Fic: The Kept Man (31/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (31/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1473 this part; [57,409 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 . Seems that monkey sedative is working better than I thought. Sorry it's a shorter chapter. I have to work a double shift today, not as much writing time. Ah well. Please enjoy! (And for those of you that replied to duckyone's post, I'm 98% positive that I will be writing a prequel to this. After my brain has healed from this one, of course.)
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
Gene had waited for Tyler inside reception. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Sam wouldn’t come in, he had said he was going to after all, he just wanted to make sure. “What do you know about that safe in Warren’s office?” He asked as Sam was finally at his side. Gene hastily walked to the lift, Tyler in tow.
“Uhm, not much.”
“What did he keep in it?”
They entered the lift and Sam leaned against the back wall, rubbing his forehead in thought. “I only saw it open a few times. Mostly money, I think. There may have been a few documents, but I don’t know what they were. He didn’t use me to discuss business, you know.”
Yes, Gene did know, but he was trying to forget. “Who had the combination, besides Warren himself?”
“Don’t know. Edwards, probably, but no one else that I could think of. Why?”
The doors opened and Gene led Sam out into the dusty hall. “It’s empty.”
“Fruitful search then, was it?” Sam may have smirked but it was just a ghost of a smile, if he did.
“Most illicit crap we found were just a pair of handcuffs,” Gene remarked off-handedly and kept walking. He went three steps before noticing Sam had stopped following. He turned back to see him frozen in the center of the corridor, his face pale and his hands shaking slightly. He quickly doubled-back. “Sam?” He placed a hesitant hand on Tyler’s arm.
Sam blinked rapidly and came slowly out of his daze. “S-sorry,” he looked up at Gene, then turned away, ashamed of his actions. Gene realized he couldn’t forget until Sam had.
“Don’t apologize,” Gene stared at the floor, at the speck of dirt between Sam’s shoes.
“But--”
“You scratch the Cortina, you apologize. You drink my single malt, you apologize. You run over Ray’s dog, accident or not, you apologize. See the difference?” From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam absentmindedly rubbing his right wrist.
“To me its still pretty vague,” he whispered honestly.
“Well, be like me then and don’t apologize for anything, least ‘til you learn what you should be apologizing for.” Gene removed his hand from Sam’s arm, secretly pleased the DI hadn’t flinched at the touch, and finished the journey to CID.
“Gene, I’m sorry,” Sam said as he came up behind him.
“Tyler, I told you--”
“I did drink some of your whisky last night. Not a lot. Just enough to help me sleep.”
“That’s a bad habit, Sam.”
“What? Taking what doesn’t belong to me, or using drink as a sedative? Because either way, I’m already aware neither is very becoming of a Detective Inspector.”
Gene paused, his hand on the swinging door. “True. But both describe every other bloke in our department.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be every other bloke in your department,” Sam sniped.
“Good,” Gene nodded and finally entered the bullpen, followed closely by Sam. Ray and Chris were still out searching for Edwards and, as per usual, the only person doing work was the unofficial member of the department, WPC Cartwright.
“DCI Hunt,” she smiled, already handing him his tea.
“Cheers, luv,” Gene grinned back and took the nice, hot beverage.
“DI Tyler, it’s good to see you, sir.”
Gene casually turned as he sipped his tea and watched as Sam struggled to accept her kindness.
“Uhm, thank you, WPC Cartwright.”
“Annie,” she corrected.
“Right. Annie,” he nodded, committing it to memory.
“Guv, the man in cell three, the one you picked up at the drugs drop, he asked for a solicitor this afternoon, while you were out.”
“You mean a full sentence? Blimey, Cartwright, I thought girls like you were supposed to render men speechless, not the other way round. Right, get plod to put ‘im in Lost and Found. Seems he’s ready for another round with the Gene Genie.”
“Gene?” Sam stopped him on his path to his office. “Could I sit in? On the interrogation. Most of my cases in...well, Hyde, I guess, most of my cases in Hyde were drugs related.”
