Fic: The Kept Man (22/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (22/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1991 this part; [41,856 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Don't worry. I found my angst monkeys. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
When Gene pulled out, he didn’t know what to say and, as boisterous as Sam had just been, he clammed up immediately. The sitting room was always cool at night and though they were both naked, it was Sam who was shivering.
Gene found the blanket he’d brought down earlier and handed it to the man below him. He didn’t take it and Gene knew he had made a mistake. It had been too soon. Sam wasn’t ready for this. He cursed himself then, on an accidental second glance, realized why Sam wasn’t speaking and why he hadn’t accepted the blanket.
The berk was asleep. His face relaxed and content, chest rising and falling evenly. Gene sighed and rolled his eyes, he couldn’t have been that good a shag, and wrapped Sam in the blanket himself, careful to set him on the couch without waking him. Sam moaned quietly at the movement, but stayed sleeping. Gene decided that if this would happen every time Tyler spoke with Morgan, then maybe he’d have to keep that untrustworthy git around a little longer.
He woke the next morning to the sound of the shower and slowly began to get dressed. He’d bathed the night before anyway. Sam returned downstairs just as the coffee was ready, wearing another of those garish shirts he’d brought from Warren’s. His hair was still damp and his body seemed a bit stiff. Gene hoped it was from sleeping on the couch.
“We need to get you some new clothes,” Gene casually remarked as he poured them both a cup.
“I’ll pick some up with the fifty quid you owe me,” Sam smiled and accepted the cup.
“Fifty quid? For what?”
“For last night,” he shrugged.
Gene nearly swallowed his coffee through his nose.
“Relax,” Sam grinned over his mug. “It was a joke.”
“Good,” Gene nodded, recovering. “Wouldn’t’ve paid that much anyhow, sweetheart.”
“Don’t worry. I would’ve given you a discount. I know you couldn’t afford me on a copper’s wages.”
“My, but you’re a cheeky bastard when you’re relaxed,” Gene snorted.
Sam stared into his cup. “I am.” He looked up at Gene. “At least, I think I am. A little. Relaxed, that is.”
“Ready to try some real policing then?”
He watched as Sam considered the question, turning it over in his mind much more than any normal person would. Of course, if Tyler was anything, it certainly wasn’t normal.
“Yeah,” he finally nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.”
*
It was exciting, like being a kid on his first day at a new school. He had managed to push Morgan’s words to the back of his brain. The DCI had given him a choice, anyway. If he didn’t want anything to do with him, well then he wasn’t going to.
Right now, what he was going to do was focus his attention on two more important matters: avoiding Warren and remembering how to be a police officer. He and Gene strolled into the station exactly at nine, having made time for a quick breakfast along the way. Most of the officers seemed to be there, even if none of them appeared to be doing anything of any importance, except for WPC Cartwright. Several “morning Guv’s” were muttered respectively and more than one uncertain glance was thrown at the new boy.
“Good morning, WPC Cartwright,” Sam smiled at the only officer accepting of his presence.
“Good morning, sir. Sleep well?”
Sam hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Better than I have in ages.”
“Undercover work like that must be really stressful, having to be someone else all the time,” she sympathized.
“It leads to plenty of sleepless nights, that’s for certain. I’m...I’m really glad it’s over. That I can move on.”
“Finished gossiping, ladies?” Hunt shouted and Sam readied himself for the DCI’s morning commands. “Right then. Ray, any new info on our mystery scum in cell three?”
“Nowt, Guv. But this mornin’ ‘e did ask Cartwright for a cuppa. First time ‘e’s spoken since we picked ‘im up.”
“This was the man you arrested at the drop-off point Dennis Gwen gave you?” Sam asked, checking his notes.
“One and only.”
“Has anyone traced the car’s registration yet?” He focused on his notes, tried not to over-think anything, tried to let his instincts take over.
“Oh wait, yeah Boss.”
Sam looked up to see the Skelton boy shuffling through the massive amount of papers on his desk. “It were, uh, registered to a Charlton Morris.”
“Who is?”
“No one, Boss. Died six years ago. Old bloke, no relatives. All ‘is stuff were sold off after he copped it.”
