The Night Before
Title: The Night Before
Author: jean_geanie
Rating: Green-Blue cortina
Warnings: light swearing, slight angst (unbeta-ed so I can post it before I'm pummelled further by uni work )
Pairing: sam/gene
Summary: Gene's drunk, Sam's concerned
Comments: This is followed by The Day After
"Guv!" Sam finally spotted him at the end of the alley, making his way towards where the Cortina was parked with a drunken swagger. "Gene!" Breaking into a sprint Sam managed to get there in time to squeeze himself between Gene and the door. "Gene! What the 'ell do you think you're doin'?!" pushing the man back from the car, he reeled in disgust at the stench of cheap whiskey on his breath.
"Well if it weren't for you, yer ponce, I‘d be drivin'" Sam snorted in frustration and disbelief.
"With your current blood alcohol level, I think “commitin' suicide” is the term you're searchin' for!" Stepping forward he rolled his eyes when Gene pressed a threatening finger against his chest (the effect was somewhat diminished by the constant swaying).
"If I wanted yer opinion Tyler," he spat out with a growl, "I- would- ask- for- it!"
"And if I think you're out o' line Hunt,I'll give you my opinion whether you've asked for it or not!" Sam replied angrily as he shoved the arm away from his chest. The move unbalanced Gene and he would have hit the ground if not for Sam grabbing him by his elbow and steadying him again. It was a gesture that went unappreciated as Gene snatched his arm back, snarling.
"Who the 'ell d'you think you are?! Yer not my wife and you certainly ain't me mum."
"And don't think I'm not bloody grateful for that!"
Gene scowled and then threw him a two finger salute before storming off toward the bonnet of the car where he sat down with his arms crossed over his chest. "If that was you attempting not to act like a petulant teenager you might want to reconsider the pouting!" Sam added, smirking as Gene completely ignored him in favour of struggling to work his cigarette lighter in his inebriated state. After almost two minutes had passed without success (and with considerable cursing) Sam finally took pity on him and, letting out an exasperated sigh, walked over and grabbed both the lighter and cigarette from his fingers. "Look Gene, I don't know what made you decide drinkin' your own weight in whiskey was such a brilliant idea," he paused while he handed the lit cigarette back, "and if you don't wanna tell me then that's fine. But I won't stand 'ere and let you do something stupid." The next few moments passed in silence as Gene regarded Sam inquisitively before exhaling a long, curling cloud of smoke, and raking a hand through his own dirty-blonde hair.
"The Guv's dead." Sam blinked in confusion.
"What?" Gene’s blue eyes narrowed in irritation.
" ‘arry Woolf’s dead," he ground out, "passed away in 'is stinkin' flat two days ago." Sam suddenly felt awkward.
"Oh, shit... I'm sorry Gene." The condolence went unacknowledged as the man next to him continued.
"I promised ‘e woudn't go like that," Gene directed a deceptively sober and weary gaze at Sam, "Do yer remember? You asked me if ‘e was goin' to go down penniless and alone and I said I wouldn't let that 'appen." The degree of self-loathing in his tone bothered Sam. Tentatively he placed a comforting hand on Gene's shoulder, relieved when it wasn't immediately shaken off.
"It's not your fault."
"Bollocks," Gene shook his head, jaw set, "the man was like a father to me, taught me everythin' I know about bein' a copper and then some. And when it came down to it ‘e died alone because 'is protegee" he spat out the word with venom "would rather keep 'is soddin' memories than spend time with 'im."
"Gene." Sam looked away, unsure of what he could say, "It's understandable that you wouldn't want to remember him that way. He let you down. He betrayed your trust." the response was bitter laughter,
"Well I guess that makes us even then." Gene quipped, discarding his cigarette on the pavement at his feet.
"Guv..."
"Don’t call me that Sam, not tonight."
"Oh for the love of- don’t you dare compare yourself to him! You're a better man and a better copper than Woolfe ever was."
