. You done something worth rewarding?" Gene wore a mask of bravado, but Sam could see he was wavering, not quite frightened but cautious, perhaps.
"No."
Gene stepped up to him, chest to chest, and met Sam's hesitant gaze with narrowed eyes. His head dipped, and he kissed Sam on the mouth. His movements were slow but insistent, and Sam responded in kind, noting that the Guv did not taste of alcohol, or anything really, except breath and water. So Morgan hadn't been sharing his tea with Gene, either. When Gene lifted his head away, he didn't move back, just as he never moved back after punching Sam, either.
"You don't…have to… They might not have meant for us…"
"Shut up, Sam."
Sam knew then that it wasn't true, what he had suspected about Gene hanging about on a lark but really free to come and go as he pleased. Gene was just as much a prisoner as he was. Needed contact just as much as he did. Otherwise, he wouldn't be fumbling with the buttons on Sam's shirt, trying to get them open. Sam should stop him, put his arm up to block him…or say no. 'Just say no'. But Sam was a prisoner, too, and he wanted it to happen. Besides, in the long run, it really wouldn't matter. It was like when they were trapped in the dumpster and he'd held onto Gene's foot the whole time. Certain behavior became acceptable under certain conditions. This, most definitely, was a certain condition.
Sam started to touch Gene, but stopped. He didn't have any right, with the rape, to put his hands on him. But he wanted Gene, and a blind-deaf man would know Gene wanted him from the way he was pawing him and making incoherent near grunting noises. Sam's belly pulsed, first away, then towards, Gene's fingers as they skirted over his torso, causing his skin to prickle, pushing the undershirt upwards. Sam held his hands out, palms up as if prepared for cuffs, but really he was waiting, open for anything Gene wanted. And yet, Sam spoke first.
"Gene, let me…" He wanted to say 'make love', but he'd never used that phrase for anyone, not even Maya, because of how girly it sounded, and logic told him that using it now would kill the possibility, so he said 'fuck you' instead. "Gene, let me fuck you," but he meant 'make love', and he hoped Gene knew it too, and would give him credit for not using the gayboy term for it. "Tell me what to do," Sam said. "I won't do anything you don't tell me. I want to get it right this time. The two of us." Gene glanced up. Their eyes locked, and Sam saw that he understood.
"Undo my trousers."
Sam did, opening the button and zip.
"Now yours." Gene's voice was heavy.
Sam obeyed. In moments, they both had their trousers and pants off. Sam wore only his undershirt. Gene pulled his own shirt off, so he was completely nude. The bruises from the rape had faded. There were no new ones that Sam could see, so whatever they had done to control Gene had been psychological, just as it was for Sam. He touched Gene's hip, where the bruise shaped like his hand had once been. He wished, perversely, that it were still there. Gene pulled Sam's hand towards him and placed it on his cock. He squeezed Sam's hand, showing him the proper pressure and the exact way to move from base to tip and back again. Then he let go. Sam leaned forward, head down, until the top of it stopped against Gene's shoulder. He watched his hand stroking Gene. Gene nuzzled against him and said his name. He touched Sam, wrapping his fingers around his prick. Sam jerked as Gene's calluses slid over his sensitive skin. Gene's breathing grew louder. Sam forced his head up, and dropped it again, this time onto Gene's neck. He mouthed the skin, their bodies now as close as they could be. He came.
Gene grabbed Sam's arms above the elbows and squeezed, harsh and unyielding, and for an instant Sam panicked. He'd be turned over, thrown down, and shown how it felt to be raped, to be Gene-his heart pounded; the pulse in his neck made it impossible to breathe. Then Gene's breath hitched, too, his hands relaxed, and the moment ended, changed and Sam understood it was desire, not a waking nightmare. Gene came, too. It splattered over Sam's hands, and they raised them up together, Gene sucking Sam's fingers clean, and Sam licking Gene's as they entwined with his own. He leaned up and kissed Gene on the mouth, tasting some of himself. Gene's tongue pushed against his, and he opened wider, letting it in. Hands went to heads, Sam's stroking, tugging Gene's long hair, and Gene's thumbing over Sam's earlobe. Sam breathed Gene's name into his mouth.
Gene broke the kiss, broke the touch. He looked at Sam, and then, without a word, turned around and lay on his stomach on the mattress. He rested his head on his forearms. Sam knelt between his legs. He worked his hands beneath Gene's hips and gently nudged him.
Since he had asked to fuck Gene, he had expected Gene to say something about always knowing Sam was a 'bloody fairy' or a 'nancy-arsed bender', and stop what they were doing dead in its tracks. This would be the prime time for it, as Sam adjusted his position, knelt to the mattress, and pushed Gene's bum apart with his hands so he could get closer, first with his lips and then, tentatively, his tongue. Didn't get much gayer than that. Gene didn't say anything, though. Instead, he spread his legs and offered a slight tilt of his pelvis in the direction Sam's prodding indicated. Sam licked until he was hard again, even without touching himself.
