Fic: The Kept Man (32/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (32/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1869 this part; [59,278 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 . 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
Before the nameless suspect was even brought into the room, Gene wondered what he’d gotten himself involved with. Tyler was sitting to his right, lining up his notepad, two pens, and the tape recorder in a neat, little row. Everything was perfectly spaced and aligned, and if it wasn’t, Sam took the time to make sure it was. Apparently, Gene was staring and, apparently, Tyler finally noticed.
“What?” He asked, scrunching up his face in confusion.
“Finished?” Gene nodded to the items on the table.
Sam drew back his hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes,” he mumbled.
They hadn’t needed to wait any longer as, at that moment, two PCs entered, escorting the prisoner. They obediently sat the cuffed man in the chair and, after a nod from Hunt, left the detectives alone with their quarry. Gene was ready to start immediately, but his first question was cut off by the click of the recorder.
“Interview commenced at...” Sam checked his wristwatch. “3:02pm. The suspect will state his name.”
The suspect refused to open his mouth, though he did exchange a mystified glance with the Guv.
“Right. The suspect refuses to state his name. Also present are DCI Hunt and DI Tyler,” Sam spoke clearly and concisely into the recorder, then picked up his notepad and a pen, and leaned back in the chair.
“May I continue?” Gene asked exasperatedly.
“Yes, sir,” Sam replied with a cheeky grin. If he wasn’t mental enough right now, Hunt would have slapped him instead of the suspect. Tyler was though, so the suspect was indeed slapped across the face.
“Your name!” Gene shouted.
“I want a solicitor,” the man replied as he spat some blood to the floor. Gene had seen Sam cringe slightly at the slap, but he wanted to sit in on the interrogation. Hunt couldn’t hold back for him.
“What kind of two-bit scum d’you think’ll represent a bloke with no name?” Hunt was already standing, with both fists on the table, and leaning across the cheap surface with fierce determination.
“And you will need a solicitor,” continued a calm voice beside him. “The amount of cocaine you were in possession of when my colleagues arrested you? It’s enough to put you away for a good long while, mate.”
Gene looked down and saw Sam staring at his notepad, tapping the pen against the side. He was as calm as Gene had ever seen him.
“Joe. Joe Gower. Can I see a brief now?” The man’s eyes darted from Tyler to Hunt.
“Might not need one,” Gene snarled.
“If you told us where the drugs came from,” Sam finished.
“I best see a brief, then,” Joe sat back in his chair, trying to appear untroubled.
“Mr. Gower,” Sam sighed, “the best solicitor in the world won’t be able to get you off the charges we have against you.”
“A tiny bit of information might,” Gene finished, still leaning threateningly over the table.
“A bit of information like that’ll get me killed,” Gower countered.
“You should worry about what I’m going to do to you,” Gene snarled.
“Gene?” Sam placed a hand on his arm and nodded for him to sit down. Watching Tyler’s blank face, Gene did as requested, though he was loath to do so. Sam set down his notepad, folded his hands, and leaned across the table himself. “Joe,” he said calmly. “Your drugs are killing people and I don’t mean through years of painful addiction. I mean, instantly.” Sam snapped his fingers. “Like that. You’re putting out bad product, and sooner or later, people are going to find out. And then do you know what’ll happen? They’ll still need their fix, oh yes, but they’ll go elsewhere. It’s so easy for them to get it from another dealer, they won’t risk it with your lethal junk. You’re sales will dry up, and how do you think that will make your boss feel? You think he won’t want to kill you then?”
Sam sat back and flipped open his notebook, licking his forefinger before flipping to the right page. “See, Joe, I have a theory. Dennis Gwen normally received four wrapped bags of cocaine from your people, all cut up and ready to go. A few weeks ago, he started getting five, but didn’t question it. The fifth one was a bit smaller than the others, but it seemed legit and if it meant more money, why not? Now, do you know what I think, Joe? I think your boss has no idea about that fifth bag. I think someone paid you to slip that in with your delivery, knowing it wasn’t fit for consumption. Knowing that it would kill Yvonne Bettis and all the others,” Sam’s voice was darker than before, but it was the only change in his placid demeanor. “Now, tell me his name.”
“I can’t,” Gower strained his voice.
“You can,” Gene hissed. “And you will, else you’re not leaving this room. Who paid you to deliver those drugs?”
“He’ll kill me,” the suspect struggled to make them understand. Gene was ready to remind him what the Guv could do to him, when a hollow voice spoke first.
“He can’t if he’s already dead.” Both Hunt and Gower turned to Sam, who was staring blankly at the table top. “He’s already dead, Joe. He can’t kill you. He can’t hurt you.”