Gene growled and stood up, grabbing Sam by the lapels of his jacket and lifting him from the bonnet with surprising speed and strength considering the amount of alcohol he had consumed.
"I'm warning you Tyler, for once in yer life shut yer bloody trap." Sam scrunched up his face in anticipation of future pain but still shook his head.
"Why should I when you still can't see that he was just like every other murderer we've come across; a smug bastard who assumed he could get away with -" the sudden sensation of being shoved backwards prevented Sam from voicing the rest of the remark, and as his body met solid ground he dimly registered the impact of his head on something hard before everything faded to black.
***
Sam was awake.
He knew that because he was no longer blissfully unaware of the throbbing pain resonating from the back of his skull. Another significant indicator of his consciousness was the sudden presence of sound which, to his muddled brain, was completely indistinguishable from the crackling of television static.
As he waited for the ringing in his ears to subside he found some solace in the fact that the white noise had seemingly morphed into a voice; a rough, heavily accented and very familiar voice.
While this piece of data slowly sunk in; Sam's recovering brain processed the sensation of being slapped in the face with an open palm and was even able to comprehend a few broken words; "Sammy ... c'mon.... Sam....” Sam had his suspicions but it wasn’t until he sniffed and inhaled the unique aroma of whisky, cigarettes and exhaust fumes that he realised the hand, alternatively slapping his face and lingering against his cheek, belonged to his Guv. Letting out a soft groan, and blinking back against heavy eyelids, Sam waited as his blurred vision slowly came into focus on the agitated face of Gene Hunt.
"Back in Kansas yet Dorothy?"
Sam sniggered at the irony and, wincing at the pain it caused, instantly regretted it. He felt a hesitant touch against the side of his face and leaned into it.
" 'urts. " he explained to the raised eyebrows.
"Toughin' up Gladys. Just a small bump on the head and yer whimperin' like a little girl" the tone was gruff and flippant, but Sam remained acutely aware of the hand, now stroking his hair, that had yet to be pulled away. Hoping that ignoring it might be the best way to ensure the hand’s continued presence Sam confined his response only to Gene’s remark.
"You'll 'ave to forgive me if I lack the defence of your thick skull when being thrown against 'ard objects." he drawled.
Noticing the guilty look on Gene's face as he turned away, Sam attempted to backtrack. Tugging on the sleeve of the man’s coat until he was looking at him again, he gave him a half-smile.
"I'm just 'aving you on, 'onestly it's not 'alf as bad as it looks... see?"
"Oi, what do you think yer-" Using his arms to hoist himself up off the ground had been the easy part, Sam reflected, but as he observed the buildings around him spinning and felt the pain in his head weighing him down he was infinitely grateful for Gene's quick reflexes.
"Right...next time yer might consider waitin' till you can see straight before tryin' that again." Sam didn't respond; he was slightly preoccupied by two major thoughts. Firstly that he was being held, almost tenderly in the Guv's arms, and secondly that he should probably be trying really hard not show how much he liked it. "Shit. Tyler quick 'ow many fingers 'ave I got?" Looking up from his comfortable position against Gene's chest Sam quickly added the number of fingers that had been shoved in front of his face.
"Four?" The answer seemed to satisfy the man because he gave a brusque nod and withdrew his fingers, chuckling slightly when he met Sam’s questioning stare.
"You stopped talkin'." Gene stated as if it explained everything. Sam smiled.
"Ah, so you assumed I was either dead or unconscious." Gene grinned (one of those rare ones, Sam noted, where he made the effort to part his lips enough for his teeth to become visible).
"Pretty much. Though now that yer talkin' again I can't decide whether I'm relieved or disappointed."
Sam narrowed his eyes and was about to retort when he yawned instead, eyelids flickering shut against his will.
"Past yer bedtime Gladys? Right then, let's get you home Sleepin' Beauty." Sam nodded and allowed Gene to help him up, slyly reaching his hand into the man’s coat to retrieve the keys to the Cortina. He wanted to make it home in one piece after all.
