Fic: The Kept Man (36/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (36/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1495 this part; [66,518 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 . We're close to the end now... 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
He cleaned his tender hands in the sink, rinsing off as much blood and dirt as he could. He checked the cabinet for some antiseptic or plasters, already knowing he’d find neither. This flat wasn’t made for living. It existed purely so that Hunt had somewhere to sleep when his real home wasn’t an option. He rinsed his face, no good having dried tears caked to his cheeks, and attempted to smooth his short hair, before cautiously cracking open the bathroom door. The sounds and smells of someone cooking in the kitchen hit him like a welcome wall of comforting normality.
If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was Maya. He could imagine he was back in his clean, state-of-the-art flat and he had just been through a rough day. He had showered and Maya had decided to make one of her perfect chicken tandoori dinners, and they would eat on the floor, for no particular reason, share a bottle of wine and lose themselves in each other, instead of their work. When was the last time they had done that? Sam thought it was months before the accident.
He slipped silently out of the bathroom and walked slowly to the kitchen. He knew it wouldn’t be Maya, but he could still believe it until he saw the truth.
“Oh, Sam!” Annie jumped when she saw him, startled by his quiet entrance. “Sorry. You didn’t have much food, and I got hungry, so I thought I’d pop out and grab a few things. You don’t mind, do you? I’m making enough for two.” She looked anxious, but prepared. Ready for his rejection even if she was hoping for the opposite.
Sam hadn’t noticed she’d left. How long had he been in there? “No. It’s alright. Thank you. I am hungry.” He wasn’t at all, but it made her smile, and a genuine smile wasn’t something he had been able to evoke from anyone lately. Annie, now. Gene, when he welcomed Sam to the pub. That was all. It was almost enough.
It was just after noon as he helped her set the dismal table. Sam had been quite relieved after sneaking a peek at the clock. He had convinced himself it was closer to five or six in the evening. Annie had cooked a simple meal of beef and vegetables, but it was decidedly better than the moldy bread he’d been eating for the past two days. So, although he hadn’t been hungry before, the offer of actual food was too much for his stomach to pass up.
“Is it alright?” She asked after five minutes of eating in silence.
“It’s great,” he smiled between bites and watched her relax. He couldn’t think of what else to say. At some point during his time here, he had lost the art of conversation, and the way Annie kept glancing at him, expecting him to crack any second, didn’t help matters. Of course, he couldn’t blame her. There was a good possibility that some forgotten trigger would suddenly set him off any second. He set down his cutlery.
“Annie, I...I wanted to say thank you. For doing this. I know keeping an eye on mentally unstable DI’s isn’t in the PC job description...”
“I don’t think you’re mentally unstable, sir.”
“Sam. Call me Sam. Please.” Although he’d been handling it better, the word “sir” still held memories for him that he wasn’t ready to confront.
“Well, Sam,” she smiled, “I don’t think you’re unstable.”
“Then you don’t know me well enough,” he laughed, picking up his fork and playing with his peas.
“I told you before, I think you’ve been under too much stress. You just need someone to talk to. Get it all off your chest.”
“I didn’t know therapy was encouraged in 1973,” he sighed, stabbing at a piece of meat.
“The Guv and the others might think it’s all nonsense, but I’ve seen it work.” She sounded so certain. So optimistic.
“If...if I was going to, it would need to be someone outside the station. There are some things...” he nervously rearranged the food left on his plate. “I don’t need every officer gossiping about my past. Guess you can add trust issues to the list of things I need to discuss,” he laughed sadly, finally setting down his fork, again.
“I can ring Neil, if you want. My psychiatrist friend I told you about? I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”
Sam stared at his plate, realizing he had mashed his peas into an unrecognizable lump. If this was all in his head, would Neil just be another part of his psyche? If he was, wouldn’t he only be talking to himself, then? That wouldn’t do any harm, would it? “Okay,” he nodded. “Yeah. I think that would be alright.” The admission seemed to leave him sore and exhausted. His brain might have forgotten what he had done to Edwards, but his body had not. After admitting he could do with a bit of kip, he lay down on the bed and willed himself to relax. Willed himself to forget all the terrible things he had done.
Maybe if he talked to this Neil, maybe if he was able to let go of the past, maybe then he could focus on what was important. He could focus on getting home.
*
“When he comes round, interview him again. I want to know what he was up to with those drugs.”
“Guv--”
“You do whatever you have to, Carling,” he ordered, his voice dark and low.
Those were the only instructions Gene gave as he left Lost and Found, and barricaded himself in his office. He paced. He scrubbed his hands through his hair. He kicked a few pieces of furniture. Morgan had the photos. Photos of Sam that could ruin the boy. What Edwards had shouted in the corridor, those were just words. Words could be ignored. Words could be denied, especially when they came from scum like Charlie. Photographs, though. Those were tangible. Those were proof. Those could destroy.
