Fic: When You Were Young (3/5), green cortina, dakfinv
Title: When You Were Young (3/5)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2535 (this part); 8475, so far
Rating: Green Cortina
Warnings: angst, mild swearing
Summary: Sam has an accident, in 1973, that renders him with the mentality of a 4 year old. Will Gene be able to cope?
A/N: I'm still pretty sure this will be four parts. I think. We'll see. Probably no more than five, I'm pretty sure. I edited a scene so those that asked for it could have Chris and Sam eating ice cream in the park. What can I say? I'm a big ol' softy. Er, really...
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Sam busied himself with a toy car he had “detected” in Gene’s office, while the Guv attempted to keep Carling’s waning attention.
“Guv, you said ‘is brain weren’t all healed from the accident.”
“And?” Gene leaned back and crossed his arms.
“Whheeeeewoooooo. Raaaaaaar!” Sam made siren noises as the he spun the car around on the floor.
“You din’t say ‘e was, well...” Ray nodded to where DI Tyler was sitting on the floor.
“Gene, I’m bored,” he looked up sullenly.
Hunt looked around his desk, then tossed down a box of paperclips. “There you go. Hours of fun. He’s not completely lost. Asked about Joni today, an’ were talking ‘bout Leonard yesterday.”
“Leonard?”
“Deaf aid what nicked Trent.”
“Oh right.”
“Tyler’s still in there, Ray. We just gotta find ‘im.”
“I’m hungry,” Sam interrupted as he hooked some paperclips together.
Gene pulled out a cigarette, mumbling something into the filter as he lit up.
“Er, sorry, Guv?”
“I said,” Gene pulled the fag away from his lips, “which is why I want you to spend some time with ‘im. Stir up his memory, like.”
“Oh, c’mon, Guv,” Ray crossed his arms. “Why can’t yeh get Chris or Cartwright to play with ‘im?”
“They will. Later. Right now Skelton’s finishin’ up the Claybourne case and Cartwright’s out with Geoff, actin’ all girls together to get some info out of the birds at the salon.”
“But, I ain’t good with kids,” Ray shifted nervously.
“He’s not a kid. He’s your DI! Sam, take that out of your mouth.”
“Sorry, Gene,” he sighed, putting the darts trophy back on the shelf. “I’m booored,” he whined.
“Well, don’t worry. You’re goin’ to do some exciting police work with Uncle Ray here.”
“Really?” Sam was exuberant. Ray was depressed.
“Yup,” Gene forced a smile, and hoped Ray would do the same.
“Aw, brilliant!” Sam ran to Ray’s side. “Can I hold a gun?” He whispered softly.
“No!” Hunt and Carling shouted in unison.
“Off you go, kids,” Gene continued, still smiling. Sam was out the door before Ray could even move. “Pretty quick, even with a bum leg. Better go catch ‘im ‘fore he eats his weight in paperclips.”
A dumbfounded Ray looked from Gene to the door.
“Now. Carling.”
Ray finally shifted into gear and chased out the door after Sam. “DI Tyler, er, Boss, er Sam! Wait, yeh tosser!”
*
“So...”
“Hiya.”
They sat across from each other in Lost and Found. Sam had wanted to see where they “in-terror-ogerated” the bad guys, and Ray didn’t mind babysitting his DI away from the humiliating glares of the station. The Guv had told them, a few days ago, that Tyler had been left a bit damaged, brain-wise, from the accident, and that it was bad. Carling hadn’t been expecting anything like this, though.
He knew the Guv would be bringing the Boss round the station eventually. He’d just hoped that he’d be able to avoid the event. Now he sat alone in a room with him. He was in charge of the Boss. While this was generally a scenario he often fantasized about, at the moment he found it in no way enjoyable.
Ray Carling was no good with children, and he was certainly no good with Sam Tyler, so both combined was an absolute nightmare. He could only hope to pass him off to Chris as soon as possible.
“So...”
“Are you a real p’liceman?”
“Yeah,” Ray angrily snapped his gum.
“I want to be a p’liceman,” Sam stared at the table, his legs swinging underneath.
“Yeah. You’ve only said it ‘bout a hundred times,” Ray focused his stare on an abandoned bicycle tire.
Sam shrugged and picked at the chipped tabletop. “Do you like football?” He asked hopefully.
“Course I like football, you twonk,” he sneered, chomping on his gum. He winced, just a bit, as he caught a glance of Tyler’s wounded expression. “You like United, don’t yeh?” He ventured.
“Yeah!” Sam’s face lit up. “Me dad, he used, he used to take me to the match every Saturday.”
“Yeah?” Ray sighed, feigning interest.
“Yeah! Then, an’ then, then he went away, an’ mum, she can’t take me cos, cos she says we have to save the money,” he lowered his head again.
“Where’d your dad go?” Ray inquired.
Sam shrugged. “He’s, he’s goin’ to come back. Mum says ‘e will. She tol’ me I’ll see ‘im again. If I’m good. If I’m a good boy, he’ll come back,” he smiled hopefully, but Rya had sat through enough interrogations to know Tyler didn’t believe what he said.
