Fic: Ninety Days (1/1), green cortina, dak
Title: Ninety Days
Author: dak
Word Count: 1290
Rating: green cortina
Warnings: angst, mentions of self-harm
Spoilers: none
Summary: Can Sam keep a promise to himself?
A/N: Just a stray plot bunny that bit me yesterday. I sort of missed writing a more canonical Sam and Gene, this scene refused to leave my brain, and thus, this one-shot was born. Please enjoy!
“Well, Ray gets it in ‘is head that it would be a good idea to chase the crim through the kitchens, ‘stead of ducking out the back an’ cuttin’ ‘im off at the staff entrance. Ends up knocking over this pot of lobsters, which ‘aven’t been cooked yet so they’re still alive, an’ he comes out with two of ‘em clamped...” Gene’s anecdote trailed off as the Guv noticed Tyler staring unenthusiastically into his drink. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What do you think?” Sam snapped wearily as he rubbed a tired hand across his brow.
“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave,” Gene announced, reaching for his coat.
“No. Sorry. Don’t,” Sam was instantly apologetic, and Gene returned to his chair. “I...it’s just been stressful.”
“Wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows, Gladys,” Gene reminded him.
“I know. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take, though,” he sighed.
“We agreed, Sam. More importantly, you agreed. This was your idea.”
“Yeah. Another one of Sam Tyler’s brilliant plans.” The medical bracelet slid up his arm as he reached up to scratch his head. The sarcasm in his words was more painful than it should have been.
“Has it been better at all?”
Sam tilted back his head and closed his eyes. “It’s been boring as hell. Any books they have aren’t challenging for anyone over the age of six and I don’t know how many more games of Snakes and Ladders I can play with Doughy Dan over there,” Sam nodded towards a fat man sleeping in the corner.
Gene leaned back and crossed his arms. “Now you’re just whinging, you are.”
“My brain needs something to do.”
“Your brain box needs a rest.”
Sam slouched forward, scuffing his slippered feet on the clean, tiled floor. “I don’t like it here.”
“We checked up this place together. Best one of the lot, you said. Clean. Decent. Fewest patient complaints. You even made one of them charts you love so much. Had more ‘pros’ than the rest of ‘em put together.”
“I told them I didn’t want any drugs. Now they’re giving me pills to ‘help me sleep,’” Sam angrily formed air quotes with his hands, before dropping them back in his lap.
“You weren’t sleeping, Sam,” Gene said quietly, maintaining is stillness as Sam fidgeted awkwardly in his chair, not wanting to remember the truth. “I’d find yeh in the mornin’, crouched in front of that telly, wearin’ the same clothes you had on the day before.”
“I could’ve slept if I wanted to,” he argued. “I didn’t want to,” he added quietly.
“Why?”
Sam’s body stiffened as he crossed his arms. “You’re not my therapist. I don’t have to tell you.”
“Are you telling him?”
Sam fell silent.
“Take that as a no,” Gene rolled his eyes and shook his head. “What’s the point of bein’ here, then?”
“Yes. Exactly. Can I go now?” Sam waved towards the door.
“You signed on the dotted line, Tyler. Ninety days observation. Ninety days ‘fore you can even think of signing yourself out. Now, stop bein’ a girl and stick it out like you said I would.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Sam--”
“What do I have to do to convince you I’m fine? That I’m competent? That I can work? That I’m not going to jump off a building, or take Chris hostage, or listen to voices? What do I have to say? That I was wrong? Fine. I was wrong. I am wrong. I’m always wrong,” Sam ranted, constantly adjusting his position in the stiff, plastic chair, his white hospital scrubs hanging loosely from his slight frame.
“This was your choice,” Gene intoned calmly.
“Stop saying that,” Sam clenched his hand into a fist, then relaxed it, before nervously crossing his arms again.
“Do you remember why you agreed to do this?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sam whispered.
“Do you remember what you did? What you told me?”
“Guv, leave it,” he pleaded.
“You may be trying to forget, but how can I? How can I forget storming into my deputy’s flat at noon, because he hadn’t been answering his phone all day,” he leaned in close, whispering sternly.
“Gene, please...”
“How can I forget seeing you sitting there, vacant as a boarded up hotel, holding that gun in your hands?” Gene struggled to control his voice.
“It was a mistake,” Sam looked away, uncrossing and crossing his arms, kicking his feet at the table legs, his breaths coming quicker.
“You know what you said when you saw me? When you finally got enough sense in your head to recognize that I was there? I told you it wouldn’t be worth it to pull the trigger. That it would be a waste. An’ you looked at me--”
“Stop it,” Sam warned, eyes welling up with tears.
“You looked at me, Sam, and you said, ‘But I already did.’”
“I said I don’t want to talk about this,” he bit his thumb nervously.