And Morgan had them. Morgan had them and all Gene knew about Morgan was that he was a bastard. Bastards were capable of anything. Gene should know. He was a bastard, himself. He was a bastard that protected his own, though. It didn’t help trying to think of what he would do in Morgan’s situation because Gene would destroy the photos instantly. Destroy them and forget they had ever existed.
Morgan wasn’t that kind of bastard. After what Sam had told him, about the DCI’s botched “operation,” Morgan appeared more concerned with the state of the force, rather than the men that ran it. Morgan could bring Sam up on misconduct charges. He could publicly humiliate Sam. Or he could blackmail him. Use the photos as leverage to get Sam back at Hyde. Back undercover. Even if Sam wasn’t Williams, like he said, he could be whatever he had to be for Morgan, if that bastard held those photos.
Either way seemed to end with Sam getting eventually kicked off the force, or forcing himself to leave, and Gene knew he couldn’t let that happen. Being a copper was the singular thing that had brought Sam back. It was the only thing that had allowed him to heal from Warren’s abuse, even if it was the thing that got him so abused in the first place.
Gene saw it in the way his brain worked. He saw it in the way Sam had instinctively behaved as a copper, even before he could remember who he was. He saw it in the way Sam’s eyes lit up as he let the detective’s part of his brain take over and run with an idea or an interrogation. Some men, they became coppers because their fathers were, or their uncles. They became coppers because they didn’t know what else to do or they didn’t have the skills to do anything else.
Sam wasn’t one of those men. Sam was a man who was smart, who could do anything he wanted, but if he wasn’t a police officer, he wouldn’t think he was anything at all. Sam and policing were inseparable, even amnesia couldn’t tear the two apart. Though, Morgan could and if Morgan did, Sam would crumble and this time, he wouldn’t be able to fight his way back.
Gene knew he had made mistakes with Sam. He could admit that to himself, when he was alone, which was more often than not these days. He knew he’d allowed bad things to happen to him, things he could have prevented. Things that were his fault.
DCI Hunt never made mistakes, but when Gene did, he never made them twice.
He stormed out of the station, nary a word to anyone, and threw himself into the Cortina. Revving the engine, he checked the fuel level. There was just enough petrol for a drive to Hyde.
_________
Part 37
Author: dak
Word Count: 1495 this part; [66,518 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 . We're close to the end now... 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
He cleaned his tender hands in the sink, rinsing off as much blood and dirt as he could. He checked the cabinet for some antiseptic or plasters, already knowing he’d find neither. This flat wasn’t made for living. It existed purely so that Hunt had somewhere to sleep when his real home wasn’t an option. He rinsed his face, no good having dried tears caked to his cheeks, and attempted to smooth his short hair, before cautiously cracking open the bathroom door. The sounds and smells of someone cooking in the kitchen hit him like a welcome wall of comforting normality.
If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was Maya. He could imagine he was back in his clean, state-of-the-art flat and he had just been through a rough day. He had showered and Maya had decided to make one of her perfect chicken tandoori dinners, and they would eat on the floor, for no particular reason, share a bottle of wine and lose themselves in each other, instead of their work. When was the last time they had done that? Sam thought it was months before the accident.
He slipped silently out of the bathroom and walked slowly to the kitchen. He knew it wouldn’t be Maya, but he could still believe it until he saw the truth.
“Oh, Sam!” Annie jumped when she saw him, startled by his quiet entrance. “Sorry. You didn’t have much food, and I got hungry, so I thought I’d pop out and grab a few things. You don’t mind, do you? I’m making enough for two.” She looked anxious, but prepared. Ready for his rejection even if she was hoping for the opposite.
Sam hadn’t noticed she’d left. How long had he been in there? “No. It’s alright. Thank you. I am hungry.” He wasn’t at all, but it made her smile, and a genuine smile wasn’t something he had been able to evoke from anyone lately. Annie, now. Gene, when he welcomed Sam to the pub. That was all. It was almost enough.
It was just after noon as he helped her set the dismal table. Sam had been quite relieved after sneaking a peek at the clock. He had convinced himself it was closer to five or six in the evening. Annie had cooked a simple meal of beef and vegetables, but it was decidedly better than the moldy bread he’d been eating for the past two days. So, although he hadn’t been hungry before, the offer of actual food was too much for his stomach to pass up.
“Is it alright?” She asked after five minutes of eating in silence.
“It’s great,” he smiled between bites and watched her relax. He couldn’t think of what else to say. At some point during his time here, he had lost the art of conversation, and the way Annie kept glancing at him, expecting him to crack any second, didn’t help matters. Of course, he couldn’t blame her. There was a good possibility that some forgotten trigger would suddenly set him off any second. He set down his cutlery.