They sat in silence, again, and Sam began scratching at the stitches on the side of his head.
“Leave it alone,” Ray warned.
“Why?”
“Cos it’ll start to bleed.”
“Why?”
“Cos you’ll pull out your stitches.”
“Oh,” Sam dropped his hand, adjusting uncomfortably in the chair.
“Summit hurt?”
Sam looked away. “Can I play with that? He pointed to one of the shelves.
Ray stood and walked over. “What? This?” He pointed to the doll.
“No, Sam sighed with annoyance. “That,” he pointed again.
“This?” Ray picked up a broken teddy bear.
“Noooo,” Sam whined again. “That!”
“Oh, you mean the car?” He pulled a toy car off the shelf.
“Yeah! Gene said, Mr. Hunt said, I could have the one in ‘is office, but, but I left it, ‘cos, by accident, an’--”
“Well here. You can have this one,” Ray pushed it across the table, intending for Tyler to catch it, but Sam wasn’t fast enough and it skidded to the floor.
“I’ll get it!” Sam chirped and disappeared behind the table. It was a full thirty seconds before Ray realized he wasn’t coming back up.
“Tyler?” Sam didn’t respond, so Ray left his chair and walked round to the other side. Sam was kneeling on the floor, staring at the car, which had landed upside down. “DI Tyler?”
Sam was beginning to shake slightly. Ray was torn between running for the Guv and staying with him. He decided against leaving Tyler on his own, and crouched beside him, placing a nervous hand on his shoulder. “Boss?”
“Crunch,” Sam whispered. “Crunch. Crash. Crunch. It...spun an’ spinned an’ crunched,” Sam didn’t take his eyes off the toy car. “It all spun...It all hurt.”
“You remember the crash? Tyler?”
Sam suddenly smacked the car away, sending it skittering across the room. “I don’t like getting hit by cars. I wish it would stop.” His eyes were beginning to water. Ray Carling was not good with children, he was not good with Sam Tyler, and he was most certainly not good with crying.
He took Tyler by the arm and lifted him to his feet, surprised by how light he was. “C’mon. It’s roast beef day in the canteen.”
“I like roast beef!” Sam smiled, suddenly cheerful again.
“Me too,” Ray replied honestly. “Let’s go see Gwen ‘fore it’s all gone.”
“ ‘Kay!” Sam followed Ray to the door. “I like Gwen. Gwen gives me treacle. I like treacle. With custard. With the skin on...” he babbled all the way to the canteen. Ray wondered how the Guv was managing to deal with this without hanging himself, or anyone else.
*
“Chris? You done with that Claybourne shite, yet?”
“Yeah, Ray,” he mumbled, chewing the last bits of his sandwich which had managed to get in his mouth. “Why?”
“Good. “E’s yours,” Ray parked Sam in front of Chris’ desk.
“Hiya.”
“Try not to lose ‘im,” he called over his shoulder before leaving CID.
“Ray, wiat!” He called out, but it was useless. Ray was gone and DI Tyler was standing in front of him, grinning broadly.
“Er, hiya, Boss, er, uhm, what do you want me to call you, sir?”
“My name’s Sam!” He answered happily. “My mum, an’ Mr. Hunt, they call me Sammy, sometimes, an’ sometimes Gene, sometimes he calls me Gladys, but he’s just bein’ silly cos that’s a girl’s name an’ I’m not a girl.”
“Oh,” Chris nodded. “Right. I’ll, uhm, I’ll call you Sam then, shall I?” He asked uncertainly.
“ ‘Kay. Can I hold a gun?”
“Er, well, I don’t think that’s a good idea Bo...Sam.”
“Why?”
“Uhm, cos guns are real dangerous, like, an’ you could get hurt.”
“Oh. Okay,” he shrugged. “No one told me why before. They jus’ say ‘no,’ but I like knowin’ why, cos then things make more sense, an’ I like when things make sense. D’you like when things make sense?”
“I, er, well I never thought about it before. But...yeah, I guess so,” Chris shrugged.
“Can we play outside? I like the station, but it’s stuffy, an’ there’s smoke, an’ I don’ like smoke. Me mum says you shouldn’t smoke cos it’s bad for you.”
“Yeah,” Chris quickly stubbed out his fag. “My mum says that, too,” he smiled. “C’mon,” he said grabbing his coat. “Don’t think the Guv’ll mind if we nip out for a bit.”
“Really? That’s brilliant! Thanks, Chris!” Sam ran to the door.
“Wait a mo!” Chris doubled back and grabbed the football from beside his desk. “ ‘Kay, now stay next to me, so’s you don’t get lost. Guv would kill me,” Chris gulped and led Sam out the door.
*
“ ‘S not raining today. I like it when it’s not raining.”
“Me too,” Sam smiled, walking next to Chris, licking his ice cream cone. “ ‘M tired,” he sighed.
“D’you wanna sit down?”
“ ‘Kay,” Sam shrugged, and Chris guided him over a nearby park bench.
“So, er, Sam,” Chris sat next to him, dripping his own ice cream over his trousers. “Why did you...do you..want to be a copper?”
