Fic: The Kept Man (27/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (27/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1730 this part; [50,847 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 .
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
He wasn’t a caregiver. He learned that at a young age, back when his gran had her stroke. He could barely stand to be in the same room with her, let alone help his mum take care of her. It wasn’t a natural instinct. Gene Hunt was a fighter, a protector. Hell, sometimes he could even be considered a motivator, but he was not a caregiver.
The missus had always known that, even before they were hitched, but still she married him. Now she was paying the price. Now they were paying the price. Maybe she thought he would change. What a ridiculous thought that was. Of course he’d never change. People didn’t change.
Tyler proved that. He could be the poster boy for it. Even with amnesia, he had stuck by his copper’s intuition, instincts he didn’t even know he had. Well, that’s why they were instincts after all, weren’t they? Tyler may have been twisted a bit, pulled in a few different directions but, like a rubber band, no matter its shape, it was still inherently the same thing.
As Gene attempted to coax the blank-faced man out of the Cortina that night, he wondered how much a rubber band could be stretched until it snapped. As he helped Sam into the house, then tucked him into bed, Gene wondered how much give he had left in his own aging body.
*
“It’s all come back now, hasn’t it Sam? All your memories. Your dreams. Your disappointments. No wonder you were so confused, getting back your past when the past was getting back to you.”
“I still don’t remember you,” Sam sniped, sitting up in bed.
“Isn’t it funny how our memories can trick us?”
“My memory’s just fine now, thanks. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” He rubbed his forehead, trying to dissipate the hallucination. Unfortunately, said hallucination was a stubborn bitch.
“You said you loved her, but you kept her so poorly. So she ran and she got caught, and she must be dead, for surely,” the little girl scolded.
“Maya is not dead,” Sam argued.
“You said you loved him, but he kept you so poorly. So you ran and he got shot, and now he’s dead, for surely.”
“I didn’t love him!” Sam screamed. “He made me say it. I never meant it!”
She shook her head sadly. “Isn’t it funny how our memories can trick us?”
Sam lunged at her, but when his fingers were close enough to latch onto the hem of her dress, he fell out of bed, waking from the nightmare with a resounding thud. He scrambled to his knees, searching, but she was already back in the telly where she belonged.
“I didn’t love him!” He shouted at the old black and white screen. “Do you hear me? Not for one second! I never loved him!” He pounded on the box, wanting to beat the truth into her. “Never!” He screamed again and slammed his fist into the screen. “Never. Never. Never.” Hitting it again, and again, and again.
“Whoa. Whoa, Sammy...” Someone grabbed him from behind and slid him across the carpet, away from her Mona Lisa smile. Someone was always grabbing him. Always hitting him. Always touching him. He didn’t want to be touched anymore. Not ever. Not by anyone.
“Let go of me! Get off me!” He kicked and squirmed himself free of the loose grip, and dragged himself back across the room. He didn’t turn to face Gene until he had reached the opposite wall. “I don’t want you touching me,” Sam hissed, staring in fear at his host.
“Fine,” Gene nodded, still kneeling on the carpet. “Mind if I sit here?”
Why was Gene asking him that? That was a stupid question. “ ‘S your house, isn’t it?”
Gene placed himself fully on the floor. “Your hand alright?”
It took Sam a moment to realize what he was asking. He looked down at the bruising knuckles on his right hand and carefully flexed the sore joints. “Yeah. It’s brilliant.”
“She pisses me off, too,” Gene nodded to the glowing screen, where she still sat with her clown and her chalk. Sam’s heart leapt, wondering if she came to Gene, too, then sank back into his chest as Gene continued speaking. “Don’t know why they had to use her, ‘stead of the flag or the Queen, or summit.”
“Didn’t know you were so patriotic,” Sam whispered, rubbing his fingers lightly over his stiff hand
“Did my service. Know my duty.”
“Right. National Service. Nearly forgot about that.”
“Din’t get rid of it til the end of 1960. You must’ve done it, too, Tyler. You were born when, thirty-six? Thirty-seven?”
Sam laughed, the noise sounding hollow as it fell on his ears. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Both men sat in silence as the empty laughter died. Sam had nothing else to say. There was nothing Gene wanted to hear.
“You comin’ to work tomorrow?” Gene asked, keeping his tone light.
“Do I still have a job, or is it just easier to arrest me that way?” Sam sighed sarcastically.