Gower fidgeted nervously in the chair, but it was Sam that Gene was concerned with. His eyes were empty again, his posture slouched.
“Edwards,” Joe finally blurted out. “Charlie Edwards.”
Gene barely heard the confession, thank god they had that tape recorder, as at the mention of the name, Sam bounded from the chair and dashed out of the room. Gene followed without hesitation, ordering the plod outside to take Gower back to his cell, before following Tyler into the bogs.
Sam was hyperventilating, hands gripping the sinks in a vain attempt to keep himself upright. Tears were already staining his pale cheeks. The strong detective was gone once more.
“Sam...”
“ ‘S my fault!”
“You can’t--”
“You said it wasn’t my fault, but it is!” He pushed himself off the sinks and paced in a haphazard line across the room. He appeared to Gene as if he would fall over any second.
“What are you on about, Sam?”
“The drugs! The goddamned...” he waved his hand towards the direction of Lost and Found. “I’m no better. I’m no better than any of them,” he snarled.
“Sam. Calm down. Talk to me.”
Sam struggled to control his breathing, the effort causing him to fall back against a stall wall for support. “The day...when you...when I was in that fight in the alley, in Trafford Park. I was delivering something for Warren. I didn’t even think to check what it was. Now I remember. The weight of it, the feel, it was one of those dodgy wraps.” Sam wiped his nose on his sleeve, his voice rising several octaves. “You found Trevor Patterson the next day.”
“You said you didn’t see what it was. It could’ve been a package of ladies’ knickers for all you know.”
“It was Gower,” Sam stared helplessly at the floor. “I delivered the package to Gower. I didn’t recognize him at first, but it was him. I remember now. I’m no better than the rest of them.”
Gene had the horrible suspicion that any progress they had made today had suddenly evaporated. Gone and forgotten. Everything Warren wasn’t. “Let’s get you back to CID.”
“I want to be left alone,” Sam whispered painfully.
“We’ll leave yeh alone, just c’mon.”
“No! Stop telling me what to do!” He was back to leaning on the sinks. “I want to be alone!” He clamored and Gene decided to leave him to it. He stormed out of the bogs, through the bullpen, and into his office, slamming the wobbly door and reaching for whisky.
“Keep actin’ like that,” Gene poured the glass and downed it in one, fluid movement. “You will be, Sam.” One more drink and Gene put the bottle away. He wasn’t good at helping people to begin with. How was he supposed to help someone who didn’t seem to want it?
*
He was drowning. That’s exactly what it felt like. Drowning on dry land. He kicked and struggled and would make it to the surface, but once he was there, there was no coast for him to swim to. Nowhere for him to rest. He would have to keep kicking, keep treading water, and it was tiring. So damn tiring. He could see who he used to be, he’d felt so close to him during the interview, but he was always just out of reach. That man got to rest comfortably on the shore, while Sam had to keep struggling in the dark water.
He sat in the stall for minutes, or was it hours? He couldn’t tell. His mind was focused on only one thing. He had killed an innocent person. Maybe more than one. He had killed Warren, too, but that was another matter. He had meant to do that. This, the drugs, it had been unintentional. He’d just been doing what he’d been told, and people had ended up dead. People were dead because he hadn’t asked any questions. Because he had said “yes” when he should have said “no.” He’d played the part so well, the good, little boy, that he forgot when he stopped playing and started being.
The proof of that, the proof of his inferiority, it was with Gower himself. Sam remembered him quite clearly now, but Gower didn’t even blink an eye when he saw Sam. He didn’t recognize Sam at all. Not even a glimmer of recognition. Why? Because Sam was nothing. Just some boy Warren had sent to run his errands. Just some boy. Some replaceable, little nobody, who wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to be anything but Warren’s little toy.
He didn’t know when he began sobbing. He didn’t know when he ended up on the floor of the stall, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to bury his head away, bury himself away. Down, down, sinking further. No air. No way out. Down into the water. Down into the depths where he belonged. Something took him, then. Something grabbed him and he thought it would pull him down, but instead it lifted him up.
Suddenly he was on his feet, standing, with help, but he was standing. “You can’t have everything you want. No one can. Not even Warren could. So, you want the tape recorder? Fine. You can have that. You want to be left on your own to rot in your own guilt? No, Sam. That, you can’t have.”
Sam clung to Gene as the tears slowed, allowing himself to become numb in his arms. Numb had to be a step up from so much pain, didn’t it? Maybe he wasn’t quite numb, but some of the guilt was gone, some of the hurt, and he could rest. Not long, but for just a little, he could rest. Maybe it was okay to rest, if for just a little.