***
The walk home had been a long one, Sam still slightly unsteady on his feet (even though the pain in his head had almost completely receded) and Gene still grumbling about the fact that Sam wouldn't let him drive.
When they finally reached the door of his apartment Gene leaned back against the opposite wall, watching in amusement as Sam fumbled with the lock.
"This would be much quicker if you'd let me give it a shot." Sam snorted.
"Thanks but I'll pass. I have a feeling your idea of "giving it a shot" might include kicking it off its hinges" he countered as the door finally came open.
"Suit yerself, I was jus' tryin to be 'elpful." Sam threw him an incredulous look but gestured for Gene to step inside and take a seat. As the man sat himself down at the table, Sam moved towards the kitchen, grabbing the kettle from under the sink and filling it with water. Rummaging through the cupboards he glanced over his shoulder at Gene.
"Do you want some coffee?" he asked pulling out a jar and shaking it in Gene's direction, "Nothing special, just this instant rubbish." Gene scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"I suppose back in Hyde you would go to some Woggy restaurant every time you wanted a cuppa, too good for the stuff everyday folk use." Sam laughed at Gene's mock disgust and chose to ignore his political incorrectness.
"I think the word you're searching for is Italian, and I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"
"Only if you got sugar an’ milk." Sam raised his eyebrows but obediently fetched them both.
As he placed the kettle on the stove he contemplated telling Gene exactly how he used to make his coffee at Hyde but reconsidered. If the reaction to "P.C. Terminal" had been anything to go by, the man would probably just assume Sam was used to having coffee made for him by a Miss Espress O'Masheen, some Irish bird with a daft first name. He could do without the headache.
"Sam?"
Looking over his shoulder he saw Gene drumming his fingers restlessly on the table surface. Turning back to check that the stove was on, he adjusted the dial and then sat down in the chair across from him.
"What is it?"
"Do yer ever think that there's more to life than being a copper?"
"Considerin' a change in occupation?" Sam didn't bother to keep the sound of disbelief out of his voice and felt relieved when Gene shook his head.
"Nah, don’t get yer pretty lacy knickers in a twist. I was just thinkin' that maybe if Woolfe 'adn't been completely devoted to the job things might've turned out different." Sam wasn't sure how to respond to that so he kept his mouth shut and quietly watched as Gene got out of his chair and started pacing. When it became apparent that Gene expected some kind of response, Sam moved to stand next to him.
"Well, do you 'ave any interests outside of work?"
Gene's eyes locked onto his, something unreadable in their depths.
"Jus' one." He said softly.
Sam stared back, carefully keeping his expression blank so that it wouldn't betray the idiotic hope he was feeling. It didn't take long for him to realise he had failed when, without warning, strong hands had cupped his face and guided it across the gap between his mouth and Gene's. Next, there were two lips pressed against his and a tongue pushing for entry. Incapable of denying Gene anything at that moment Sam opened himself to the sensation; responding with equal (if not greater) enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around Gene's chest and pulling him closer.
Suddenly, almost as quickly as they had got there, the hands were gone from his face and he was being pushed away for the second time that night. His head struck the wall with a dull sound, but he remained conscious, something he instantly regretted when he saw the horrified look on Gene's face.
"That..er...I .." Gene stuttered, looking like he was on the verge of being sick.
Sam cringed but said nothing. Tensing, he prepared himself for an argument. Not dropping his eye contact he stared at Gene daring him to make his move, to start denying or rationalising what had just happened.
Sam expected that sort of reaction. It was nineteen seventy-three, an era ripe with all forms of prejudice, and he couldn't believe he had been so stupid as to forget it.
The one reaction Sam never thought to prepare himself for was Gene storming out of the room without saying anything.
It was only when the kettle whistled that Sam eventually looked away from the door.