Gene straightened up and examined Tyler, letting Tyler know he was examining him. Sam was nervous, but that seemed to be a permanent part of his emotional state nowadays. What Gene was looking for, and what he found, was that Sam was eager. He wanted to do this. He wanted in on the action. He wanted a chance to prove he was still a detective.
“Fine,” he finally agreed.
“I’d also like to tape record the interview.”
“Now you’re takin’ the piss. Do you always record your interviews, DI Tyler?” Gene mocked.
“Yes. Actually, I do.” Sam stood a little straighter. His hands shook a little less.
“You can find one that works, Sunshine, you can record ‘is trips to the loo for all I care.”
“Great,” Sam nodded. “Good. Thanks. Thank you.”
“You’ve got ten minutes.”
“Right. Okay. Annie?” Sam ran after the WPC and Gene silently watched him leave. Tape recording interviews. Sounded like a load of bollocks to Gene, but if it made the lad happy. At long last, Gene was able to enter his office and collapsed himself in the chair, replacing the teacup with a flask. He did want to. Keep Sam happy, that is, or at least get him to a point that could be considered something close to “happy.” Maybe content was a better word. Right now he’d settle simply for no psychotic lapses.
Yet, how was he supposed to do that when he still needed to give him boundaries? Because Tyler would need boundaries, but how could he give a newly freed man limited bounds, especially one that had been as caged as Sam? He sipped slowly from the flask. He’d have to take it one instance at a time. A tape recorder, fine. Gene could handle a tape recorder.
*
“Annie!” Sam caught her just as she was about to enter the staircase.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you know where I could find a tape recorder around here? For the interview with the suspect.”
“Well, there might be one in Lost and Found. D’you want me to check?”
“No. No, I can check there. Thanks.” He started to turn away, but spun back. “If you find one, could you let me know?”
“Absolutely, sir,” she grinned and started for the stairs, before turning back herself. “DI Tyler?”
“Yes?”
“It’s...it’s nice to see you smile, sir,” she blushed and quickly departed, leaving Sam standing dumbfounded in the corridor. He looked from the stairwell to the floor, back to the stairwell, his brain trying to decipher her compliment.
“It’s nice to see you smile,” he whispered. “It’s nice to see me smile,” he repeated, letting his feet carry him to lost property. He hadn’t even realized he had been smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. Had it really been so long? He half-heartedly scanned the shelves, gathering dust on his fingers as he trailed them across the cold metal.
He could remember many times when he had smiled, back in 2006. Some related to Maya. Some related to work. Some related to the special bike he’d gotten for his birthday when he was eleven, even though Mum had said they didn’t have the money for it. Recently, though? Recently, he could only remember times when he’d been forced to smile by others, or had forced it on himself. Smiling had been just one more trick he had to learn, he had to use.
He walked to the middle rack of shelves and though he hadn’t been searching intently, his thoughts on other matters, his eyes immediately locked on to an ancient, in his modern opinion, tape recorder. He grabbed it, tested it, and felt his face light up as he realized it still worked. It was a silly thing, really. No normal person would get excited over a something as stupid as a tape recorder, but he was. He was excited.
He was excited about finding a tape recorder, about getting to participate in an interview, about gathering the courage to come to the station this afternoon. He grasped the mechanical aid tightly, continuing to stare at it as Hunt lumbered into the room.
“You’re a cheerful bugger. Found that whatsit, then?” He cupped his hands and lit a cigarette.
“Gene, is it nice when I smile?”
This was clearly not the response the DCI had been expecting and Sam watched Gene as he froze, then slowly thawed as the answer formed in his brain.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, looking away. “Yeah, it is.” Hunt cleared his throat, inhaled half his ciggie in one breath, then straightened his tie. “So, ready for some interrogating, Inspector?”
Sam placed the recorder on the table. “I think so,” he said and he smiled.