“I told yeh, no one’s arresting you.” Gene sounded frustrated at having to repeat himself. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. I could use a DI.”
“A DI?” Sam scoffed. “So, anyone will do, yeah? It doesn’t have to be me? It doesn’t have to be your DI?” He was disposable again. Used, then replaced, just like he was to Warren, probably to Morgan, and now to Gene as well.
Hunt picked himself up off the floor, keeping his eyes off Sam. “You’re only my DI if you want to be,” he stated clearly, and left Sam alone in the room, only the test card for company.
*
Gene was rudely awakened from a comfortable, dreamless sleep, by a loud banging in the kitchen. A loud banging that sounded suspiciously like someone messing with his wife’s pots. “What in blazes are you doin’?” He mumbled as he shuffled to the doorway in his trousers and vest, while Tyler, who was fully dressed, was busy waking up every old biddy in the neighborhood in his relentless pursuit of, apparently, the perfect omelette.
“It’s called breakfast,” he replied without emotion as he cracked some eggs into the pan. “I remembered I knew how to cook.”
“So, you remembered you’re a girl?” Gene yawned and swept back his unbrushed hair.
“How long does it take to get to the station from here?” He stirred the eggs with precision as he began to sprinkle cheese overtop.
“Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe.”
“Walking?”
“Christ, I don’t know. I haven’t walked to work in...No, wait. I’ve never walked to work. That’s why I have ruddy car.”
Tyler had cut up bits of the ham leftover from tea the other night, the last night she’d been home, and was dumping it into the mixture.
“Nice of you to cook me breakfast,” Gene scratched his stomach.
“Not for you. And there’s only enough for one. You want to eat, you can make your own meals. I’m not your wife.”
“Could’ve fooled me. In her kitchen, usin’ her food, wearin’ her apron.”
“I’m not wear--” He wasn’t, but Sam had to stop himself and double-check. He fixed his face into an aggravated pout and continued cooking. Gene grinned. At least aggravated was better than empty. “I’m eating breakfast, then walking to the station.” He used a spatula and folded the egg mixture in half.
“Going to sleep here again, tonight?” Gene tried to ask casually.
“No.”
“Where then?”
“Not your concern.”
“Right. I forgot,” Gene nodded, and turned towards the foyer, digging into the small key bowl on the table. He leaned back in the doorway and began removing one key from the rest. “The missus is going to be gone for awhile. Means I won’t be needing the flat.” He freed the key and chucked it onto the kitchen table. “And don’t start with me. You’ve got no money, no place to live, and if you keep sleepin’ at the station, I reckon they will decide to arrest you for something, just so you stop pesterin’ them. It’s not permanent. Just to hold yeh over.”
Sam didn’t reply, only kept stabbing at his omelette with the spatula.
“I’m gettin’ a shower. I’ll see you at work, then.”
When Gene returned downstairs, swathed, showered, and shaved, the kitchen was empty. The pan, plate and utensils had already been washed and put away, and Tyler was gone. So was the key.
*
Not permanent. Not permanent. Not permanent. Sam repeated it in his head as he stomped down the pavement. Of course it wasn’t permanent. He couldn’t stay here forever. He wouldn’t stay here forever. He just didn’t know how to leave yet. If murdering parts of his psyche wasn’t the answer, what could it be?
Maybe if he kept walking, forever and ever, his mind would finally be unable to create new places and new faces for him to see. Maybe he’d reach the end. The edge of the world. Or maybe there would be a door. Or maybe there’d be God. Or maybe there’d be Kylie Minogue holding a plate of pancakes. How should he know? He’d never been in a coma before.
He kicked a stone out of the way as he turned the corner, the station coming into view. Or maybe, his worst fear, he really, somehow, impossibly, was back in time. Which meant, his worst fear, he really, somehow, had killed a man. A horrible man, like Hunt said, but who was he to decide who lived and died?
He would’ve received more satisfaction to have seen Warren convicted, by a jury of his peers, in a proper courtroom, given a proper sentence, and left to suffer for his moral indiscretions in a proper prison. Warren wouldn’t get that chance now. Sam had seen to that, like every bad copper he had never wanted to be.
Being here, in his mind, in his past, wherever it was, it was changing him. He was right when he had told Gene he was losing himself here. He hadn’t known how true that was, at the time. Wherever he was, whatever this place was, he needed to escape it, and soon. Or maybe he wouldn’t be Sam Tyler anymore, after all.
