Fic: Bygones (1/1), green cortina, dakfinv

[dakfinv]

Title: Bygones
Author: dak
Word Count: 6848
Rating: green cortina
Warnings: a bit of angst
Pairing: Sam/OC
Summary: In order to move on with his future, Sam must first confront his past.
A/N: So, this is another segment of the fic that just won't die: Steady As She Goes. Unlike the other one-shots, you probably really won't understand this unless you've read the monster. It carries on with Sam's story from the end of that fic. Having read End of the Road: Part 1 and End of the Road: Part 2 will probably help, too. This story has been stuck in my head for ages and ended up about 5x longer than I originally intended.


“Do we have to put my name on the invitations?”

“Why are you so bloody weird?”

“Well, it’s meant to be the bride’s big day. We don’t need to draw attention to me.”

“Oh, so you want this to read ‘Mrs. Margaret Hunt invites you to attend the marriage of her daughter, Gladys Mabel, to a surprise mystery guest?’”

“Your middle name is Mabel?”

“It was my great aunt’s name, thank you very much, and don’t go changing the subject Sam Tyler.”

“I was just--”

“No. You know? It’s a great idea actually. You could stand at the alter wearing a balaclava! Ooo. Or, you know what would be better? We could have a panel of judges, like on ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ and we could have several different contestants come on stage to perform. Three X’s, you’re out, and the lovely bride’s no longer yours! You could play that guitar you’ve bought but kept in a box for three months.”

“Okay. Alright. Enough. It was just a suggestion.”

“This is why men shouldn’t plan weddings. You’re idiots. You have one X, by the way.”

“You asked for my opinion.”

“On the color. Not the wording.”

“I’m good with words.”

“Only if they involve ‘procedure’ and ‘blood splatter analysis.’ Now, run along and do something manly like chugging Jaeger Bombs or reading porn.”

“I do not read porn,” Sam sighed and left the couch. “But fine. I’ll go. Just one question.”

“Yeah, Coma Boy?” Gladys returned to examining stationary patterns.

“If you’re four months pregnant, should you really be wearing white?” He smirked, barely ducking a book on flower arrangements in time.

“If my father were here, he’d slap you senseless.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Sam smiled broadly as he straightened his tie and walked towards the door. “I’ll see you after work.”

“Remember, La Trattatoria. Five-thirty. Sharp. Detective Chief Inspector.”

“Barring any...”

“Barring nowt, you pillock. Five-thirty.”

“Right. Five-thirty.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He opened the front door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he smiled and walked into the hall, his grin gone by the time he’d reached his car. He should have never looked at the guest list. He should have ignored it and moved on, but he hadn’t. Now, he could only hope that time had erased all memory of DI Sam Tyler from the minds of possible guests Mr. Ray Carling and Mr. Chris Skelton.

*

It was 5:45. Gladys was going to kill him. She certainly could, too. The girl had inherited her father’s temper as well as his right hook. He parked the car and ran to the restaurant, not even bothering to open an umbrella. He was already late. She wouldn’t yell at him for being wet. At least, he hoped she wouldn’t. He didn’t even know who he was meeting. “Old friends” was all she had told him and he couldn’t shake the ominous feeling in his gut.

He was in the restaurant at 5:48, spotting her fury before her auburn hair. He smoothed his tie, fixed on what he hoped was his cheekiest grin, and walked briskly to the table to join her and their guests.

“Sorry I’m...” His phone chose that moment to ring and he scrambled to answer it before the chorus of “Sexy/Back” could repeat a second time. “You said you’d take that off,” he blamed her as his fingers fumbled for the uncooperative mobile.

“Who broke your hands,” she smirked.

“I don’t know how!” He argued, still padding for the right pocket.

“That’s your problem, then,” she crossed her arms.

“I was in a coma! The technology changed a lot since...” he finally grabbed the demented bit of plastic and took the call.

“DCI Tyler...I told you before I left. We’re able to hold Pearson for twenty-four hours without charge, before releasing him...But forensics will be back by then...Look Maya, we have the time. Let’s use it...I didn’t say interrogate. A few, friendly questions that won’t provoke him into demanding a solicitor wouldn’t hurt, though. Alright?...Right... Okay...I’ll check back later...Right...Right...Yes....Okay...Okay...I said okay!...Right... Bye...Yes...Bye.” He finished pacing the room and ended the call. “Sorry--”

“Phone,” Gladys held out her hand. Sam dropped it into her palm. She switched it off and hid it in her purse.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the seat beside her. He obeyed, settling himself between her and Margaret.