Sam wrote the information down in his note pad, making sure to record all the details. Trolling through so many half-finished reports yesterday made Sam discover that he very much like detail. “So...mind if I talk this out for my own benefit?” He looked to Gene for permission, but not too much permission.
“Go ahead, Gladys. I already know how much you like the sound of your own voice,” Gene grumbled.
Sam was definitely blushing then, as he remembered last night, and made a great effort to hide his face behind his notes. “Okay, right, so, you have four dead users which, according to the pathologist, died from overdoses of cocaine, of high enough levels to warrant suspicion. You then traced the drugs to the same dealer, Billy Kemble, who led you to his supplier, Dennis Gwen. Now you’re only lead is a man who hasn’t spoken in three days, who was arrested while delivering Gwen’s next batch of drugs.”
“I said ‘e asked for tea this mornin’,” Ray snapped back.
“Well,” Sam sighed, studying his notes, “unless ‘Cuppa Tea’ is a code name for his employer, not much help to us, is it DS...uhm...”
“Carling,” Ray spat and glanced to Gene for support but received nothing but a glare.
“Except that’s not our only lead,” Sam informed them.
“Kemble and Gwen don’t know anything else,” Ray argued.
“I wasn’t referring to either of them. While I was...undercover, I witnessed what was, possibly, Charlie Edwards dumping the body of victim number two, Yvonne Bettis.”
“So?” Ray shrugged. “Yvonne worked at The Warren every couple of nights. Everyone knows that. She shoots up at work, Warren don’t want a dead body in ‘is place, gets Edwards to take care of it. Hardly illegal.”
Sam wondered how this man ever became a detective, let alone a Sergeant. “Actually, it is. And, according to your crime scene reports, the other three victims also appear to have been dumped.”
“Most dead junkies are, by their mates or whatnot. Easier than callin’ us an’ risk bein’ arrested for possession.”
Sam ignored the Sergeant and turned to Gene. “I’d like to do an investigation into whether the other victims had any connection to Warren.”
“Oh, so just because you spent months there, undercover,” Ray said in a mocking tone, “suddenly everything has to do with Stephen Warren?”
“I’m not saying it ultimately has anything to do with him, Sergeant, but the evidence suggests there may be some connection and I’d like to follow that up instead of waiting for another dead body to give us further information!” He was shouting. His heart was racing. He couldn’t remember having arguments like this before, but he knew he had. He just knew. The thrill of playing point/counter-point, finding the evidence to back up his claims and disprove other’s. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was better than sex. He remembered last night. Well, almost better.
“Too late,” Gene announced as he hung up a phone Sam hadn’t noticed ringing.
“Another junkie, Guv?” Chris asked.
“Nope. Simple homicide, this one.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Ray sighed and grabbed his jacket.
“Get your coat, Sammy-boy. Let’s see if you remember how to work a crime scene,” he whispered.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Sam smiled, still high from the thrill of debate.
*
If Gene had known who the victim was beforehand, he would have never taken Sam. He would have found some excuse to leave him at the station, then pulled him aside and slowly explain what had happened.
Things could never be that easy, though, and so it was that Sam was standing next to Gene as Ray knelt down and pulled back the sheet, exposing the slit throat and empty eyes of Joni Newton.
Sam said nothing as he stared at her lifeless body, but Gene could sense him crumbling beside him. “Excuse me,” Sam finally whispered and walked briskly away from the scene.
Gene relayed his orders to the team then went to find Sam. After a five minute search, he spotted a thin body crouched in an alley near where they had parked the Cortina. Gene steeled himself for a breakdown, for an argument, and for a whole load of tears. Sam had his fingers interlaced behind the back of his head, knees tucked to his chest, and eyes lost somewhere far away.
“Sam?” Gene asked as he knelt in front of him. Nothing he could say would make Sam’s pain easier to bear, but he had to try something to keep the lad from backsliding into old habits.
“She was my friend,” his voice was shaky and weak, like it had been when Gene found him in the flat with the unconscious John. “She looked out for me when she didn’t have to. She covered for me and protected me from him. Warren hasn’t been able to get to me, so he got to her.”
