Fic: By the End of the Week (1/1), green cortina, dak
Title: By the End of the Week (1/1)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1982
Rating: green cortina
Warnings: angst, some themes of suicide
Summary: Ray needs a drink.
A/N: For some reason, I felt the need to write from Ray's POV. It still revolves around Sam-angst, though.
Ray was going to get pissed as soon as this week was over. Hell, he didn’t even know why he was waiting for the end of the week. He wanted to be at the pub right there and then with a pint in one hand, a dart in the other, and a cigarette ‘tween his lips. Unfortunately, all he had at that moment was the fag, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Tyler asked him to put it out.
The Guv had to go to that conference in London, he’d said. He had to represent the finest of the Lancashire Constabulary and show a few of those poncey, Southern bastards how real policing was done, he’d said. And, he’d had to put Tyler in charge, he’d said. Ray hadn’t expected anything else when the announcement was first made but he would’ve been a bit more respectful to the Guv if he’d just admitted he was only going for the free booze.
Booze. Ray could certainly use a drink. Several, in fact, but one trait he had not yet picked up from Gene in all their years together was carrying ‘round a flask. Though if this week didn’t make him start, he probably never would at all. Ray had, of course, expected Tyler to be wetting his pants at the prospect of running CID on his own. It was what he’d been screaming about his first day there, after all. My desk this and my office that, least til the Guv had put him in his place not five minutes later. Tyler had been wetting himself when he heard the news, but to his slight surprise, Ray thought it was more from nerves than excitement.
“Does it have to be now? This week?” Ray had overhead the Boss complaining to the Guv. Well, that hadn’t been unusual. Tyler was always whinging about one thing or another. Gene, rightly so, had proceeded to insult Tyler, shout at him, and finally ordered him to buck up and do his job. Ray had particularly enjoyed overhearing that little scrap but hadn’t yet found the time to relay the story to Chris.
The argument had seemed to do the trick and for the first two days, Tyler appeared to have overcome his performance anxiety. Well, that’s how Cartwright had put it. Psychology shite. Ray just thought the Boss was overcompensating. (He’d put it a bit differently, something about Tyler acting a giant, bossy poofter to hide his nancy-sized cock. Cartwright had apparently needed to correct him, again.) Even with a lull in case work, when they’d normally get some kip or kick the ball around, Tyler was finding them work. Extra reports. Extra filing. Hell, he even had Geoff dusting the office one day.
It was after those first days that Ray’s anger had subsided enough that he could observe the Boss’ behavior more carefully. Tyler was twitchier than usual. Jumping at telephones and staring at radios were all part of the normal nutter package but this week it seemed worse. On more than one occasion, he’d caught Tyler shaking and sweating in the bogs. Yesterday, Ray had decided to call him on it.
“Haven’t been sleeping well,” he’d replied honestly, using no snappy retort to Ray’s statement that he looked worse than a junkie after a night in cells.
“Too much work,” he’d added. “There’s just so much to do,” he’d shook his head and left Ray to his business with the urinal.
Ray had planned on getting pissed that night, but Chris had had to knock off early and it wasn’t as much fun to get drunk alone, which Ray already knew from experience. Tonight, though, he was going to tie Skelton to a chair until they had both drank their combined weight in beer and whiskey.
Why? Because today, when an actual crime had been committed (a body found in an alley near a pub in Collyhurst; today, when the Guv still wasn’t due back for another two days; today, when Tyler needed to show his team why he earned the bigger payslip; today, Tyler was missing. Well, he wasn’t at the station and he wasn’t answering his phone. Normally when this happened, the Guv would fly round the twat’s flat, bust down the door, and drag him to the scene. Ray would usually be in charge of the site until the pair finally did arrive.
The Guv wasn’t there. Tyler wasn’t there. Ray was, despite a few older DS’s in the department, the senior officer in this situation. He hadn’t been in charge of anything since that accident with Billy Kembel, which of course didn’t bother him at all, but it was the first time he’d been in charge since Kembel’s death which, nope, didn’t bother him in the slightest. He sent Vince, Geoff, Clive, and Cartwright to the scene. He took Chris with him in his Hillman Avenger and sped over to Tyler’s flat.
“Thought you said the Boss called in sick?” Chris raised an eyebrow as they pulled up to the dilapidated building.
“Probably is,” Ray shrugged, ready to admit his lie. “Din’t want the plonk to worry, but he din’t actually call in.”
“You mean...you think he’s alright?” Chris’ eyes went wide.
“Course he’s alright. Probably has the sniffles. Or he realized he ain’t got what it takes to be the Guv,” Ray climbed out of his car and Chris soon followed. It was a short walk to Tyler’s flat and soon Ray was pounding on the door.
“Oi! Boss! You in there?” There was no answer. Ray shrugged and turned to leave. He should have been staring at a body right then, not Tyler’s grimy hallway floor.
“Maybe...maybe we should, you know, break down the door?” Chris offered.
“Why?” Ray stared at him skeptically.
“Well, ‘s what the Guv would do, innit?” he shrugged.
“I ain’t the Guv,” Ray huffed, then rolled his eyes at Chris’ wounded expression. “Alright. Stand back,” he sighed. Ray braced himself, stared down the door, and rammed his shoulder into it. Ray bounced back, the door creaked, and that was all.
“Maybe you should lean in more, like,” Chris tried to demonstrate and mimed elbowing the door.