___________
Part 28
Author: dak
Word Count: 1730 this part; [50,847 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 .
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
He wasn’t a caregiver. He learned that at a young age, back when his gran had her stroke. He could barely stand to be in the same room with her, let alone help his mum take care of her. It wasn’t a natural instinct. Gene Hunt was a fighter, a protector. Hell, sometimes he could even be considered a motivator, but he was not a caregiver.
The missus had always known that, even before they were hitched, but still she married him. Now she was paying the price. Now they were paying the price. Maybe she thought he would change. What a ridiculous thought that was. Of course he’d never change. People didn’t change.
Tyler proved that. He could be the poster boy for it. Even with amnesia, he had stuck by his copper’s intuition, instincts he didn’t even know he had. Well, that’s why they were instincts after all, weren’t they? Tyler may have been twisted a bit, pulled in a few different directions but, like a rubber band, no matter its shape, it was still inherently the same thing.
As Gene attempted to coax the blank-faced man out of the Cortina that night, he wondered how much a rubber band could be stretched until it snapped. As he helped Sam into the house, then tucked him into bed, Gene wondered how much give he had left in his own aging body.
*
“It’s all come back now, hasn’t it Sam? All your memories. Your dreams. Your disappointments. No wonder you were so confused, getting back your past when the past was getting back to you.”
“I still don’t remember you,” Sam sniped, sitting up in bed.
“Isn’t it funny how our memories can trick us?”
“My memory’s just fine now, thanks. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” He rubbed his forehead, trying to dissipate the hallucination. Unfortunately, said hallucination was a stubborn bitch.
“You said you loved her, but you kept her so poorly. So she ran and she got caught, and she must be dead, for surely,” the little girl scolded.
“Maya is not dead,” Sam argued.
“You said you loved him, but he kept you so poorly. So you ran and he got shot, and now he’s dead, for surely.”
“I didn’t love him!” Sam screamed. “He made me say it. I never meant it!”
She shook her head sadly. “Isn’t it funny how our memories can trick us?”
Sam lunged at her, but when his fingers were close enough to latch onto the hem of her dress, he fell out of bed, waking from the nightmare with a resounding thud. He scrambled to his knees, searching, but she was already back in the telly where she belonged.
“I didn’t love him!” He shouted at the old black and white screen. “Do you hear me? Not for one second! I never loved him!” He pounded on the box, wanting to beat the truth into her. “Never!” He screamed again and slammed his fist into the screen. “Never. Never. Never.” Hitting it again, and again, and again.
“Whoa. Whoa, Sammy...” Someone grabbed him from behind and slid him across the carpet, away from her Mona Lisa smile. Someone was always grabbing him. Always hitting him. Always touching him. He didn’t want to be touched anymore. Not ever. Not by anyone.
“Let go of me! Get off me!” He kicked and squirmed himself free of the loose grip, and dragged himself back across the room. He didn’t turn to face Gene until he had reached the opposite wall. “I don’t want you touching me,” Sam hissed, staring in fear at his host.
“Fine,” Gene nodded, still kneeling on the carpet. “Mind if I sit here?”
Why was Gene asking him that? That was a stupid question. “ ‘S your house, isn’t it?”
Gene placed himself fully on the floor. “Your hand alright?”
It took Sam a moment to realize what he was asking. He looked down at the bruising knuckles on his right hand and carefully flexed the sore joints. “Yeah. It’s brilliant.”
“She pisses me off, too,” Gene nodded to the glowing screen, where she still sat with her clown and her chalk. Sam’s heart leapt, wondering if she came to Gene, too, then sank back into his chest as Gene continued speaking. “Don’t know why they had to use her, ‘stead of the flag or the Queen, or summit.”
“Didn’t know you were so patriotic,” Sam whispered, rubbing his fingers lightly over his stiff hand
“Did my service. Know my duty.”
“Right. National Service. Nearly forgot about that.”
“Din’t get rid of it til the end of 1960. You must’ve done it, too, Tyler. You were born when, thirty-six? Thirty-seven?”
Sam laughed, the noise sounding hollow as it fell on his ears. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Both men sat in silence as the empty laughter died. Sam had nothing else to say. There was nothing Gene wanted to hear.
“You comin’ to work tomorrow?” Gene asked, keeping his tone light.
“Do I still have a job, or is it just easier to arrest me that way?” Sam sighed sarcastically.
“I told yeh, no one’s arresting you.” Gene sounded frustrated at having to repeat himself. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. I could use a DI.”