“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Gene had to make sure he understood that.
“I know,” Sam nodded, eyes still unfocused. “It’s yours.”
Gene’s internal organs took turns dying from shock. “What did you say?”
“She was supposed to be your honey trap. I took the job from her, and failed. And he only knows I failed because of you,” Sam’s eyes were on him now, filled with a hatred Gene didn’t know he possessed.
“I didn’t say anything, Sam.”
“No. You just kissed me, in front of Edwards, who clearly saw through your oh so clever little ploy and realized I’d turned!” Sam scrambled to his feet now, jabbing a finger in Gene’s chest as he continued to berate him. “If you would have actually thought something out, for once, you might have considered the fact that maybe arresting me or hitting me in a public street would have been slightly more convincing than kissing me!”
“You’re upset because I didn’t smack you?”
“Edwards isn’t an idiot, you ignorant prick! He probably told Warren exactly what happened, exactly what he saw, and it wouldn’t have taken much for them to piece together what happened. Especially when I didn’t turn up later with the photos!” Sam was panting, but not in the pleasant way. He was flushed, but not from pleasure. He was filled with passion, but not for Gene. “This. Is. Your. Fault!” He screamed and couldn’t hide the brewing tears. He wiped his face on his sleeve and backed away from Gene, storming off in a fit of righteous indignation.
“Don’t go back to him, Sam!” Gene called out, but Sam didn’t respond. Gene knew he had made a mistake. It had been too soon. Sam wasn’t ready for this.
*
The cafe was more crowded than before, which could only be a good thing. More people, more cover. They’d be less recognizable in a crowd. Sam’s hands were shaking as he tried to drink his tea. He knew he needed to calm down, but loved the power his new anger continued to fuel inside him.
“I’ll do it. I’ll get you what you need to finish your case.”
Morgan smiled, calmly stirring his own tea. “Good, Sam. Good. This was what I was so hoping to hear.”
“Then...then you’ll bring me home?”
“Absolutely, Sam. As soon as the operation is complete, then you can come home.”
_________
Part 23
Author: dak
Word Count: 1991 this part; [41,856 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Don't worry. I found my angst monkeys. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
When Gene pulled out, he didn’t know what to say and, as boisterous as Sam had just been, he clammed up immediately. The sitting room was always cool at night and though they were both naked, it was Sam who was shivering.
Gene found the blanket he’d brought down earlier and handed it to the man below him. He didn’t take it and Gene knew he had made a mistake. It had been too soon. Sam wasn’t ready for this. He cursed himself then, on an accidental second glance, realized why Sam wasn’t speaking and why he hadn’t accepted the blanket.
The berk was asleep. His face relaxed and content, chest rising and falling evenly. Gene sighed and rolled his eyes, he couldn’t have been that good a shag, and wrapped Sam in the blanket himself, careful to set him on the couch without waking him. Sam moaned quietly at the movement, but stayed sleeping. Gene decided that if this would happen every time Tyler spoke with Morgan, then maybe he’d have to keep that untrustworthy git around a little longer.
He woke the next morning to the sound of the shower and slowly began to get dressed. He’d bathed the night before anyway. Sam returned downstairs just as the coffee was ready, wearing another of those garish shirts he’d brought from Warren’s. His hair was still damp and his body seemed a bit stiff. Gene hoped it was from sleeping on the couch.
“We need to get you some new clothes,” Gene casually remarked as he poured them both a cup.
“I’ll pick some up with the fifty quid you owe me,” Sam smiled and accepted the cup.
“Fifty quid? For what?”
“For last night,” he shrugged.
Gene nearly swallowed his coffee through his nose.
“Relax,” Sam grinned over his mug. “It was a joke.”
“Good,” Gene nodded, recovering. “Wouldn’t’ve paid that much anyhow, sweetheart.”
“Don’t worry. I would’ve given you a discount. I know you couldn’t afford me on a copper’s wages.”
“My, but you’re a cheeky bastard when you’re relaxed,” Gene snorted.
Sam stared into his cup. “I am.” He looked up at Gene. “At least, I think I am. A little. Relaxed, that is.”