“I know how to break a door down,” Ray snapped.
“ ‘M just trying to help,” Chris looked downcast. Ray sighed again, braced himself, and kicked the door in with his foot. It didn’t come off the hinges like Ray had hoped, but the force was enough to break the lock and gain them entrance.
“See?” Ray puffed up proudly. “I told yeh...” his voice trailed off as both DS and DC noticed the motionless leg on the floor peaking through the crack. The motionless leg in black jeans and a cuban heel.
“Shit,” Ray cursed and pushed the door open as far as it would go, an action made difficult by the Boss’ own body.
“Is he...” Chris stammered as Ray knelt next to the body and felt for a pulse.
“No. There’s a pulse. An’ he’s breathin’. He’s breathin’.” It wasn’t until he’d rolled Sam onto his back that Ray realized he’d knelt in a pool of vomit. He held his tongue while he propped up his limp Inspector, leaning him against his rickety, cot bed. “Chris, get ‘im some water,” he ordered.
“What? Er, water. Right,” Chris nervously obliged and ran to the sink.
“Boss. Tyler,” Ray stated firmly, shaking him. “Sam?” The Boss muttered something unintelligible and rolled his head forward. Ray shook his head back and slapped him lightly in the face.
“H-here,” Chris crouched down and held the glass of water out to Ray. “Is that...” Skelton stared at the smeared sick.
“See if you can’t find summit to clean it up with, yeah?” Ray asked and Chris nodded, happy to be given something to do. Ray tried to tip some of the water into Sam’s mouth but it only trickled down his chin and onto his already soiled shirt. So, he did something he’d always wanted to do, albeit under different circumstance. He tossed the water in Tyler’s face, then slapped him again. Sam’s eyelids fluttered then remained half-open.
“DI Tyler?”
“...whaswro...” Sam mumbled, trying to shake his brain awake.
“C’mon, yeh twonk. Wake up,” Ray shook him harder. Chris returned with a small towel and began mopping up the vomit, not taking his eyes off his Boss.
“Wha’ ‘appen?” Sam asked, slightly more clearly, his eyes still glazed.
“What happened? You passed out Boss. Couldn’t wake yeh,” Ray told him. As Sam started to move, Ray helped him to stand then sit up on the bed.
“Wha’ time ‘s it?” Sam slurred, swaying on the mattress.
“ ‘Bout half-past ten. Had a shout. Body in Collyhurst. You weren’t around. Thought maybe you were takin’ a sickie. Forgot to call,” Ray watched him carefully. What was wrong with him? Was it the flu? Or pneumonia? He was never good with sick people.
“Ray...” Chris called from the floor.
“Not sick...coma,” Tyler muttered.
“In a minute, Chris. You remember what happened, Tyler?” He held him firmly by the shoulders, keeping him upright.
“Ray!” Chris demanded.
“What?” Ray snapped looking behind him, to see Chris holding up a near empty pill bottle. Ray grabbed it and read the label. “Seconal? What the hell is that?”
“Were only prescribed two days ago,” Chris added shakily. “An’ it’s nearly gone.” Ray spun back to Sam.
“Tyler. What is this? What’s it for?” He demanded, suddenly furious at the man sitting in front of him.
“Wha’?” Sam cocked his head to the side.
“The pills? What they for?” He shook the bottle in Tyler’s face causing the man to cower slightly.
“Doctor....Doctor gave ‘em to me,” he tried to explain.
“For what?” Ray shouted, causing Chris to cower.
“Ray, calm down,” Skelton tried to tell him.
“Dammit, Boss! Tell me what they’re for!” He continued to shout, ignoring Chris.
“Help...they’re...s’posed help...help me sleep,” Sam finally answered, nearly falling off the bed. Ray grabbed him and sat him back up. “Can’t sleep...Sleeping all the time...there...Can’t sleep here,” he babbled incoherently. “Week...this week...tests...they said. I have...have tests...to...do...perform...well, else...else...”
“So you took the whole bloody bottle?” Ray bellowed. “What’re you playin’ at Tyler?”
“Just want to sleep,” he pleaded. “Took...took ‘em with...water,” he tried to appease them. Carling shoved him back on the bed and stomped across the room, unable to control his anger.
“Ray...what...” Chris spoke up after a minute’s silence. Carling stuffed the bottle in his pocket.
“Already told ‘em Tyler called in sick. I’ll go over to the scene, make sure nowt’s wrong. You, stay with ‘im. Don’t let ‘im fall asleep, alright? Keep ‘im awake. Maybe he should eat summit?” Ray wondered aloud, then stomped to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Ray?” Chris called when his partner’s foot was out the door. “You’re not...if you tell the Guv...will he get the sack?”
Ray took a deep breath. “Just...keep ‘im awake,” he responded and hurried out of the flat. He had to get to the scene. He had to run CID. He had to ring the Guv. Did he have to ring the Guv? What would he tell him? Tyler overdosed? His DI was a junkie? Ray knew how much Gene despised junkies, how much they reminded him of Stu. He wouldn’t have to say it was pills. He could say it was the flu. Then he’d have to lie to the Guv. The Guv would know he was lying. Was Tyler a junkie? Maybe he was just having sleep problems. Maybe he was a nutter. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he needed help.
Whatever would happen to Tyler, it was Ray’s decision to make. He lit a ciggie, started the Avenger, and drove away from the building. Ray was going to get pissed as soon as this week was over.