“Hello, Sam,” Mrs. Hunt smiled, giving him a hug.

“Now, where were we?” Gladys sighed. “Right. I was about to introduce my very timely fiance. Sam, this is Uncle Ray and Uncle Chris. Uncle Ray, Uncle Chris, this is Sam Tyler.” She smiled.

Sam stared. Ray and Chris, gobsmacked, stared back. They were old now, in their sixties and fifties respectively, but they were most certainly DS Carling and DC Skelton. Sam wondered how it was possible to still be living when his heart had stopped beating. Play dumb. He just had to play dumb. He wasn’t that Sam Tyler. He was a completely different Sam Tyler...

“Oh, don’t bother with introductions, Gladys. These boys already know each other.”

“We do?” All three men asked at once.

“Don’t pretend you don’t recognize your DI when you see him,” Margaret scolded. “Now, where has Gene gone?” She asked wistfully, looking around the restaurant.

“Why don’t I go look for him?” Sam offered kindly, excusing himself from the table.

“Sam, where...” Gladys started.

“I’ll be right back,” he nodded towards the toilets, then had to keep himself from running to the safety of the gents. Once inside however, he locked himself in a stall, staying there until his hands stopped shaking and he could formulate a plan.

But what sort of plan? What could get him out of this? Ray and Chris were sitting out there, so similar to the Ray and Chris he knew back then, down to the cheesy mustache and Juicy Fruit. Ray and Chris, who knew him. Ray and Chris, who knew what had happened to him. Ray and Chris, who had been there when he’d woken up. When he’d tried to end it all. When he’d tried to drink himself to death. As soon as he met Gladys, he’d known it had all been real, but seeing Ray and Chris out there, plain as day, the reminders were all too much. He didn’t think his hands would ever stop shaking.

*

“I thought I was going to have to yank you out of there myself,” Gladys jibed as Sam strolled back to the table fifteen minutes later. She quieted quickly when she noticed his blank expression and nervous posture. He was tense and sweating, hands trembling at his side. He sat at the table, head bowed slightly.

“Sam?” She tried again, smiling warily, hoping he wouldn’t cause a scene in the restaurant. He didn’t respond. “Okay,” she nodded. “Why don’t you go out to the car and sit for awhile,” she whispered, trying to ignore the stares from her uncles.

“I don’t want to sit in the car,” he muttered like a child.

“Well I’m not giving you much of a choice,” she hissed back, the smile still plastered on her face, and she grabbed his arm, hoisting him out of the chair.

“I said--” he started, and moved to hit her. Ray and Chris leapt up from their seats, but weren’t needed as Gladys adeptly twisted Sam’s arm behind his back and subdued him with a well placed kidney punch.

“None of that now,” she told him and began pushing him towards the door.

“Let me help,” Chris offered, walking round the table.

“I’m fine Uncle Chris,” she tried to assure him.

“I know you are, but I don’t think he is,” he nodded to the still dazed Sam.

She didn’t answer, but allowed him to follow them out to the car. She spotted Sam’s across the car park, but her’s was closer so she sat him down in there, in the passenger’s seat.

“Sam? Sammy, it’s Gladys,” she stroked his head. “You know where you are? He-he gets like this, once in awhile. Not often, just once. In awhile. C’mon sweetheart. Please talk to me.” When she failed to get a further response, Gladys sighed and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from the glove compartment, backing away as she lit it.

“Didn’t think you were meant to smoke, not in your condition,” Chris scolded her.

“Sam made me quit when we found out. He doesn’t know about the pack I keep in there. Just for emergencies, like,” she added sheepishly. “Trust me, Uncle Chris, if there’s one thing on this earth that won’t be bothered by a bit of fag smoke, it’s a Hunt,” she rubbed her belly absentmindedly.

“Yeah, but ‘e’s half Tyler, too, an’ Tylers aren’t too keen on it. Er...” he shuffled nervously. “Least from what you’ve told me about him,” he backtracked, though she didn’t know why.

She thought a moment, then stubbed it out on the ground. Uncle Chris had always been good at gently manipulating her to do the right thing.

“If you don’t mind me asking, love, what’s wrong with him?” He asked quietly, looking from his “niece” to the man in the car.

“He, uhm, he gets these sort of...flashbacks, to his accident. Well, that’s what he told me they were,” she sighed.

“What accident?” Chris asked, almost nervously.

“He was, back before we met, he was hit by a car on his way back from a crime scene. Was in a coma for awhile, months, before he woke up. But...but I tease him about the coma all the time. It never sets him off!”