“Ready to try some real policing then?”
He watched as Sam considered the question, turning it over in his mind much more than any normal person would. Of course, if Tyler was anything, it certainly wasn’t normal.
“Yeah,” he finally nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.”
*
It was exciting, like being a kid on his first day at a new school. He had managed to push Morgan’s words to the back of his brain. The DCI had given him a choice, anyway. If he didn’t want anything to do with him, well then he wasn’t going to.
Right now, what he was going to do was focus his attention on two more important matters: avoiding Warren and remembering how to be a police officer. He and Gene strolled into the station exactly at nine, having made time for a quick breakfast along the way. Most of the officers seemed to be there, even if none of them appeared to be doing anything of any importance, except for WPC Cartwright. Several “morning Guv’s” were muttered respectively and more than one uncertain glance was thrown at the new boy.
“Good morning, WPC Cartwright,” Sam smiled at the only officer accepting of his presence.
“Good morning, sir. Sleep well?”
Sam hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Better than I have in ages.”
“Undercover work like that must be really stressful, having to be someone else all the time,” she sympathized.
“It leads to plenty of sleepless nights, that’s for certain. I’m...I’m really glad it’s over. That I can move on.”
“Finished gossiping, ladies?” Hunt shouted and Sam readied himself for the DCI’s morning commands. “Right then. Ray, any new info on our mystery scum in cell three?”
“Nowt, Guv. But this mornin’ ‘e did ask Cartwright for a cuppa. First time ‘e’s spoken since we picked ‘im up.”
“This was the man you arrested at the drop-off point Dennis Gwen gave you?” Sam asked, checking his notes.
“One and only.”
“Has anyone traced the car’s registration yet?” He focused on his notes, tried not to over-think anything, tried to let his instincts take over.
“Oh wait, yeah Boss.”
Sam looked up to see the Skelton boy shuffling through the massive amount of papers on his desk. “It were, uh, registered to a Charlton Morris.”
“Who is?”
“No one, Boss. Died six years ago. Old bloke, no relatives. All ‘is stuff were sold off after he copped it.”
Sam wrote the information down in his note pad, making sure to record all the details. Trolling through so many half-finished reports yesterday made Sam discover that he very much like detail. “So...mind if I talk this out for my own benefit?” He looked to Gene for permission, but not too much permission.
“Go ahead, Gladys. I already know how much you like the sound of your own voice,” Gene grumbled.
Sam was definitely blushing then, as he remembered last night, and made a great effort to hide his face behind his notes. “Okay, right, so, you have four dead users which, according to the pathologist, died from overdoses of cocaine, of high enough levels to warrant suspicion. You then traced the drugs to the same dealer, Billy Kemble, who led you to his supplier, Dennis Gwen. Now you’re only lead is a man who hasn’t spoken in three days, who was arrested while delivering Gwen’s next batch of drugs.”
“I said ‘e asked for tea this mornin’,” Ray snapped back.
“Well,” Sam sighed, studying his notes, “unless ‘Cuppa Tea’ is a code name for his employer, not much help to us, is it DS...uhm...”
“Carling,” Ray spat and glanced to Gene for support but received nothing but a glare.
“Except that’s not our only lead,” Sam informed them.
“Kemble and Gwen don’t know anything else,” Ray argued.
“I wasn’t referring to either of them. While I was...undercover, I witnessed what was, possibly, Charlie Edwards dumping the body of victim number two, Yvonne Bettis.”
“So?” Ray shrugged. “Yvonne worked at The Warren every couple of nights. Everyone knows that. She shoots up at work, Warren don’t want a dead body in ‘is place, gets Edwards to take care of it. Hardly illegal.”
Sam wondered how this man ever became a detective, let alone a Sergeant. “Actually, it is. And, according to your crime scene reports, the other three victims also appear to have been dumped.”
“Most dead junkies are, by their mates or whatnot. Easier than callin’ us an’ risk bein’ arrested for possession.”
Sam ignored the Sergeant and turned to Gene. “I’d like to do an investigation into whether the other victims had any connection to Warren.”
“Oh, so just because you spent months there, undercover,” Ray said in a mocking tone, “suddenly everything has to do with Stephen Warren?”