“A DI?” Sam scoffed. “So, anyone will do, yeah? It doesn’t have to be me? It doesn’t have to be your DI?” He was disposable again. Used, then replaced, just like he was to Warren, probably to Morgan, and now to Gene as well.
Hunt picked himself up off the floor, keeping his eyes off Sam. “You’re only my DI if you want to be,” he stated clearly, and left Sam alone in the room, only the test card for company.
*
Gene was rudely awakened from a comfortable, dreamless sleep, by a loud banging in the kitchen. A loud banging that sounded suspiciously like someone messing with his wife’s pots. “What in blazes are you doin’?” He mumbled as he shuffled to the doorway in his trousers and vest, while Tyler, who was fully dressed, was busy waking up every old biddy in the neighborhood in his relentless pursuit of, apparently, the perfect omelette.
“It’s called breakfast,” he replied without emotion as he cracked some eggs into the pan. “I remembered I knew how to cook.”
“So, you remembered you’re a girl?” Gene yawned and swept back his unbrushed hair.
“How long does it take to get to the station from here?” He stirred the eggs with precision as he began to sprinkle cheese overtop.
“Ten minutes. Fifteen maybe.”
“Walking?”
“Christ, I don’t know. I haven’t walked to work in...No, wait. I’ve never walked to work. That’s why I have ruddy car.”
Tyler had cut up bits of the ham leftover from tea the other night, the last night she’d been home, and was dumping it into the mixture.
“Nice of you to cook me breakfast,” Gene scratched his stomach.
“Not for you. And there’s only enough for one. You want to eat, you can make your own meals. I’m not your wife.”
“Could’ve fooled me. In her kitchen, usin’ her food, wearin’ her apron.”
“I’m not wear--” He wasn’t, but Sam had to stop himself and double-check. He fixed his face into an aggravated pout and continued cooking. Gene grinned. At least aggravated was better than empty. “I’m eating breakfast, then walking to the station.” He used a spatula and folded the egg mixture in half.
“Going to sleep here again, tonight?” Gene tried to ask casually.
“No.”
“Where then?”
“Not your concern.”
“Right. I forgot,” Gene nodded, and turned towards the foyer, digging into the small key bowl on the table. He leaned back in the doorway and began removing one key from the rest. “The missus is going to be gone for awhile. Means I won’t be needing the flat.” He freed the key and chucked it onto the kitchen table. “And don’t start with me. You’ve got no money, no place to live, and if you keep sleepin’ at the station, I reckon they will decide to arrest you for something, just so you stop pesterin’ them. It’s not permanent. Just to hold yeh over.”
Sam didn’t reply, only kept stabbing at his omelette with the spatula.
“I’m gettin’ a shower. I’ll see you at work, then.”
When Gene returned downstairs, swathed, showered, and shaved, the kitchen was empty. The pan, plate and utensils had already been washed and put away, and Tyler was gone. So was the key.
*
Not permanent. Not permanent. Not permanent. Sam repeated it in his head as he stomped down the pavement. Of course it wasn’t permanent. He couldn’t stay here forever. He wouldn’t stay here forever. He just didn’t know how to leave yet. If murdering parts of his psyche wasn’t the answer, what could it be?
Maybe if he kept walking, forever and ever, his mind would finally be unable to create new places and new faces for him to see. Maybe he’d reach the end. The edge of the world. Or maybe there would be a door. Or maybe there’d be God. Or maybe there’d be Kylie Minogue holding a plate of pancakes. How should he know? He’d never been in a coma before.
He kicked a stone out of the way as he turned the corner, the station coming into view. Or maybe, his worst fear, he really, somehow, impossibly, was back in time. Which meant, his worst fear, he really, somehow, had killed a man. A horrible man, like Hunt said, but who was he to decide who lived and died?
He would’ve received more satisfaction to have seen Warren convicted, by a jury of his peers, in a proper courtroom, given a proper sentence, and left to suffer for his moral indiscretions in a proper prison. Warren wouldn’t get that chance now. Sam had seen to that, like every bad copper he had never wanted to be.
Being here, in his mind, in his past, wherever it was, it was changing him. He was right when he had told Gene he was losing himself here. He hadn’t known how true that was, at the time. Wherever he was, whatever this place was, he needed to escape it, and soon. Or maybe he wouldn’t be Sam Tyler anymore, after all.
___________
Part 28