“What does?” Chris asked, looking more serious than Uncle Chris ever should.

“I don’t know. It hasn’t happened for awhile. Once, once when I was showing him photos of your and Daddy’s old team, ones from when I was born. I don’t know. It’s just random things,” she was becoming more frustrated the more she spoke. “He just leaves me, Chris. Just like Mum. He goes off in his mind and he leaves me all on my own and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t...” she started crying. “I love him but I can’t handle both of them if they’re...Maybe if Daddy was here...”

Chris pulled her into a tight hug, letting her cry against his shoulder. “It’s alright, love,” he reassured her. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I miss him, Chris,” she sobbed. “I miss him so much.”

“I know. Me too.”

“He’d know what to do. He’d know how to deal with him.”

Chris pulled back, just enough to look her in the eye. “All he did...all he could’ve done, is be there for him. Like he was there for your mum. No more. No less.”

“Gladys?” A weary Sam called from the car.

“Sam!” She crouched down next to him and took his hand. “Are you alright? Do you know where you are?”

“Not exactly,” he mumbled. “We were at the restaurant and...shit. I did it again, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay,” she smiled at him, stroking his head and bringing him back. “Food’s not that great anyhow.”

“Are you alright? I didn’t...or anything, did I?”

Normally, she’d make a joke about him not being good enough to land a punch on her, but the fear in his eyes, fear that he could hurt her, was enough to make her hold her tongue. “No, Sam. Course not. You never would,” she smiled and kissed his forehead.

“I’ve ruined your evening, haven’t I?” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.

“Only a little,” she smiled. “You can go home, if you want. I can handle my family.”

“It’s supposed to be our family,” he whined.

“Go home, Tyler. Chris and Ray said they’d take care of Mum tonight. I won’t be late.”

Sam knew there was no use arguing with her once she’d made up her mind, and he nodded weakly, climbing out of the car. She gave him a hug and sent him on his way, unable to hide her worry.

“He be alright?” Chris asked as he watched him walk away.

“He better be or I’ll give him what for,” she replied with less conviction than she would have liked, and walked back into the restaurant.

*

He was tempted to hit the scotch bottle, but remembered the trouble excess drinking had got him in before. Ray Carling and Chris Skelton. With Gene gone, and Margaret and Gladys happy, he’d never considered tracking down anyone else from the old team. Maybe he should have. Then, it wouldn’t have been such a shock to see them sitting there.

He’d tried so hard the past year to keep his past and present separate. Only now was he beginning to realize how naive that thought had been. By marrying the daughter of his Seventies DCI, he was making his past his present. Gladys had always said she was close with her uncles Ray and Chris, and with her father gone, she’d only want to pull them closer, trying to fill that Gene-sized hole.

Sam knew that feeling. He was doing the same by growing closer to Gladys and Mrs. Hunt. Not that he didn’t love them for who they were, but by being nearer to them, he felt closer to Gene. He couldn’t help but think life would be just that much easier if Hunt were still around.

Sam stared at the photograph on the mantel, one of Gene holding a newborn Gladys in front of the Cortina. “Why’d you have to go and die, Guv. If anyone could live forever, I thought it’d be you.”

*

“If you would’ve been nicer to the poor boy, he wouldn’t have left like that. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“It weren’t DI Tyler, Margaret,” Ray sighed as he helped her into the house, Chris following behind.

“All he’s been through...could’ve at least said a friendly hello.”

Ray sighed and helped her with her coat as Chris shut the door.

“Can’t blame ‘er, Ray. Looks just like the ol’ Boss, don’t he? Same name an’ all.”

“Coincidence. ‘Sides, that bloke looks nothin’ like Tyler. He actually smiles.”

They left Margaret to putter around in the kitchen while they moved into the front room.

“What would the Guv say, he knew little Gladdie was marrying a bloke named Sam Tyler,” Chris chuckled as he ambled around the room, looking at the photos.

“Probably beat the shit out of the sorry bastard. Remember what he did to her first boyfriend? Surprised anyone was brave enough to date the girl after that,” Ray settled down on the sofa, flicking on the television.

“Ray, I think it’s him,” Chris said somberly, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“Can’t be. It’s impossible.”

“I know. But...you know what she said to me? When we took ‘im out to the car? Said he’d had a car accident. That he’d been in a coma.”

“It’s still impossible,” Ray repeated hurriedly.

“He’s a detective named Sam Tyler who was in a coma an’ has weird, flashback thingies. Who does that sound like to you?” Chris pressed.

“An’ I’m tellin’ you, it’s nowt but a coincidence.”