______
Part 32
Author: dak
Word Count: 1473 this part; [57,409 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 . Seems that monkey sedative is working better than I thought. Sorry it's a shorter chapter. I have to work a double shift today, not as much writing time. Ah well. Please enjoy! (And for those of you that replied to duckyone's post, I'm 98% positive that I will be writing a prequel to this. After my brain has healed from this one, of course.)
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
Gene had waited for Tyler inside reception. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Sam wouldn’t come in, he had said he was going to after all, he just wanted to make sure. “What do you know about that safe in Warren’s office?” He asked as Sam was finally at his side. Gene hastily walked to the lift, Tyler in tow.
“Uhm, not much.”
“What did he keep in it?”
They entered the lift and Sam leaned against the back wall, rubbing his forehead in thought. “I only saw it open a few times. Mostly money, I think. There may have been a few documents, but I don’t know what they were. He didn’t use me to discuss business, you know.”
Yes, Gene did know, but he was trying to forget. “Who had the combination, besides Warren himself?”
“Don’t know. Edwards, probably, but no one else that I could think of. Why?”
The doors opened and Gene led Sam out into the dusty hall. “It’s empty.”
“Fruitful search then, was it?” Sam may have smirked but it was just a ghost of a smile, if he did.
“Most illicit crap we found were just a pair of handcuffs,” Gene remarked off-handedly and kept walking. He went three steps before noticing Sam had stopped following. He turned back to see him frozen in the center of the corridor, his face pale and his hands shaking slightly. He quickly doubled-back. “Sam?” He placed a hesitant hand on Tyler’s arm.
Sam blinked rapidly and came slowly out of his daze. “S-sorry,” he looked up at Gene, then turned away, ashamed of his actions. Gene realized he couldn’t forget until Sam had.
“Don’t apologize,” Gene stared at the floor, at the speck of dirt between Sam’s shoes.
“But--”
“You scratch the Cortina, you apologize. You drink my single malt, you apologize. You run over Ray’s dog, accident or not, you apologize. See the difference?” From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam absentmindedly rubbing his right wrist.
“To me its still pretty vague,” he whispered honestly.
“Well, be like me then and don’t apologize for anything, least ‘til you learn what you should be apologizing for.” Gene removed his hand from Sam’s arm, secretly pleased the DI hadn’t flinched at the touch, and finished the journey to CID.
“Gene, I’m sorry,” Sam said as he came up behind him.
“Tyler, I told you--”
“I did drink some of your whisky last night. Not a lot. Just enough to help me sleep.”
“That’s a bad habit, Sam.”
“What? Taking what doesn’t belong to me, or using drink as a sedative? Because either way, I’m already aware neither is very becoming of a Detective Inspector.”
Gene paused, his hand on the swinging door. “True. But both describe every other bloke in our department.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be every other bloke in your department,” Sam sniped.
“Good,” Gene nodded and finally entered the bullpen, followed closely by Sam. Ray and Chris were still out searching for Edwards and, as per usual, the only person doing work was the unofficial member of the department, WPC Cartwright.
“DCI Hunt,” she smiled, already handing him his tea.
“Cheers, luv,” Gene grinned back and took the nice, hot beverage.
“DI Tyler, it’s good to see you, sir.”
Gene casually turned as he sipped his tea and watched as Sam struggled to accept her kindness.
“Uhm, thank you, WPC Cartwright.”
“Annie,” she corrected.
“Right. Annie,” he nodded, committing it to memory.
“Guv, the man in cell three, the one you picked up at the drugs drop, he asked for a solicitor this afternoon, while you were out.”
“You mean a full sentence? Blimey, Cartwright, I thought girls like you were supposed to render men speechless, not the other way round. Right, get plod to put ‘im in Lost and Found. Seems he’s ready for another round with the Gene Genie.”
“Gene?” Sam stopped him on his path to his office. “Could I sit in? On the interrogation. Most of my cases in...well, Hyde, I guess, most of my cases in Hyde were drugs related.”