AN: continued in The Day After
Author: jean_geanie
Rating: Green-Blue cortina
Warnings: light swearing, slight angst (unbeta-ed so I can post it before I'm pummelled further by uni work )
Pairing: sam/gene
Summary: Gene's drunk, Sam's concerned
Comments: This is followed by The Day After
"Guv!" Sam finally spotted him at the end of the alley, making his way towards where the Cortina was parked with a drunken swagger. "Gene!" Breaking into a sprint Sam managed to get there in time to squeeze himself between Gene and the door. "Gene! What the 'ell do you think you're doin'?!" pushing the man back from the car, he reeled in disgust at the stench of cheap whiskey on his breath.
"Well if it weren't for you, yer ponce, I‘d be drivin'" Sam snorted in frustration and disbelief.
"With your current blood alcohol level, I think “commitin' suicide” is the term you're searchin' for!" Stepping forward he rolled his eyes when Gene pressed a threatening finger against his chest (the effect was somewhat diminished by the constant swaying).
"If I wanted yer opinion Tyler," he spat out with a growl, "I- would- ask- for- it!"
"And if I think you're out o' line Hunt,I'll give you my opinion whether you've asked for it or not!" Sam replied angrily as he shoved the arm away from his chest. The move unbalanced Gene and he would have hit the ground if not for Sam grabbing him by his elbow and steadying him again. It was a gesture that went unappreciated as Gene snatched his arm back, snarling.
"Who the 'ell d'you think you are?! Yer not my wife and you certainly ain't me mum."
"And don't think I'm not bloody grateful for that!"
Gene scowled and then threw him a two finger salute before storming off toward the bonnet of the car where he sat down with his arms crossed over his chest. "If that was you attempting not to act like a petulant teenager you might want to reconsider the pouting!" Sam added, smirking as Gene completely ignored him in favour of struggling to work his cigarette lighter in his inebriated state. After almost two minutes had passed without success (and with considerable cursing) Sam finally took pity on him and, letting out an exasperated sigh, walked over and grabbed both the lighter and cigarette from his fingers. "Look Gene, I don't know what made you decide drinkin' your own weight in whiskey was such a brilliant idea," he paused while he handed the lit cigarette back, "and if you don't wanna tell me then that's fine. But I won't stand 'ere and let you do something stupid." The next few moments passed in silence as Gene regarded Sam inquisitively before exhaling a long, curling cloud of smoke, and raking a hand through his own dirty-blonde hair.
"The Guv's dead." Sam blinked in confusion.
"What?" Gene’s blue eyes narrowed in irritation.
" ‘arry Woolf’s dead," he ground out, "passed away in 'is stinkin' flat two days ago." Sam suddenly felt awkward.
"Oh, shit... I'm sorry Gene." The condolence went unacknowledged as the man next to him continued.
"I promised ‘e woudn't go like that," Gene directed a deceptively sober and weary gaze at Sam, "Do yer remember? You asked me if ‘e was goin' to go down penniless and alone and I said I wouldn't let that 'appen." The degree of self-loathing in his tone bothered Sam. Tentatively he placed a comforting hand on Gene's shoulder, relieved when it wasn't immediately shaken off.
"It's not your fault."
"Bollocks," Gene shook his head, jaw set, "the man was like a father to me, taught me everythin' I know about bein' a copper and then some. And when it came down to it ‘e died alone because 'is protegee" he spat out the word with venom "would rather keep 'is soddin' memories than spend time with 'im."
"Gene." Sam looked away, unsure of what he could say, "It's understandable that you wouldn't want to remember him that way. He let you down. He betrayed your trust." the response was bitter laughter,
"Well I guess that makes us even then." Gene quipped, discarding his cigarette on the pavement at his feet.
"Guv..."
"Don’t call me that Sam, not tonight."
"Oh for the love of- don’t you dare compare yourself to him! You're a better man and a better copper than Woolfe ever was."