Chris grabbed a framed photo and tossed it across the room. Ray barely caught it before it fell. “Oi! Yeh div...”

“Looks nothin’ like ‘im, eh?” Chris nodded to the picture.

It was Gladys and Sam on some sort of holiday. He had the short hair, the sideburns, and the leather jacket. Not just any leather jacket. The same black, leather jacket. The picture was clear enough that Ray could see the cigarette burn on the collar that he’d purposely put there one day, when the Boss had been behaving like a particularly annoying prat.

“It can’t be,” Ray whispered.

Chris crossed the room and entered the hall, grabbing his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“You may be retired Ray, but I’m still a detective. I’m goin’ to find out the truth,” he disappeared around the corner, then reappeared a second later. “Oh, uhm, if Shaz rings, tell ‘er I forgot to charge me mobile. Not that I lost it. Again.”

“But--”

“Cheers, Ray!”

*

“DI Roy?”

The woman looked up from her paperwork. Chris grinned and flashed his badge. “DI Skelton, from the Met.”

“Oh, hello sir,” she smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“They, uhm, they told me you’re DCI Tyler’s DI?”

“So this is about Sam, is it?” She leaned back in her chair. “Well I’m afraid DCI Tyler isn’t here at the moment. You’ll have to wait til morning.”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

“Is it about one of our cases? We were wondering if Matheson had fled down to London...” she started typing away frantically on the computer, bringing up the file.

“Uhm, no, actually. See, well, sort of embarrassing, really, but it’s not much to do with police work at all.”

“No?” She asked skeptically.

“No. See, well Sam...well Gladys...you know Gladys?”

“Of course.”

“She’s my niece. Well, sort of me niece. Not biologically or anything. Her dad was me DCI since I made detective, til he retired. And, well, I’m sure DI...DCI Tyler’s a good bloke, but I don’t know much about him and since they’re gettin’ hitched an’ all...”

DI Roy smiled and relaxed. “Ah, say no more. I can assure you that Sam is a completely acceptable gentleman. Much better since he met her, actually,” she said with some sadness.

“Great! Uhm, not to be nosy, but I, erm, did hear summit about an accident...”

“Oh,” Maya stiffened again. “Yes. It was during the Raimes case, in 2006.”

“Raimes?” Chris couldn’t hide his surprise.

“I...had been taken hostage by a suspected serial killer named Colin Raimes. On the way back from my abduction point, Sam was struck by a car. It was...bad.”

“He were in a coma?”

“For about five months. No one thought he’d wake up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He’s fine now, though. A...a little out of sorts after he first woke. Lacked a lot of confidence. But after he met Gladys...well, she’s been good for him.”

“Good, well, thank you DI Roy. Uhm, well, it’s late, isn’t it? An’ you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have summit important to do. So, I’ll uhm, I’ll let you get to it.” Chris started to back away.

“Wait,” Maya called out an ran after him. “Your...your DCI, Gladys’ father, he...”

“What about him?”

“His name wasn’t Gene Hunt, was it?”

“Yeah, actually. It was. Why?”

Chris recognized that look on her face. It was the look every copper got when they started making the connections in a case.

“Sam didn’t meet Gladys until after he woke up but...but there was this man who came to visit him when he was in hospital. His name was Gene Hunt.”

Chris sat her down and put on the most serious face he could muster. “Tell me everything you know.”

*

It wasn’t Tyler. It wasn’t Tyler. It was not Tyler. Tyler had disappeared from the back of an ambulance on his way to Shenley Hospital. Ray knew this. He had helped Gene investigate the case. Tyler was dead, his body rotting somewhere in the English countryside. Even if he were alive, he should be nearly Ray’s age by now, and completely off his rocker to boot. It was not Tyler.

Except that it was. The way he walked. The way he waved his hands about when delivering orders. The hair. The bloody jacket. He even had Margaret convinced, though granted, that wasn’t that hard these days. Yet all things considered, the possible and impossible alike, it was Tyler.

This posed a significant problem for Ray. He’d always sworn that whenever he found Tyler, he’d beat the bastard senseless for what he’d done to the Guv. He’d also sworn, on the day of her birth, never to let any harm come to Gladys. If Gladys loved this Sam and Ray beat him to a pulp, that would hurt her, wouldn’t it?

“Bollocks,” he muttered and grabbed the phone. “Sarah? It’s Ray Carling. Can you come watch your sister for a few hours. I got something I need to take care of.”

*

“Sam? Where’s all the Anadin?” Gladys shouted from the bathroom.