“You said, ‘But I already did. I pulled the trigger, Guv. The gun jammed,’” Gene’s own voice was shaking now.
“I would’ve gotten what I deserved!” Sam shouted and leapt from the chair, kicking it backwards. The orderlies immediately began their approach, but Gene waved them back as he stood. “It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me,” he pointed at himself, screaming, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Sam, you know that’s not true,” Gene spoke gently.
“If I would’ve come up with a better plan, if I would’ve been a better copper, I could’ve stopped him!” Sam backed away as Gene tried to approach him.
“You can’t blame yourself. You should know that. You’re smarter than that,” Gene tried to convince him.
“If I was smarter, she’d still be alive! They make me sleep, Gene. They give me the pills to make me sleep, but I don’t want to sleep. Why? Because all I dream about is her. All I see is her hopeful face, and her tiny hands, clutching that stupid teddy bear. All of it covered in blood. Her blood, dripping down her yellow dress. Always dripping. It never stops dripping. I just want it to stop dripping, Gene,” Sam had backed himself into a corner, arms folding tightly across his chest, hugging his body. “Make it stop dripping,” he begged and began to slide down the wall.
Gene grabbed him before he could fall, holding him tightly until the panic dissipated. “It’s not your fault, Sam. You couldn’t have done anything differently. None of us could have saved her.”
“She was just a little girl, Guv,” he cried into Gene’s shoulder.
“I know. I know, Sammy.”
The orderlies stood back as Sam relaxed enough for Gene to help him back into a chair. His Guv sat next to him and kept a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Better now?” He asked as Sam stopped his tears and wiped his nose.
“I’m still bored,” he tried to joke, though his voice was hollow.
“I’ll bring you a magazine tomorrow. Saw one in the station yesterday, got an interview with one o’ them bands you like. Tea Bag or summit.”
“T-Rex?”
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Thanks Guv,” Sam stared at the floor, aimlessly twisting the medical bracelet around his wrist.
“Sam, you’ll talk to the quack about this, right?”
“ ‘S why I came, isn’t it?” He said hopelessly.
Gene gave his shoulder a squeeze, then rose from the chair. “I’ll see yeh tomorrow. Bring that magazine.”
“Cheers,” Sam sighed.
“Only seventy-nine days to go, Sammy-boy. You’ll make it. Too stubborn not to,” Gene pat him on the back. Sam tried to smile. He couldn’t, yet.
Author: dak
Word Count: 1290
Rating: green cortina
Warnings: angst, mentions of self-harm
Spoilers: none
Summary: Can Sam keep a promise to himself?
A/N: Just a stray plot bunny that bit me yesterday. I sort of missed writing a more canonical Sam and Gene, this scene refused to leave my brain, and thus, this one-shot was born. Please enjoy!
“Well, Ray gets it in ‘is head that it would be a good idea to chase the crim through the kitchens, ‘stead of ducking out the back an’ cuttin’ ‘im off at the staff entrance. Ends up knocking over this pot of lobsters, which ‘aven’t been cooked yet so they’re still alive, an’ he comes out with two of ‘em clamped...” Gene’s anecdote trailed off as the Guv noticed Tyler staring unenthusiastically into his drink. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What do you think?” Sam snapped wearily as he rubbed a tired hand across his brow.
“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave,” Gene announced, reaching for his coat.
“No. Sorry. Don’t,” Sam was instantly apologetic, and Gene returned to his chair. “I...it’s just been stressful.”
“Wasn’t going to be all sunshine and rainbows, Gladys,” Gene reminded him.
“I know. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take, though,” he sighed.
“We agreed, Sam. More importantly, you agreed. This was your idea.”
“Yeah. Another one of Sam Tyler’s brilliant plans.” The medical bracelet slid up his arm as he reached up to scratch his head. The sarcasm in his words was more painful than it should have been.
“Has it been better at all?”
Sam tilted back his head and closed his eyes. “It’s been boring as hell. Any books they have aren’t challenging for anyone over the age of six and I don’t know how many more games of Snakes and Ladders I can play with Doughy Dan over there,” Sam nodded towards a fat man sleeping in the corner.
Gene leaned back and crossed his arms. “Now you’re just whinging, you are.”
“My brain needs something to do.”
“Your brain box needs a rest.”
Sam slouched forward, scuffing his slippered feet on the clean, tiled floor. “I don’t like it here.”
“We checked up this place together. Best one of the lot, you said. Clean. Decent. Fewest patient complaints. You even made one of them charts you love so much. Had more ‘pros’ than the rest of ‘em put together.”
“I told them I didn’t want any drugs. Now they’re giving me pills to ‘help me sleep,’” Sam angrily formed air quotes with his hands, before dropping them back in his lap.