Gene growled and stood up, grabbing Sam by the lapels of his jacket and lifting him from the bonnet with surprising speed and strength considering the amount of alcohol he had consumed.
"I'm warning you Tyler, for once in yer life shut yer bloody trap." Sam scrunched up his face in anticipation of future pain but still shook his head.
"Why should I when you still can't see that he was just like every other murderer we've come across; a smug bastard who assumed he could get away with -" the sudden sensation of being shoved backwards prevented Sam from voicing the rest of the remark, and as his body met solid ground he dimly registered the impact of his head on something hard before everything faded to black.
***
Sam was awake.
He knew that because he was no longer blissfully unaware of the throbbing pain resonating from the back of his skull. Another significant indicator of his consciousness was the sudden presence of sound which, to his muddled brain, was completely indistinguishable from the crackling of television static.
As he waited for the ringing in his ears to subside he found some solace in the fact that the white noise had seemingly morphed into a voice; a rough, heavily accented and very familiar voice.
While this piece of data slowly sunk in; Sam's recovering brain processed the sensation of being slapped in the face with an open palm and was even able to comprehend a few broken words; "Sammy ... c'mon.... Sam....” Sam had his suspicions but it wasn’t until he sniffed and inhaled the unique aroma of whisky, cigarettes and exhaust fumes that he realised the hand, alternatively slapping his face and lingering against his cheek, belonged to his Guv. Letting out a soft groan, and blinking back against heavy eyelids, Sam waited as his blurred vision slowly came into focus on the agitated face of Gene Hunt.
"Back in Kansas yet Dorothy?"
Sam sniggered at the irony and, wincing at the pain it caused, instantly regretted it. He felt a hesitant touch against the side of his face and leaned into it.
" 'urts. " he explained to the raised eyebrows.
"Toughin' up Gladys. Just a small bump on the head and yer whimperin' like a little girl" the tone was gruff and flippant, but Sam remained acutely aware of the hand, now stroking his hair, that had yet to be pulled away. Hoping that ignoring it might be the best way to ensure the hand’s continued presence Sam confined his response only to Gene’s remark.
"You'll 'ave to forgive me if I lack the defence of your thick skull when being thrown against 'ard objects." he drawled.
Noticing the guilty look on Gene's face as he turned away, Sam attempted to backtrack. Tugging on the sleeve of the man’s coat until he was looking at him again, he gave him a half-smile.
"I'm just 'aving you on, 'onestly it's not 'alf as bad as it looks... see?"
"Oi, what do you think yer-" Using his arms to hoist himself up off the ground had been the easy part, Sam reflected, but as he observed the buildings around him spinning and felt the pain in his head weighing him down he was infinitely grateful for Gene's quick reflexes.
"Right...next time yer might consider waitin' till you can see straight before tryin' that again." Sam didn't respond; he was slightly preoccupied by two major thoughts. Firstly that he was being held, almost tenderly in the Guv's arms, and secondly that he should probably be trying really hard not show how much he liked it. "Shit. Tyler quick 'ow many fingers 'ave I got?" Looking up from his comfortable position against Gene's chest Sam quickly added the number of fingers that had been shoved in front of his face.
"Four?" The answer seemed to satisfy the man because he gave a brusque nod and withdrew his fingers, chuckling slightly when he met Sam’s questioning stare.
"You stopped talkin'." Gene stated as if it explained everything. Sam smiled.
"Ah, so you assumed I was either dead or unconscious." Gene grinned (one of those rare ones, Sam noted, where he made the effort to part his lips enough for his teeth to become visible).
"Pretty much. Though now that yer talkin' again I can't decide whether I'm relieved or disappointed."
Sam narrowed his eyes and was about to retort when he yawned instead, eyelids flickering shut against his will.
"Past yer bedtime Gladys? Right then, let's get you home Sleepin' Beauty." Sam nodded and allowed Gene to help him up, slyly reaching his hand into the man’s coat to retrieve the keys to the Cortina. He wanted to make it home in one piece after all.