“There’s none in the medicine cabinet?” He called back from the sofa, now dressed comfortably in jeans and an old Man United tee.

“Obviously not, Detective,” she shouted again.

“I might have some in my bedside table. Try the top drawer!” He yelled as he flipped through his latest forensics journal. There was nothing better for forgetting his personal problems than burying his head in work. After a few moments silence, Sam decided she must have found what she was looking for.

“Sam...”

He heard her pad into the room. “Yeah?” He asked, making a note in the journal.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?” He asked, still engrossed in the article.

“Gene Hunt. Forties. Blonde hair. Green eyes. Brut. White loafers.”

Sam snapped to attention, the journal and pen falling from his hands as he saw Gladys reading from his notebook - the notebook he used to write down everything he remembered from 1973. “Gladys, I can explain,” he stated calmly as he stood up from the coach. He moved towards her but she backed away.

“Oh, but there’s more. Apparently he was an over-bearing, overweight, over-the-hill...”

“Gladys, please,” he begged her to calm down but she was working herself into a frenzy.

“...nicotine-stained, borderline, alcoholic, homophobe...”

“Please...” he pleaded in vain.

“...with an unhealthy obsession with male-bonding!”

“Will you let me explain?”

“This is my father! You have a whole book of notes on my father, and you didn’t even know him!” She chucked it at his head and it caught him in the shoulder.

“It’s not what you think.”

“What do I think, Sam? Do you know what I think? I think I know now why you always ask me so many questions about him. I think you’re sick, that’s what I think. You’re a...a sick bastard! So, how long have you been obsessed with him, hm? Before or after we met. Or is it why met?”

“Gladys...”

She’d backed herself into a wall and Sam moved closer slowly, trying to show he meant no harm.

“You couldn’t get enough of him, so you had to get his daughter?” She accused.

“No. I--”

“No. You know what? I don’t want to hear it!”

“Just--”

“I have enough mentally ill people in this family! I don’t need another.”

“Let me--”

“Get out,” she ordered.

“Please.”

She stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face, twice. “Get. Out!” She screamed and Sam backed off, grabbing his leather jacket and running out of the flat and into the night.

*

“Gladys? Gladdie? Are you home? ‘S me. Uncle Ray.” There was a long silence. Ray was about to give up when he heard the lock slide back and the door crack open. “I was jus’ wonderin’...” He stopped when he saw her tear-streaked face. “Gladys? What’s wrong?”

“He...Sam...he...”

Ray was going to kill him, no matter which Sam Tyler he was. Gladys allowed him inside and immediately abandoned him in the living room as she continued to the kitchen. “You two have a fight, then?”

“Understatement of the century,” she quipped tearfully, and reentered the living room with a glass in her hand.

“You shouldn’t be drinking that. Not when you’re pregnant,” Ray warned, knowing a glass of scotch when he saw one.

“I don’t care,” she argued with the whine of a child and threw it back.

“Don’t do this to yourself. Sit down an’ let’s talk about it.”

“You’re not my father. You can’t tell me what to do,” she griped, and Ray could see that she was wobbly on her feet. He wondered how much she’d already drank.

“No, but you think he’d say any different if he were here?” He scolded, hands on his waist.

“Well, he’s not, cos he’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead, and he left us, and he’s never coming back. And now Sam’s gone. He’s left us,” she clutched her stomach. “And he’s never coming back,” she started crying again.

“Whoa there, love. Now, I don’t know what you two were rowing about, but I don’t think that Tyler’s one to up an’ leave yeh just like that.”

“You don’t even know him. I don’t...I don’t even know him.” She glanced down at the notebook on the floor.

“What are you on about, girl?” Ray sighed.

Before she could answer, there was another frantic knocking at the door. “Gladys? Sam? You home?” Came Chris’ muffled voice from the other side. Keeping one eye on his niece, Ray quickly opened the front door. Chris rushed in with a younger woman Ray didn’t recognize. While she, with great purpose, continued to the photographs on the mantel, Chris froze in his tracks as soon as he saw Gladys.

“Blimey. What happened?” He looked from Ray to Gladys.

“She and Tyler had a fight. He’s gone.”

“I told him to go,” Gladys informed them with a hint of regret, looking pale.

“Oh my God,” exclaimed the strange woman from across the room, picking up a picture frame.

“I need the toilet,” Gladys told no one in particular as she stumbled out of the room.

“This is him! This is Gene Hunt,” she pointed to the familiar, old face in the picture.

“Course it is, sweetheart. We sort of already knew that,” Ray quipped and rolled his eyes. “Question is, who’re you?”