Sam pushed a finger in as gently as he could. Gene raised himself higher. Sam started fucking him with it.
"More."
Sam added another finger and worked until he could wiggle them around a bit.
"Sammy…"
"Almost, Gene…"
"Don't know how long we've got…"
Sam decided to believe Gene meant how long until Silver came back and not how long they actually had in the grand scheme of things. But either way, the immediate result would be the same. He pulled his fingers out and lined up his cock.
"Ready?"
Gene's groan answered him, and Sam pushed forward. It was a slow entry, encouraged by Gene's moaning and the odd 'fuck, Sammy' sprinkled in. He folded himself over Gene's back once he was inside him, and waited. Gene was sweating. Sam put his arms around him. Gene's heart was beating a dangerous pace. Sam's was, too. He could feel it thudding inside him, knew that Gene could feel it against his back. Slowly, his hips started to move. Gene was tight, and it hurt a little, fucking him, but it was warm, too, and Gene arched towards him, and Sam stopped being frightened that he was hurting him and allowed himself to go faster and harder, but always listening to Gene, checking that the noises he was making never turned into protests. Sam thought he heard the door open as he came, but when he turned to look, it was closed.
Even so, he and Gene cleaned up quickly. Having no water, they used tongues and hands and almost began fucking again, except Gene was certain it had been the door-he'd heard it, too, and he forced Sam to put his trousers on, as he did up his own and did up his shirt, but got the buttons wrong, so when Silver returned, it was to the sight of Sam buttoning up Gene's shirt for him. He waited, looking over their heads as Gene squeezed Sam's hip and pulled away. He left without a word. Silver followed him.
Sam was alone. He laid down. The mattress smelled of sex. He had the feeling he would never see Gene again.
They fed him the next day. He ate everything. When they took him to see Morgan, he confessed and then took it back, just to see what Morgan would do.
He sent him back to the cell and stopped the food. A day passed. Two. Three. Sam peed in the corner again and again and again. Silver brought a mop and watched him clean up, even though he was almost too weak to move.
Silver did not bring chocolate.
Sam sat down and waited to die. Then, the door opened and it wasn't Silver or Morgan.
"Sam Tyler?"
Sam looked up at the woman filling the doorway. She was regarding him with gentle but thorough appraisal. More from instinct than habit, he scrambled to his feet. She came towards him and laid her hands on his shoulders. Despite their chubbiness, her touch was unerringly delicate.
"Yes," he said.
She nodded and made to perform some type of motherly crush, pressing him to her bosom. He allowed this, as he was too surprised to do anything but, and he knew better than to interfere with a woman who was feeling matronly. "Aye, ye poor wee laddie. Got yourself in a right mess, didn't you, dear? Well, we'll see what we can do about you, won't we, now?"
"Who are you?"
"Your bloody saviour. Come on." She grabbed his wrist and together they went into the hallway.
"Where are the guards?"
"Don't worry. Sandra will have taken care of that. She's quite resourceful."
"Are you police?" Sam asked as the woman peered professionally around the corner before proceeding.
"Nope. You know where they're keeping Gene?"
"No. They never…" She pressed her hand to his sternum, and he stopped speaking.
"He's locked up in there, third door down. Cover me." She pulled a cricket bat from behind herself. Sam stared at it.
"Where did you have that?"
She smirked. "Benefit of a long skirt, son. Here."
Sam took the bat, gave it a few practice swings. He nodded. Together, they crept forward. The way was clear. When the woman reached the door, she pulled a pin from her hair and picked the lock. In no time, the door was open. Gene was standing inside, legs set at a fighting stance. When he saw the woman, his fists dropped. As Sam watched, the Guv's fierce expression turned into a smile and he moved forward as quickly as Sam had ever seen him, when not lured by the promise of a beer or whiskey. The woman was moving towards Gene, too, and when they met the only thing missing was the music.
When at last they stopped kissing, the woman turned to Sam, pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to dry it, and said, "Now that's the way to be rescued."
Gene came up, still grinning, and lightly smacked her bottom. "Oi, enough chatting, you're not done being white knight, yet. You know the way out?"
"Of course."
Gene looked at Sam and held his hand out. Without thinking, Sam placed his own in it. The woman looked between the two of them, her expression unreadable but not, Sam thought, condemning. Gene noticed, too, and yanked his hand back. "Bat, Gladys. Believe it's mine."
Sam slowly handed it over. "It's yours? From your house? How did..?" He looked at the woman.
"Maggie, you went through all the trouble of rescuing him and didn't introduce yourself?"