Gene straightened up and examined Tyler, letting Tyler know he was examining him. Sam was nervous, but that seemed to be a permanent part of his emotional state nowadays. What Gene was looking for, and what he found, was that Sam was eager. He wanted to do this. He wanted in on the action. He wanted a chance to prove he was still a detective.
“Fine,” he finally agreed.
“I’d also like to tape record the interview.”
“Now you’re takin’ the piss. Do you always record your interviews, DI Tyler?” Gene mocked.
“Yes. Actually, I do.” Sam stood a little straighter. His hands shook a little less.
“You can find one that works, Sunshine, you can record ‘is trips to the loo for all I care.”
“Great,” Sam nodded. “Good. Thanks. Thank you.”
“You’ve got ten minutes.”
“Right. Okay. Annie?” Sam ran after the WPC and Gene silently watched him leave. Tape recording interviews. Sounded like a load of bollocks to Gene, but if it made the lad happy. At long last, Gene was able to enter his office and collapsed himself in the chair, replacing the teacup with a flask. He did want to. Keep Sam happy, that is, or at least get him to a point that could be considered something close to “happy.” Maybe content was a better word. Right now he’d settle simply for no psychotic lapses.
Yet, how was he supposed to do that when he still needed to give him boundaries? Because Tyler would need boundaries, but how could he give a newly freed man limited bounds, especially one that had been as caged as Sam? He sipped slowly from the flask. He’d have to take it one instance at a time. A tape recorder, fine. Gene could handle a tape recorder.
*
“Annie!” Sam caught her just as she was about to enter the staircase.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you know where I could find a tape recorder around here? For the interview with the suspect.”
“Well, there might be one in Lost and Found. D’you want me to check?”
“No. No, I can check there. Thanks.” He started to turn away, but spun back. “If you find one, could you let me know?”
“Absolutely, sir,” she grinned and started for the stairs, before turning back herself. “DI Tyler?”
“Yes?”
“It’s...it’s nice to see you smile, sir,” she blushed and quickly departed, leaving Sam standing dumbfounded in the corridor. He looked from the stairwell to the floor, back to the stairwell, his brain trying to decipher her compliment.
“It’s nice to see you smile,” he whispered. “It’s nice to see me smile,” he repeated, letting his feet carry him to lost property. He hadn’t even realized he had been smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. Had it really been so long? He half-heartedly scanned the shelves, gathering dust on his fingers as he trailed them across the cold metal.
He could remember many times when he had smiled, back in 2006. Some related to Maya. Some related to work. Some related to the special bike he’d gotten for his birthday when he was eleven, even though Mum had said they didn’t have the money for it. Recently, though? Recently, he could only remember times when he’d been forced to smile by others, or had forced it on himself. Smiling had been just one more trick he had to learn, he had to use.
He walked to the middle rack of shelves and though he hadn’t been searching intently, his thoughts on other matters, his eyes immediately locked on to an ancient, in his modern opinion, tape recorder. He grabbed it, tested it, and felt his face light up as he realized it still worked. It was a silly thing, really. No normal person would get excited over a something as stupid as a tape recorder, but he was. He was excited.
He was excited about finding a tape recorder, about getting to participate in an interview, about gathering the courage to come to the station this afternoon. He grasped the mechanical aid tightly, continuing to stare at it as Hunt lumbered into the room.
“You’re a cheerful bugger. Found that whatsit, then?” He cupped his hands and lit a cigarette.
“Gene, is it nice when I smile?”
This was clearly not the response the DCI had been expecting and Sam watched Gene as he froze, then slowly thawed as the answer formed in his brain.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, looking away. “Yeah, it is.” Hunt cleared his throat, inhaled half his ciggie in one breath, then straightened his tie. “So, ready for some interrogating, Inspector?”
Sam placed the recorder on the table. “I think so,” he said and he smiled.
______
Part 32