***
The walk home had been a long one, Sam still slightly unsteady on his feet (even though the pain in his head had almost completely receded) and Gene still grumbling about the fact that Sam wouldn't let him drive.
When they finally reached the door of his apartment Gene leaned back against the opposite wall, watching in amusement as Sam fumbled with the lock.
"This would be much quicker if you'd let me give it a shot." Sam snorted.
"Thanks but I'll pass. I have a feeling your idea of "giving it a shot" might include kicking it off its hinges" he countered as the door finally came open.
"Suit yerself, I was jus' tryin to be 'elpful." Sam threw him an incredulous look but gestured for Gene to step inside and take a seat. As the man sat himself down at the table, Sam moved towards the kitchen, grabbing the kettle from under the sink and filling it with water. Rummaging through the cupboards he glanced over his shoulder at Gene.
"Do you want some coffee?" he asked pulling out a jar and shaking it in Gene's direction, "Nothing special, just this instant rubbish." Gene scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"I suppose back in Hyde you would go to some Woggy restaurant every time you wanted a cuppa, too good for the stuff everyday folk use." Sam laughed at Gene's mock disgust and chose to ignore his political incorrectness.
"I think the word you're searching for is Italian, and I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"
"Only if you got sugar an’ milk." Sam raised his eyebrows but obediently fetched them both.
As he placed the kettle on the stove he contemplated telling Gene exactly how he used to make his coffee at Hyde but reconsidered. If the reaction to "P.C. Terminal" had been anything to go by, the man would probably just assume Sam was used to having coffee made for him by a Miss Espress O'Masheen, some Irish bird with a daft first name. He could do without the headache.
"Sam?"
Looking over his shoulder he saw Gene drumming his fingers restlessly on the table surface. Turning back to check that the stove was on, he adjusted the dial and then sat down in the chair across from him.
"What is it?"
"Do yer ever think that there's more to life than being a copper?"
"Considerin' a change in occupation?" Sam didn't bother to keep the sound of disbelief out of his voice and felt relieved when Gene shook his head.
"Nah, don’t get yer pretty lacy knickers in a twist. I was just thinkin' that maybe if Woolfe 'adn't been completely devoted to the job things might've turned out different." Sam wasn't sure how to respond to that so he kept his mouth shut and quietly watched as Gene got out of his chair and started pacing. When it became apparent that Gene expected some kind of response, Sam moved to stand next to him.
"Well, do you 'ave any interests outside of work?"
Gene's eyes locked onto his, something unreadable in their depths.
"Jus' one." He said softly.
Sam stared back, carefully keeping his expression blank so that it wouldn't betray the idiotic hope he was feeling. It didn't take long for him to realise he had failed when, without warning, strong hands had cupped his face and guided it across the gap between his mouth and Gene's. Next, there were two lips pressed against his and a tongue pushing for entry. Incapable of denying Gene anything at that moment Sam opened himself to the sensation; responding with equal (if not greater) enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around Gene's chest and pulling him closer.
Suddenly, almost as quickly as they had got there, the hands were gone from his face and he was being pushed away for the second time that night. His head struck the wall with a dull sound, but he remained conscious, something he instantly regretted when he saw the horrified look on Gene's face.
"That..er...I .." Gene stuttered, looking like he was on the verge of being sick.
Sam cringed but said nothing. Tensing, he prepared himself for an argument. Not dropping his eye contact he stared at Gene daring him to make his move, to start denying or rationalising what had just happened.
Sam expected that sort of reaction. It was nineteen seventy-three, an era ripe with all forms of prejudice, and he couldn't believe he had been so stupid as to forget it.
The one reaction Sam never thought to prepare himself for was Gene storming out of the room without saying anything.
It was only when the kettle whistled that Sam eventually looked away from the door.
AN: continued in The Day After