"Really wasn't time, Gene."
Gene sighed, his smile having settled into a look of permanent adoration. "Sam, this is Margaret, my missus."
She took Sam's hand. "Pleased to finally meet you, Sam. I've heard so much about you."
Sam nodded. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. There was no way he was going to compare to her. He felt like a fool, seeing the two of them together, for ever thinking that Gene would consider being with him, even in secret. If first impressions were everything, this woman was amazing. "Pleased to meet you, too."
"Now let's go. Sandra is holding up the guards."
"Sandra?"
"A friend. I met her when I went to visit my mum."
"On a march, you mean." Gene said.
"Gene-how long have you known?"
"Just about forever, love."
They ran up a set of stairs, Margaret and Gene each vying for the lead and the thrill of checking around corners first. Sam's legs gave out on the second flight, and only the banister stopped him from falling. Gene ran back down and hooked Sam's arm around his shoulders.
"He alright?" Margaret said, already at the top of the flight.
"They haven't been feeding him proper. You go on. I've got him."
"It's alright, we're almost out."
Sure enough, the next door was the exit, and parked right outside was a rust colored car with a woman leaned against it, her arms crossed. "All clear," she said.
"Gene, Sam, this is Sandra."
Sam waved weakly. Gene nodded.
"We didn't see a single plod. How'd you distract them?"
"Challenged them to a drinking game for charity. Told them I was from the Ladies League." Sandra thumbed behind the car, and they all looked. There, hunched over chairs around a small table, were Silver, Carew, and others Sam had seen during his captivity, all either groaning or unconscious. "Seems they hadn't heard of the reputation of the League around here."
"Wait-you actually are with the Ladies League?" Sam asked.
"Of course."
"What about Morgan? How did you…?"
"That was me," Margaret said. "I got to his office once Sandra had the plod out and I told him I was there to discuss the church's next social. Took charts in and everything."
"He put up with that?"
"Let's just say it distracted him enough that he didn't notice the vase coming down on his head."
"Shit, I love you," Sandra said. Sam looked at Gene. His smile had dropped, but he quickly recovered and put his arm around Margaret.
"Don't we all," he said.
Margaret smiled at him and Sandra.
"If you were twenty years younger, I'd tell you to look into becoming a WPC," Gene said. Sandra and Margaret smiled at each other.
"What?"
"Sandra's already on the force, love."
"Oh. Well, good for you."
"She's a DCI."
"She's a what? No such thing as a WDCI."
"You're an MDCI?" Sandra asked.
"It's just DCI, love."
"Funny-same where I'm from. For everyone."
"So where is this place? Just women on the force, is it?"
"And men. Few dogs, too. For drug-sniffing and the like."
"Here I thought Hyde was the PD from another planet. Seems I was wrong."
Sam laughed. Gene thumped him in the stomach. Only the fact that Sam's arm was still around Gene's shoulders, held in place by Gene's hand stopped him from falling. The laugh turned to a cough.
"Gene, you be nice to that boy."
"It's ok, Mrs. Hunt. This is a love tap from him," Sam said.
"Gene…"
"Enough chatting. Let's go before somebody wakes up." Sandra unlatched the back door. Gene loaded Sam inside, and then got in himself. Sam tumbled onto the seat, righting himself against the opposite door. He looked over at Gene, whose smile had disappeared. He was watching Sandra and Margaret.
"She's a bit like you, don't you think?" Sam said.
"Don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do."
"She seems an all-right bird. Nice tits."
"It's like you're checking yourself out, Guv."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Good one, there."
"You think she and your missus are…"
"Sam."
Sam nodded. Right. So they were ignoring that, letting Gene act the gentleman and not broach the subject until his wife brought it up. Though, as Sam watched Sandra open the car door for her, and the tender way she caught Margaret's hair to stop it from getting caught in the door, he didn't know how much longer they could go on denying it. Sam looked over at Gene, saw the thin set of his lips, and recognized that he felt the same.
"You're alright now, boys," Sandra said. "So, you just settle back and get some rest and let me and Mags take care of ya's."
"I would kill for a bacon butty and chips," Gene said as they got underway.
"Right you are, love," Sandra said. "What about you, Sammy?"
"I could go for some chips, yeah."
"We'll stop in at a pub on the way home."
As she spoke, Sam's eyes became heavy. He struggled against the weariness, but it was a losing battle. Voices sang in his head, his mother, Aunt Heather, Maya, the coffee girl at the corner shop who knew his order without asking but didn't know his name… Sam closed his eyes and woke up.
It was white, as he remembered, and his mother was there, sitting beside him. He made a sound and she startled towards him. "Sammy?" No tears from her, she wasn't the type. "We've been waiting for you so long. I'll get the doctor…" She started to hurry out, and he choked out, "we?" A hand touched his wrist and he turned to his other side. Gene, older, grayer, slimmer, but still so very Gene, was looking at him, crying.