“DI Maya Roy and this isn’t just Gene Hunt. This is the man who found Sam on the road, after his accident! This is the one...every Tuesday...” she smiled in remembrance and looked up into Ray’s confused face. Chris, however, seemed absolutely pleased with himself.

“He visited Sam in hospital every Tuesday, more than that towards the end. He’d sit there for hours. Started every conversation with ‘What are we doing back then today, Sammy-boy?’ I don’t know how, he never said, but...it was like he knew him, though Sam had never mentioned him before. Oh, but Mr. Hunt, he knew things. About Sam’s mannerisms. His methods of policing. Everything,” she recalled with wonder. “He...it’s silly, but I always thought he was the reason Sam finally woke up.”

“How’s that?” Ray asked, his mouth permanently dry since she’d uttered the phrase ‘Sammy-boy.’

“The day Mr. Hunt had his heart attack, I was there. I heard him, well, he said something about people needing Sam here, not there. That they had all made it through without him then, and that he should stop living in the past. I thought he was just...well, a bit mental, honestly, but Sam woke up soon after. And with the things DI Skelton has told me...”

“What things?” Ray glared at Chris who simply shrugged.

Their revelations were cut short by a loud thump from the bathroom. Maya was the closest. She ran to the room and immediately shouted for help. Gladys had collapsed on the tiled floor, a stain of blood appearing where there shouldn’t have been anything at all.

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Maya, in full police officer mode, informed them as she tried to sit the frail woman up. “I think she’s having a miscarriage.”

“I don’t feel well,” Gladys mumbled, her face pale and dazed.

“I know, sweetheart,” Maya comforted her. “Let’s get you up.”

Ray and Chris managed to snap out of their shock and lifted Gladys up, supporting her between them.

“We can use my car. I nicked one of the police issue ones. It has a siren,” Maya told them as she let them out of the flat.

“I think I like this bird,” Ray whispered to Chris.

“She’s the Boss’ DI.”

“He sure knows how to pick ‘im,” Ray remarked, obviously staring at her arse.

“So, it is the Boss, then?” Chris let Ray swoop Gladys up into his arms as they entered the lift.

“Guess it is,” Ray reluctantly agreed.

“Where’s Sammy?” Gladys mumbled, barely conscious. “I need Sammy...”

“He’ll be at the hospital, love,” Chris held her hand and smiled weakly.

They ran out of the lift as soon as the doors opened.

“He’s not answering his mobile,” Maya sighed. “Sam always answers his mobile. The only time Sam Tyler didn’t answer his bloody mobile was when he was in a bloody coma!” She yelled in frustration.

“Wait,” Chris remembered. “Gladdie took it from him at the restaurant. He might not have it on him.”

“She did what?” Maya asked in disbelief as she unlocked the Jeep. “Good girl. What I never had the guts to do.”

Chris and Ray exchanged glances as they loaded Gladys into the SUV.

“You mean you an’ Tyler...” Ray started.

“Forget it,” Maya brushed him off as she hopped in the driver’s seat. “It was a long time ago.”

Once all the bodies were in the car, Maya took off, tearing down the streets in a way that would’ve impressed even the Guv.

“Uhm,” Chris started from the backseat. “Your mum’s name wouldn’t happen to be Leslie by any chance, would it?”

“Yeah, it is.” She replied, keeping her concentration on the bend in the road.

“Bloody hell,” Chris and Ray exclaimed at once.

“So, you know Sam,” Chris continued. “If he were upset, where would he go?”

“Honestly, DI Skelton, these days, I have no bloody clue.”

“Knowin’ Tyler, he’d probably be lookin’ for someone else to blame,” Ray snorted. A second later, his brain lit up. “Oi, Roy, think I can borrow this after we drop off Gladys?”

“You know where he is?” She asked.

“Gotta pretty good idea,” he sighed.

*

“So, this is how it’s going to be, eh? I finally get everything the way I want and then, whoosh, it’s all taken away. This is your fault, you know. Somehow, well...it just is!” Sam shouted at the headstone and took a heavy swig from a newly acquired and nearly half-empty whisky bottle. “I liked it in 1973. I had fun in 1973 and you, you sent me home.” He grabbed a nearby bunch of dead flowers and chucked it at the grave.

“I thought it’d be okay, you know. I found her and found out it was all real and thought it was going to be okay. But it’s not, is it? It’s never going to be okay. Not for me.” He took another heavy sip. “Cos you know why, Guv? When it was real and I had her, it was okay that it was real. Now...now she’s gone, now it’s still real but all that’s left are the bad things. The wrong things. The things they did to me. And how am I supposed to live with that? How? Tell me,” he yelled at the silent grave.