“I’m not saying it ultimately has anything to do with him, Sergeant, but the evidence suggests there may be some connection and I’d like to follow that up instead of waiting for another dead body to give us further information!” He was shouting. His heart was racing. He couldn’t remember having arguments like this before, but he knew he had. He just knew. The thrill of playing point/counter-point, finding the evidence to back up his claims and disprove other’s. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was better than sex. He remembered last night. Well, almost better.
“Too late,” Gene announced as he hung up a phone Sam hadn’t noticed ringing.
“Another junkie, Guv?” Chris asked.
“Nope. Simple homicide, this one.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Ray sighed and grabbed his jacket.
“Get your coat, Sammy-boy. Let’s see if you remember how to work a crime scene,” he whispered.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Sam smiled, still high from the thrill of debate.
*
If Gene had known who the victim was beforehand, he would have never taken Sam. He would have found some excuse to leave him at the station, then pulled him aside and slowly explain what had happened.
Things could never be that easy, though, and so it was that Sam was standing next to Gene as Ray knelt down and pulled back the sheet, exposing the slit throat and empty eyes of Joni Newton.
Sam said nothing as he stared at her lifeless body, but Gene could sense him crumbling beside him. “Excuse me,” Sam finally whispered and walked briskly away from the scene.
Gene relayed his orders to the team then went to find Sam. After a five minute search, he spotted a thin body crouched in an alley near where they had parked the Cortina. Gene steeled himself for a breakdown, for an argument, and for a whole load of tears. Sam had his fingers interlaced behind the back of his head, knees tucked to his chest, and eyes lost somewhere far away.
“Sam?” Gene asked as he knelt in front of him. Nothing he could say would make Sam’s pain easier to bear, but he had to try something to keep the lad from backsliding into old habits.
“She was my friend,” his voice was shaky and weak, like it had been when Gene found him in the flat with the unconscious John. “She looked out for me when she didn’t have to. She covered for me and protected me from him. Warren hasn’t been able to get to me, so he got to her.”
“It’s not your fault, Sam,” Gene had to make sure he understood that.
“I know,” Sam nodded, eyes still unfocused. “It’s yours.”
Gene’s internal organs took turns dying from shock. “What did you say?”
“She was supposed to be your honey trap. I took the job from her, and failed. And he only knows I failed because of you,” Sam’s eyes were on him now, filled with a hatred Gene didn’t know he possessed.
“I didn’t say anything, Sam.”
“No. You just kissed me, in front of Edwards, who clearly saw through your oh so clever little ploy and realized I’d turned!” Sam scrambled to his feet now, jabbing a finger in Gene’s chest as he continued to berate him. “If you would have actually thought something out, for once, you might have considered the fact that maybe arresting me or hitting me in a public street would have been slightly more convincing than kissing me!”
“You’re upset because I didn’t smack you?”
“Edwards isn’t an idiot, you ignorant prick! He probably told Warren exactly what happened, exactly what he saw, and it wouldn’t have taken much for them to piece together what happened. Especially when I didn’t turn up later with the photos!” Sam was panting, but not in the pleasant way. He was flushed, but not from pleasure. He was filled with passion, but not for Gene. “This. Is. Your. Fault!” He screamed and couldn’t hide the brewing tears. He wiped his face on his sleeve and backed away from Gene, storming off in a fit of righteous indignation.
“Don’t go back to him, Sam!” Gene called out, but Sam didn’t respond. Gene knew he had made a mistake. It had been too soon. Sam wasn’t ready for this.
*
The cafe was more crowded than before, which could only be a good thing. More people, more cover. They’d be less recognizable in a crowd. Sam’s hands were shaking as he tried to drink his tea. He knew he needed to calm down, but loved the power his new anger continued to fuel inside him.
“I’ll do it. I’ll get you what you need to finish your case.”
Morgan smiled, calmly stirring his own tea. “Good, Sam. Good. This was what I was so hoping to hear.”
“Then...then you’ll bring me home?”
“Absolutely, Sam. As soon as the operation is complete, then you can come home.”
_________
Part 23