"Guv?"
"I knew it," Gene said.
"Knew what?"
"That I didn't imagine you. They said I did some damage, from the drinking, got to my liver, got to my brain, they said. Told me I made you up. But I knew that I… It is you, isn't it? Because I'll feel a right old fool if I've been sneaking in here all this time, getting your mum to let me stay even after, I swear it were an accident, Sam, I wasn't trying anything… and you're not…"
"Camel hair coat. Cortina. Ray. Chris. Annie."
Gene nodded, his face awash with tears.
"Thought the Gene Genie didn't cry."
"You tell anyone, you won't live to see another day."
Sam nodded, his eyes closing again.
"Sam? Don't…"
"Going back, Gene, not done with you yet, not done with 1973 yet." He forced his eyes open. "Besides, get the feeling you're not quite done with me. Take care of my mum, would you?"
The last thing he felt, as he let himself get tugged under, was Gene's chapped lips on his own.
He pushed himself through the place where there was no place, through the song with one note, and landed, again, on a vinyl seat vibrating gently against him and the smell of vinegar and chips assaulting his nose. Something warm was at his back, large and firm and smelling of Hai Karate and he smiled and sank into its comfort.
----------------------
Epilogue:
There were secrets a man kept, both to keep sane and to protect the ones he loved. Gene wasn't sure that 'love' applied to how he felt about Tyler-not a nancy, after all-but he was damned certain that he'd never be telling Sam how he'd bargained with Silver to save Sam. The man was bleeding pervert, and if Gene hadn't heard him talking to Carew about Sam, who knew what would have happened? But he did hear, and he threatened the bastard with instant death, and when that didn't work, he tried something else, which did work. It worked on Silver and it worked on Carew and anyone else who came by. Morgan was the only one not lining up for the Genie's throat. When Gene asked Silver why, the prat said Morgan didn't know-didn't even know Gene was still there. They were hiding him, he'd said; of course he could go anytime, but they'd kill Sam the second he set foot out the door. Then he told him they'd stopped feeding Sam, so Gene offered up a Curly Whirly he'd been saving and told Silver to give it to him, and he'd sucked him off a second time, just to be certain that he would.
But he'd never tell Sam that, couldn't act like he was hurting, like the captivity had been anything but a walk in the park for him. Like he wouldn't shoot Silver on sight if he ever saw him again. So they went to the pub, and he dragged Sam in, too because he wanted to be around people, even Margie and Sandra weren't enough, and he wasn't going to leave Sam alone. No one in the pub gave the sleeping Sam a second glance, aside from someone cracking that usually it was pub first, sleep after. They drank and ate and got back in the car with Sam and his chips wrapped up in paper.
"Oi, Tyler! You going to eat that?" Gene poked Sam, who didn't budge from his sleeping. "More for me, then." Tyler wasn't waking up. He knew he was tired, but…
"Oh, Gene, don't eat the boy's chips. You've had your own and half mine already," Margaret said in a good-humored reprimand.
"Too late, dearest. He deserves it, anyway. Sleeping through a pub visit like that." Don't let the worry show. Not ever. Gene had already plucked the bag from Sam's loose grip. He munched loudly, smacking his lips. Sandra threw the car into another turn, and, again, everyone and everything in it slid over. Gene found himself pressed into the door, and, as Sam was sleeping and unable to hold himself upright, he had landed against Gene. Gene checked the front seat to see if he was watched, and threw an arm around Sam, tugging him against his chest. Bits of chip crumb tumbled into Sam's hair as he continued to eat.
Sam began to stir, his first movement in minutes. Gene kept his arm firmly around him. Sam opened his eyes and looked around. "Guv?" he said, and sounded as if he couldn't believe where he was. He said the names of the women, too, with just as much astonishment.
"Hello, sleepy head," Margaret said.
"You slept through the pub, Betsy," Gene said. "Don't you fret, though. You got your round in."
"Gene lifted your wallet," Sandra said. "So if you're wondering later why you're short five quid…"
"Oh." Sam blinked lazily. Gene expected him to move away, but he didn't, if anything, he snuggled into a more comfortable position before snatching the empty chip bag away.
"You ate my chips."
"That's what you get for falling asleep, Gladys," Gene said. Margaret had moved closer to Sandra in the front. He stamped down on the jealousy bubbling inside him. He should be glad she was happy. He should be glad she and Sandra had saved him and that he and Sam were alive.
Sam sighed and closed his hand over Gene's, pushing it against his chest, and Gene found that he was not glad, but grateful.
He bent forward and laid a small kiss on the top of Sam's crumb-laden head.
The End