“Annie, I...I wanted to say thank you. For doing this. I know keeping an eye on mentally unstable DI’s isn’t in the PC job description...”
“I don’t think you’re mentally unstable, sir.”
“Sam. Call me Sam. Please.” Although he’d been handling it better, the word “sir” still held memories for him that he wasn’t ready to confront.
“Well, Sam,” she smiled, “I don’t think you’re unstable.”
“Then you don’t know me well enough,” he laughed, picking up his fork and playing with his peas.
“I told you before, I think you’ve been under too much stress. You just need someone to talk to. Get it all off your chest.”
“I didn’t know therapy was encouraged in 1973,” he sighed, stabbing at a piece of meat.
“The Guv and the others might think it’s all nonsense, but I’ve seen it work.” She sounded so certain. So optimistic.
“If...if I was going to, it would need to be someone outside the station. There are some things...” he nervously rearranged the food left on his plate. “I don’t need every officer gossiping about my past. Guess you can add trust issues to the list of things I need to discuss,” he laughed sadly, finally setting down his fork, again.
“I can ring Neil, if you want. My psychiatrist friend I told you about? I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”
Sam stared at his plate, realizing he had mashed his peas into an unrecognizable lump. If this was all in his head, would Neil just be another part of his psyche? If he was, wouldn’t he only be talking to himself, then? That wouldn’t do any harm, would it? “Okay,” he nodded. “Yeah. I think that would be alright.” The admission seemed to leave him sore and exhausted. His brain might have forgotten what he had done to Edwards, but his body had not. After admitting he could do with a bit of kip, he lay down on the bed and willed himself to relax. Willed himself to forget all the terrible things he had done.
Maybe if he talked to this Neil, maybe if he was able to let go of the past, maybe then he could focus on what was important. He could focus on getting home.
*
“When he comes round, interview him again. I want to know what he was up to with those drugs.”
“Guv--”
“You do whatever you have to, Carling,” he ordered, his voice dark and low.
Those were the only instructions Gene gave as he left Lost and Found, and barricaded himself in his office. He paced. He scrubbed his hands through his hair. He kicked a few pieces of furniture. Morgan had the photos. Photos of Sam that could ruin the boy. What Edwards had shouted in the corridor, those were just words. Words could be ignored. Words could be denied, especially when they came from scum like Charlie. Photographs, though. Those were tangible. Those were proof. Those could destroy.
And Morgan had them. Morgan had them and all Gene knew about Morgan was that he was a bastard. Bastards were capable of anything. Gene should know. He was a bastard, himself. He was a bastard that protected his own, though. It didn’t help trying to think of what he would do in Morgan’s situation because Gene would destroy the photos instantly. Destroy them and forget they had ever existed.
Morgan wasn’t that kind of bastard. After what Sam had told him, about the DCI’s botched “operation,” Morgan appeared more concerned with the state of the force, rather than the men that ran it. Morgan could bring Sam up on misconduct charges. He could publicly humiliate Sam. Or he could blackmail him. Use the photos as leverage to get Sam back at Hyde. Back undercover. Even if Sam wasn’t Williams, like he said, he could be whatever he had to be for Morgan, if that bastard held those photos.
Either way seemed to end with Sam getting eventually kicked off the force, or forcing himself to leave, and Gene knew he couldn’t let that happen. Being a copper was the singular thing that had brought Sam back. It was the only thing that had allowed him to heal from Warren’s abuse, even if it was the thing that got him so abused in the first place.
Gene saw it in the way his brain worked. He saw it in the way Sam had instinctively behaved as a copper, even before he could remember who he was. He saw it in the way Sam’s eyes lit up as he let the detective’s part of his brain take over and run with an idea or an interrogation. Some men, they became coppers because their fathers were, or their uncles. They became coppers because they didn’t know what else to do or they didn’t have the skills to do anything else.
Sam wasn’t one of those men. Sam was a man who was smart, who could do anything he wanted, but if he wasn’t a police officer, he wouldn’t think he was anything at all. Sam and policing were inseparable, even amnesia couldn’t tear the two apart. Though, Morgan could and if Morgan did, Sam would crumble and this time, he wouldn’t be able to fight his way back.
Gene knew he had made mistakes with Sam. He could admit that to himself, when he was alone, which was more often than not these days. He knew he’d allowed bad things to happen to him, things he could have prevented. Things that were his fault.
DCI Hunt never made mistakes, but when Gene did, he never made them twice.
He stormed out of the station, nary a word to anyone, and threw himself into the Cortina. Revving the engine, he checked the fuel level. There was just enough petrol for a drive to Hyde.
_________
Part 37