“You weren’t sleeping, Sam,” Gene said quietly, maintaining is stillness as Sam fidgeted awkwardly in his chair, not wanting to remember the truth. “I’d find yeh in the mornin’, crouched in front of that telly, wearin’ the same clothes you had on the day before.”
“I could’ve slept if I wanted to,” he argued. “I didn’t want to,” he added quietly.
“Why?”
Sam’s body stiffened as he crossed his arms. “You’re not my therapist. I don’t have to tell you.”
“Are you telling him?”
Sam fell silent.
“Take that as a no,” Gene rolled his eyes and shook his head. “What’s the point of bein’ here, then?”
“Yes. Exactly. Can I go now?” Sam waved towards the door.
“You signed on the dotted line, Tyler. Ninety days observation. Ninety days ‘fore you can even think of signing yourself out. Now, stop bein’ a girl and stick it out like you said I would.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Sam--”
“What do I have to do to convince you I’m fine? That I’m competent? That I can work? That I’m not going to jump off a building, or take Chris hostage, or listen to voices? What do I have to say? That I was wrong? Fine. I was wrong. I am wrong. I’m always wrong,” Sam ranted, constantly adjusting his position in the stiff, plastic chair, his white hospital scrubs hanging loosely from his slight frame.
“This was your choice,” Gene intoned calmly.
“Stop saying that,” Sam clenched his hand into a fist, then relaxed it, before nervously crossing his arms again.
“Do you remember why you agreed to do this?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sam whispered.
“Do you remember what you did? What you told me?”
“Guv, leave it,” he pleaded.
“You may be trying to forget, but how can I? How can I forget storming into my deputy’s flat at noon, because he hadn’t been answering his phone all day,” he leaned in close, whispering sternly.
“Gene, please...”
“How can I forget seeing you sitting there, vacant as a boarded up hotel, holding that gun in your hands?” Gene struggled to control his voice.
“It was a mistake,” Sam looked away, uncrossing and crossing his arms, kicking his feet at the table legs, his breaths coming quicker.
“You know what you said when you saw me? When you finally got enough sense in your head to recognize that I was there? I told you it wouldn’t be worth it to pull the trigger. That it would be a waste. An’ you looked at me--”
“Stop it,” Sam warned, eyes welling up with tears.
“You looked at me, Sam, and you said, ‘But I already did.’”
“I said I don’t want to talk about this,” he bit his thumb nervously.
“You said, ‘But I already did. I pulled the trigger, Guv. The gun jammed,’” Gene’s own voice was shaking now.
“I would’ve gotten what I deserved!” Sam shouted and leapt from the chair, kicking it backwards. The orderlies immediately began their approach, but Gene waved them back as he stood. “It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me,” he pointed at himself, screaming, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Sam, you know that’s not true,” Gene spoke gently.
“If I would’ve come up with a better plan, if I would’ve been a better copper, I could’ve stopped him!” Sam backed away as Gene tried to approach him.
“You can’t blame yourself. You should know that. You’re smarter than that,” Gene tried to convince him.
“If I was smarter, she’d still be alive! They make me sleep, Gene. They give me the pills to make me sleep, but I don’t want to sleep. Why? Because all I dream about is her. All I see is her hopeful face, and her tiny hands, clutching that stupid teddy bear. All of it covered in blood. Her blood, dripping down her yellow dress. Always dripping. It never stops dripping. I just want it to stop dripping, Gene,” Sam had backed himself into a corner, arms folding tightly across his chest, hugging his body. “Make it stop dripping,” he begged and began to slide down the wall.
Gene grabbed him before he could fall, holding him tightly until the panic dissipated. “It’s not your fault, Sam. You couldn’t have done anything differently. None of us could have saved her.”
“She was just a little girl, Guv,” he cried into Gene’s shoulder.
“I know. I know, Sammy.”
The orderlies stood back as Sam relaxed enough for Gene to help him back into a chair. His Guv sat next to him and kept a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Better now?” He asked as Sam stopped his tears and wiped his nose.
“I’m still bored,” he tried to joke, though his voice was hollow.
“I’ll bring you a magazine tomorrow. Saw one in the station yesterday, got an interview with one o’ them bands you like. Tea Bag or summit.”
“T-Rex?”
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
“Thanks Guv,” Sam stared at the floor, aimlessly twisting the medical bracelet around his wrist.
“Sam, you’ll talk to the quack about this, right?”
“ ‘S why I came, isn’t it?” He said hopelessly.
Gene gave his shoulder a squeeze, then rose from the chair. “I’ll see yeh tomorrow. Bring that magazine.”
“Cheers,” Sam sighed.
“Only seventy-nine days to go, Sammy-boy. You’ll make it. Too stubborn not to,” Gene pat him on the back. Sam tried to smile. He couldn’t, yet.