________
Part 33
Author: dak
Word Count: 1869 this part; [59,278 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 . 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
Before the nameless suspect was even brought into the room, Gene wondered what he’d gotten himself involved with. Tyler was sitting to his right, lining up his notepad, two pens, and the tape recorder in a neat, little row. Everything was perfectly spaced and aligned, and if it wasn’t, Sam took the time to make sure it was. Apparently, Gene was staring and, apparently, Tyler finally noticed.
“What?” He asked, scrunching up his face in confusion.
“Finished?” Gene nodded to the items on the table.
Sam drew back his hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes,” he mumbled.
They hadn’t needed to wait any longer as, at that moment, two PCs entered, escorting the prisoner. They obediently sat the cuffed man in the chair and, after a nod from Hunt, left the detectives alone with their quarry. Gene was ready to start immediately, but his first question was cut off by the click of the recorder.
“Interview commenced at...” Sam checked his wristwatch. “3:02pm. The suspect will state his name.”
The suspect refused to open his mouth, though he did exchange a mystified glance with the Guv.
“Right. The suspect refuses to state his name. Also present are DCI Hunt and DI Tyler,” Sam spoke clearly and concisely into the recorder, then picked up his notepad and a pen, and leaned back in the chair.
“May I continue?” Gene asked exasperatedly.
“Yes, sir,” Sam replied with a cheeky grin. If he wasn’t mental enough right now, Hunt would have slapped him instead of the suspect. Tyler was though, so the suspect was indeed slapped across the face.
“Your name!” Gene shouted.
“I want a solicitor,” the man replied as he spat some blood to the floor. Gene had seen Sam cringe slightly at the slap, but he wanted to sit in on the interrogation. Hunt couldn’t hold back for him.
“What kind of two-bit scum d’you think’ll represent a bloke with no name?” Hunt was already standing, with both fists on the table, and leaning across the cheap surface with fierce determination.
“And you will need a solicitor,” continued a calm voice beside him. “The amount of cocaine you were in possession of when my colleagues arrested you? It’s enough to put you away for a good long while, mate.”
Gene looked down and saw Sam staring at his notepad, tapping the pen against the side. He was as calm as Gene had ever seen him.
“Joe. Joe Gower. Can I see a brief now?” The man’s eyes darted from Tyler to Hunt.
“Might not need one,” Gene snarled.
“If you told us where the drugs came from,” Sam finished.
“I best see a brief, then,” Joe sat back in his chair, trying to appear untroubled.
“Mr. Gower,” Sam sighed, “the best solicitor in the world won’t be able to get you off the charges we have against you.”
“A tiny bit of information might,” Gene finished, still leaning threateningly over the table.
“A bit of information like that’ll get me killed,” Gower countered.
“You should worry about what I’m going to do to you,” Gene snarled.
“Gene?” Sam placed a hand on his arm and nodded for him to sit down. Watching Tyler’s blank face, Gene did as requested, though he was loath to do so. Sam set down his notepad, folded his hands, and leaned across the table himself. “Joe,” he said calmly. “Your drugs are killing people and I don’t mean through years of painful addiction. I mean, instantly.” Sam snapped his fingers. “Like that. You’re putting out bad product, and sooner or later, people are going to find out. And then do you know what’ll happen? They’ll still need their fix, oh yes, but they’ll go elsewhere. It’s so easy for them to get it from another dealer, they won’t risk it with your lethal junk. You’re sales will dry up, and how do you think that will make your boss feel? You think he won’t want to kill you then?”
Sam sat back and flipped open his notebook, licking his forefinger before flipping to the right page. “See, Joe, I have a theory. Dennis Gwen normally received four wrapped bags of cocaine from your people, all cut up and ready to go. A few weeks ago, he started getting five, but didn’t question it. The fifth one was a bit smaller than the others, but it seemed legit and if it meant more money, why not? Now, do you know what I think, Joe? I think your boss has no idea about that fifth bag. I think someone paid you to slip that in with your delivery, knowing it wasn’t fit for consumption. Knowing that it would kill Yvonne Bettis and all the others,” Sam’s voice was darker than before, but it was the only change in his placid demeanor. “Now, tell me his name.”
“I can’t,” Gower strained his voice.
“You can,” Gene hissed. “And you will, else you’re not leaving this room. Who paid you to deliver those drugs?”
“He’ll kill me,” the suspect struggled to make them understand. Gene was ready to remind him what the Guv could do to him, when a hollow voice spoke first.
“He can’t if he’s already dead.” Both Hunt and Gower turned to Sam, who was staring blankly at the table top. “He’s already dead, Joe. He can’t kill you. He can’t hurt you.”