“Tell me!” He shouted again.

“You’re bein’ a nonce,” came a voice from behind.

Sam spun on his heels and, for a moment, thought it was Gene who had spoken. “Oh, what do you want, Mister Carling,” he sneered and turned away.

“Had me doubts. Now I know it’s true. Things get rough, you run out an’ hit the bottle, ‘stead of dealin’ with it like a man.”

“You know nothing about me,” Sam scowled, raising the bottle, then stopping himself.

“I know it’s the same thing you did when Chris were shot.”

Sam faced Ray again, his shock clearly evident.

Ray continued. “You ran off, got yourself pissed at the Arms, an’ showed up at the hospital later that night. Then I kicked the shit outta yeh.”

“The Guv...he had to pull me away from you,” Sam dropped his gaze to the grass.

“Well, I wanted to kill yeh,” Ray told him.

“And I wanted to die,” Sam confessed.

“That’s stupid,” Ray argued.

“It was true,” Sam shrugged, leaning back on Gene’s headstone. “So, you know it’s me.”

“Yeah,” Ray nodded.

“Here to kick the shit out of me again?”

“Well,” Ray scuffed his shoe, “I weren’t plannin’ on it, but if you don’t take your head outta your arse, I may have no choice, Boss.”

“What do you want, then,” Sam sighed, suddenly too tired to deal with any of this.

“I want to know what you and Gladys were fighting about that has her terrified you’re never coming back,” Ray leaned back against a grave opposite Sam.

“I...” he started to laugh, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “When I first came out of the coma, I remembered everything. Every detail. Up to the point where I was in the psych ward, at least. I didn’t know if it had been real or not, I mean how could it have been?”

“What I was thinking,” Ray snorted.

“But, real or unreal, I wanted to remember it, and everyday, a little bit would slip away. I was afraid I’d lose it all, that I’d end up with nothing. So I started to write it all down. Everything I could remember about 1973. You, Chris, Annie. Our cases. My flat.”

“The Guv?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed again, passing the bottle between his hands. “Gene got his very own special notebook,” his grin disappeared. “And Gladys found it.”

“I take it you never told her ‘bout the whole time-travelin’ thing,” Ray asked.

“Never seemed to work it’s way into conversation,” Sam nodded.

“And she thinks you’re a creep.”

“An ‘A’, number one, king of the creeps, creep,” he agreed.

“Ever think about explainin’ it to her?” Ray offered.

“I can’t even explain it to myself. She’d only think I was mad, anyhow. And like she said, she doesn’t need anymore mentally ill people in her family,” Sam remarked sullenly, still eyeing the whisky in his hands.

“She’s a lawyer. Lawyer’s love evidence as much as you do. An’ I think we might have enough to convince her you’re not a total nutter. Witnesses an’ all.”

Sam laughed bitterly. “Because it’s just like Ray Carling to help me out.”

“I hated you in ‘73, Sam. A lot of things have changed since then.”

“It was only last year to me,” he said softly.

“An’ it were over thirty for me. Plus, you’ve taken good care of Margie and Gladys since the Guv...think I can forget you stole me post.”

“Not like you didn’t get it anyway.”

“I got the title, Tyler. But I was never his DI,” Ray confessed.

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, understanding.

“Come on. It’s freezin’ out here, an’ she were asking for yeh at...” Ray trailed off mid-sentence.

“At...where?” Sam asked. “She go to her mother’s?” Even in the darkness, he could see Ray pale. “Ray, where’s Gladys?”

“She’s at hospital, Sam,” he said calmly. “They...they think she’s...havin’ a miscarriage.”

Sam would have hit the ground if Ray hadn’t caught him in time. “Oh, god, no. No no no,” he stammered.

Ray propped him up and slapped him. “I need yeh to keep it together, Tyler. She needs you to keep it together. I know it’s personal, but you’re a DCI, so act like a bloody DCI!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he shook his head, knowing Ray could see him crying.

“Good. Now stop weepin’ all over the Guv an’ let’s go,” he tugged on his arm, and Sam allowed himself to be dragged from the cemetery.

*

Chris and Maya leapt from their chairs as they saw Sam running into the lobby with Ray trailing in his wake. With his jeans, scruffy shirt, and leather jacket, Chris thought he looked more like a lost teenager than a police officer. Sam ignored them and ran to the nurses station.

“Gladys Hunt. What room is she in? I need to see her. It’s urgent that I see her.”