Sam shrugged. “Don’ kno. I jus’ like ‘em. We had a p’liceman come to our school once. I wore ‘is helmet. That was fun. But I like de-detectives best cos they can wear whate’er they want.”
“Those uniforms can get a bit stiff,” Chris ran a finger under his collar. “When I made detective, I only had one suit. Had to borrow me dad’s ‘til I could save up for me own. The sleeves were too long and I had to keep rollin’ ‘em up. Kept gettin’ carbon stains all along the cuffs.” Chris examined his shirt. “Still do, actually,” he realized.
“When my dad left, I met loads of ‘tectives,” Sam took a big bite of ice cream. It was too much at once and he had to spit some back out on the cone.
“Er, really?” Chris asked, confused.
“Yeah. They were at the wedding, an’ then they came to see us at me Auntie Heather’s an’ asked Mum loads of questions. They must’ve really missed me dad when ‘e went away.”
“Oh. Right,” Chris quickly shoved more ice cream into his mouth.
“Was your dad proud when you ‘came a ‘tective?”
“Mmph-hmmph,” Chris mumbled, then swallowed his ice cream. “Mm-hm,” he said again. “Said it were one o’ the best days of ‘is life, when ‘e saw me detective’s badge,” Chris smiled at the memory.
Sam stared into his empty cone. “Chris?”
“Yeah?” Chris started chomping into the last bits of his flaky cone.
“D’you think me dad’ll say that if I get to be a ‘tective?”
“Oh, er, well...”
“Cos he’ll be back by then, an’ I don’ want to be a ‘tective if he won’ like it.”
“I, uhm, I...” Chris turned his head and watched as Sam picked away at his cone, the crumbs beginning to attract nearby pigeons. He tentatively placed a hand on his DI’s shoulder. “I’m sure he will, Sam,” he smiled.
“Really?” Sam’s face brightened.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he? Hey,” Chris picked up the football he’d set next to his feet. “Want to play?”
*
A slightly shell-shocked WDC Cartwright slowly left her Guv’s office and sat down at her desk. In DI Tyler’s absence, presumably off somewhere with DC Skelton, DCI Hunt had taken the opportunity to explain the full nature of Sam’s current condition. All Annie could think was, why hadn’t he told them sooner? She wasn’t allowed to process the information further, as Chris burst through the doors with a crying Sam.
“I’m really, really sorry sir, er, Sam. Really,” he babbled as he helped him inside.
“Chris!” Annie leapt from her desk. “What happened?”
“We were, erm, playing football, an’ I sort of accidentally, erm, kicked the ball at his head, when he weren’t, well, lookin’, and it well, sort of hit him right where the tubey thing had been in ‘is, erm, head.” Chris sat Sam down in a chair. He was still clutching at where his stitches were, refusing to let anyone see.
Annie knelt before him. “Sam? Sam, it’s Annie. Can I take a look?”
Sam shook his head no, but kept his mouth shut.
“Please? I’ll be really gentle, I promise.”
Sam looked at Annie, up at Chris, then back at Annie. He slowly lowered his hand and squeezed his eyes shut. She examined the area carefully, not touching his head unless he absolutely had to.
“:It looks alright to me,” she smiled.
“What does?” Gene appeared behind her.
“Chris hit him with a football,” Annie informed him.
“What?”
“It were an accident! I swear, Guv!”
“Is he alright?” Gene asked, trying to examine Sam for himself.
“Is who alright?” Ray asked, sauntering over.
“Tyler,” Gene said. “Chris hit ‘im with a football.”
“You div,” Ray rolled his eyes.
“I said it were an accident!” Chris nervously repeated.
“Calm down,” Annie told them. “He’s fine. Aren’t you, Sam?” She smiled.
Sam only blushed and looked away.
“My, is he always this quiet?” She asked everyone.
“No,” they all sighed in various levels of exasperation.
Annie felt someone tugging at her sleeve and turned to see Sam trying to get her attention. “What is it, Sam?” She asked.
“You’re pretty,” he blushed, then buried his face in Chris’ trouser leg.
Gene wasn’t the only one who noticed the slight rise in Tyler’s trousers, and he quickly stepped between him and Cartwright. “Best get the lad home. Had a long day, haven’t you Sam?”
Sam, his face still hidden by Chris’ leg, nodded.
Gene gently hauled him to his feet. “Say bye to all the nice policemen and woman, Sammy. Time to go home.”
“Bye,” he waved, still blushing slightly. “Thanks for lettin’ me come play at your station,” he smiled and followed Gene to the door, ignorant of the sad glances that followed him.
*
Sam fell asleep on the ride to Gene’s, after a recounting of the day’s events to the long-suffering Mr. Cotton. When Gene pulled up to his house, Sam still did not wake. Sighing, Gene bore most of his DI’s weight as he lugged him across the pavement and through the front door.
Margaret helped them maneuver upstairs and took over tucking Sam into bed, while Gene helped himself to a drink downstairs. She joined him in the kitchen one bedtime story and good-night kiss later.
“How was it?” She asked, leaning in the doorway.
“Alright,” he sighed.
“Did it help?”
Gene stared at the empty glass a moment before answering. “I think it helped them."
_________
Part 4