Gower fidgeted nervously in the chair, but it was Sam that Gene was concerned with. His eyes were empty again, his posture slouched.
“Edwards,” Joe finally blurted out. “Charlie Edwards.”
Gene barely heard the confession, thank god they had that tape recorder, as at the mention of the name, Sam bounded from the chair and dashed out of the room. Gene followed without hesitation, ordering the plod outside to take Gower back to his cell, before following Tyler into the bogs.
Sam was hyperventilating, hands gripping the sinks in a vain attempt to keep himself upright. Tears were already staining his pale cheeks. The strong detective was gone once more.
“Sam...”
“ ‘S my fault!”
“You can’t--”
“You said it wasn’t my fault, but it is!” He pushed himself off the sinks and paced in a haphazard line across the room. He appeared to Gene as if he would fall over any second.
“What are you on about, Sam?”
“The drugs! The goddamned...” he waved his hand towards the direction of Lost and Found. “I’m no better. I’m no better than any of them,” he snarled.
“Sam. Calm down. Talk to me.”
Sam struggled to control his breathing, the effort causing him to fall back against a stall wall for support. “The day...when you...when I was in that fight in the alley, in Trafford Park. I was delivering something for Warren. I didn’t even think to check what it was. Now I remember. The weight of it, the feel, it was one of those dodgy wraps.” Sam wiped his nose on his sleeve, his voice rising several octaves. “You found Trevor Patterson the next day.”
“You said you didn’t see what it was. It could’ve been a package of ladies’ knickers for all you know.”
“It was Gower,” Sam stared helplessly at the floor. “I delivered the package to Gower. I didn’t recognize him at first, but it was him. I remember now. I’m no better than the rest of them.”
Gene had the horrible suspicion that any progress they had made today had suddenly evaporated. Gone and forgotten. Everything Warren wasn’t. “Let’s get you back to CID.”
“I want to be left alone,” Sam whispered painfully.
“We’ll leave yeh alone, just c’mon.”
“No! Stop telling me what to do!” He was back to leaning on the sinks. “I want to be alone!” He clamored and Gene decided to leave him to it. He stormed out of the bogs, through the bullpen, and into his office, slamming the wobbly door and reaching for whisky.
“Keep actin’ like that,” Gene poured the glass and downed it in one, fluid movement. “You will be, Sam.” One more drink and Gene put the bottle away. He wasn’t good at helping people to begin with. How was he supposed to help someone who didn’t seem to want it?
*
He was drowning. That’s exactly what it felt like. Drowning on dry land. He kicked and struggled and would make it to the surface, but once he was there, there was no coast for him to swim to. Nowhere for him to rest. He would have to keep kicking, keep treading water, and it was tiring. So damn tiring. He could see who he used to be, he’d felt so close to him during the interview, but he was always just out of reach. That man got to rest comfortably on the shore, while Sam had to keep struggling in the dark water.
He sat in the stall for minutes, or was it hours? He couldn’t tell. His mind was focused on only one thing. He had killed an innocent person. Maybe more than one. He had killed Warren, too, but that was another matter. He had meant to do that. This, the drugs, it had been unintentional. He’d just been doing what he’d been told, and people had ended up dead. People were dead because he hadn’t asked any questions. Because he had said “yes” when he should have said “no.” He’d played the part so well, the good, little boy, that he forgot when he stopped playing and started being.
The proof of that, the proof of his inferiority, it was with Gower himself. Sam remembered him quite clearly now, but Gower didn’t even blink an eye when he saw Sam. He didn’t recognize Sam at all. Not even a glimmer of recognition. Why? Because Sam was nothing. Just some boy Warren had sent to run his errands. Just some boy. Some replaceable, little nobody, who wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to be anything but Warren’s little toy.
He didn’t know when he began sobbing. He didn’t know when he ended up on the floor of the stall, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to bury his head away, bury himself away. Down, down, sinking further. No air. No way out. Down into the water. Down into the depths where he belonged. Something took him, then. Something grabbed him and he thought it would pull him down, but instead it lifted him up.
Suddenly he was on his feet, standing, with help, but he was standing. “You can’t have everything you want. No one can. Not even Warren could. So, you want the tape recorder? Fine. You can have that. You want to be left on your own to rot in your own guilt? No, Sam. That, you can’t have.”
Sam clung to Gene as the tears slowed, allowing himself to become numb in his arms. Numb had to be a step up from so much pain, didn’t it? Maybe he wasn’t quite numb, but some of the guilt was gone, some of the hurt, and he could rest. Not long, but for just a little, he could rest. Maybe it was okay to rest, if for just a little.
________
Part 33