“Calm down, sir. You’ll have to wait--”

“I can’t wait! I have to know she’s alright!”

Chris and Maya hurried over to try and calm him.

“Sam,” she started, “She’s in surgery. We have to wait until the doctors--”

“She’s in surgery? Why is she in surgery? What’s happening? Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me what’s going on!” He shouted, bouncing with uncontrolled nervous energy.

“DI Tyler, she’ll be alright. We just have to be patient, okay?” Chris took him by the shoulders and guided him back to a chair.

“I can’t lose her, Chris. I can’t...the Guv...the Guv would kill me if I let anything happen to her,” he looked up from his seat. “He would crawl out of his grave and strangle me with his bare hands, I know it.”

“Probably,” Chris agreed, sitting next to him. “But she’ll be fine, so we don’t have to worry about that, okay?”

Sam dropped his head in his hands, tapping his feet nervously. Chris placed one hand on his back. Ray sat on the other side. After a few minutes hesitation he, too, placed an arm around Tyler. Together, they sat with their Inspector and waited for the news.

*

“Mr. Tyler?”

“Here! I’m Sam Tyler,” Sam popped out of his chair like a loaded spring. He was the one usually being admitted to hospitals. As a patient, he never experienced the pain of waiting. He didn’t much like it. Chris and Ray stood back while he ran up to the doctor. Maya had been needed back at the station and had to reluctantly leave before any news was available. Sam’s hands twitched nervously as he listened to the doctor and nodded his understanding. As he walked back to his mates, he stuffed his fists in his pockets.

“They had trouble stop...stopping the bleeding but she...she, uhm, she’s going to be alright,” he sniffed, trying to keep his composure. “Lost a lot of blood, but she’ll be alright. She, uhm, we...we lost, lost the baby, though. It...it was a boy. A little boy,” he tried to smile through the tears. “I had a son,” he couldn’t hold back any longer and collapsed into Chris’ arms, his former DC holding him firmly as he exorcized his grief.

“ ‘S alright, Boss. It’s goin’ to be okay,” Chris spoke calmly.

“The div’s right, Boss,” Ray patted Sam on the back. “If Gladdie’s alright, everything’ll be alright.”

Sam pulled away from Chris and wiped his eyes on his jacket sleeve. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I really am quite Dorothy, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Chris and Ray replied in unison.

“Think the Guv would let this one slide, though, don’t you?” Chris quickly added.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Sam collapsed in the waiting room chair. “I’m fine now. I am. It’s fine. Would’ve...I would’ve made a shite father anyhow,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair, trying to rationalize his grief. “Had a shite dad. Would’ve been a shite dad,” he repeated to himself.

“All do respect, Tyler, you’re talkin’ crap,” Ray shook his head.

Sam looked up in disbelief.

“He’s right you know,” Chris agreed. “Same thing the Guv thought, weren’t it?”

“What he kept sayin’, word for word, when Margie was in labor,” Ray nodded, chewing his gum thoughtfully. “Granted, bein’ New Year’s an’ all, he were a bit pissed.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile. “Could you tell me?” He asked quietly. “Tell me what happened, after I left, until I can go see her?”

“What d’you want to know?” Chris asked.

He looked between the two detectives, his two links to the past that had just saved his future. “Everything.”

*

He held her hand. It was important that she knew he was there as soon as she woke, which would hopefully be soon. His patience was rewarded as her eyes slowly blinked open and focused on his tired face.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, moving closer.

“Hey,” she said weakly.

“How you feeling?” He stroked her cheek.

“Not that good,” she replied honestly. “I’m glad you’re here,” she sighed, closing her eyes briefly.

“So I’m not still a sick bastard then?” He asked hopefully.

“No. You are,” she took a deep breath. “Least ‘til I get a...decent explanation.”

“I think that’s only fair,” he smiled.

“Good,” she smiled back.

“I do have one, by the way. A decent explanation. Well, at least an explanation. One that your uncles Ray and Chris can even back up. Hopefully you trust them, though you’ll probably think we’re all completely mental after you hear it. I just need you to keep an open mind about the whole thing and not--”

“Sammy...”

“What is it, love?”

“You’re talking too much again,” she sighed.

“Sorry.”

“Always verbal diarrhea with you, innit?”

“ ‘Fraid so,” he grinned, still gripping her hand.

“I’m goin’ back to sleep now,” she told him.

“Okay.”

“Please be here when I wake up,” she begged. “I don’t...don’t want you to leave me, too.”

Sam settled himself in the chair. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her and, for once in his life, Sam could be happy with that.
______

Followed by: Fickle Thing, Happiness