Fic: The Art of Being Lost and Found (32/?), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Art of Being Lost and Found (32/?)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1696 (this part); (46,266 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: none here
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
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
“It weren’t me,” Chris barreled towards Ray in a panic as soon as Carling stepped foot into CID. “I’ve been in Collator’s. Not said a word,” he panted, anxious for forgiveness he didn’t need.
“Chris. Relax. We don’t even know what it’s about,” he gripped Chris by the shoulder.
“It’s about the Guv,” Chris stated matter-of-factly. “Litton was screaming his head off in Car-- in the Guv’s office. He thinks we’re up to something.”
“We are up to something,” Ray replied.
“Yeah, but they weren’t supposed to know, were they?”
“DS Carling? My office please,” Carter made his presence known as he stood in the office doorway, his arms crossed like a stern headmaster.
“It’ll be fine. Leave it to me,” he pat Chris on the arm, then walked confidently up to Carter. “Afternoon, sir.”
“Inside now,” Carter ordered and Ray politely obliged, if only to aggravate him further. When he entered, he saw Litton perched in the corner, arms crossed in the same manner, his face bright red. He tapped his foot constantly as if trying to fan the hideous smell of Paco Rabanne throughout the room.
“Why DCI Litton. What a pleasant surprise,” Ray grinned. Litton’s face turned a shade darker.
“You conniving, little...”
“Chief Inspector, please,” Carter cut him off as he found his own seat.
“This is about Tyler, isn’t it?” Ray asked, hoping to deflect their interest from the Guv.
“Oh that is a whole other matter entirely,” Litton snarled.
“DS Carling, it has come to our attention that there is the possibility you may still be investigating DCI Hunt’s disappearance - a matter which, as you know, was handed over to RCS.
“How is that going, by the way?” Ray asked Litton. “Find a nice carpet to brush it under or are you flashing it about a bit so the Super at least thinks you’re doing summat?”
“You know Hunt only put up with a brute like you because he needed a guard dog, DS Carling,” Litton smirked. “It’s why you never made Inspector - all fists, no brains. Of course, it doesn’t seem your old DI Tyler has much of either right now, does he?”
Ray leapt out of his chair and Carter rose from his, desperate to keep space between the two men.
“Carling, sit down. DCI Litton, sir, I understand your frustration, but insults will get us nowhere. Gentlemen, please.”
Ray waited for Litton to back off first before retreating himself.
“Thank you,” Carter sighed. “Now, Sergeant. Is there any truth to these rumors?”
“Why does it matter?”
“The case is in the hands of RCS. If you were also...too many cooks, and all that, you know?”
“Not really. Don’t spend much time in the kitchen, unlike you girls.”
Litton tensed, but Carter only closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued.
“Communication is key to any investigation.”
“And how would you know that? Haven’t worked a case since you got here.”
“DS Carling. Ray. If you know anything that could assist DCI Litton--”
“I’ll assist him right over a bridge, that’s how I’ll assist him.”
“You ungrateful, brainless, brute. I’ll--”
“DCI Litton,” Carter held him back once more. “Could I have a word with my man in private, sir?”
Litton fumed silently, eyes burning into Ray and Ray’s burning right back, before the DCI straightened up and feigned composure.
“I’ll be in my office,” he announced, fixing his tie, then leaving via the back door.
“I’m not your man,” Ray spat at Carter as soon as Litton was gone.
“Sergeant Carling...”
“I am not your man. This is not your office. And that is not your team,” he pointed outside.
“I have always considered your loyalty quite admirable, but if you have information that could help DCI Litton...”
“I have nowt to say to that man, if that’s what you want to call him.”
“Alright, then, DS Carling. Alright,” Carter looked down at his hands, then adjusted a hideous paperweight.
“Anything else? Sir?”
“Actually, there is. It...has come, well, also come to my attention...That is to say...Sam Williams.”
“He can’t go back there. Not yet.”
“No, no. Of course not. He is the victim and witness to a brutal crime. Now, while his safety is of the utmost importance, of course...”
“Of course,” Ray grunted.
“I do not think it wise he should spend his days outside the hospital here, at the station. Therefor, I am putting you in charge of his well being and temporarily suspending you from all other duties.”
“What?” Ray flew out of his chair. “You can’t--”
“All other duties, DS Carling. So, as long as Mr. Williams is in your care, you can spend your days however you like. Doing whatever you like,” Carter finally looked up at Ray, his face nervous and calm all at once.
“ Are you saying...”
“Good day, DS Carling,” he interrupted, returning his gaze to his papers.
“Right. Good day, sir,” Ray nodded and hurried out of the room.
Chris was sat at his desk, chewing anxiously on a wad of gum. He jumped up as soon as Ray came towards him.
“What happened? Do they know? Why are you smiling?”
“I’ve been suspended,” Ray clapped Chris on the back and continued towards the door.
“What? But, then, Ray...why are you smiling?”
*
“Got all you clothes?”
“Well, uhm, yes...I think so. Ow.”
“What?”
“Hit...hit my elbow on the door.”
“Berk.”
“Cheers....A little help?”
Sam looked up pitifully from his seat in the passenger’s side of Ray’s car, the box of clothes piled onto his lap looking larger the man himself.
“Oh fine,” Ray rolled his eyes and grabbed the box from Sam, carrying it up to his front door, while leaving Sam to make the journey on his own. “There is an spare bedroom upstairs, if you want to sleep there ‘stead of the sofa.”
“So, you’re...keeping me?” Sam asked breathlessly as he limped into the main corridor.
“You don’t like it, I’ll put you on the street.”
“You wouldn’t...do that,” Sam smiled.
“Course I would,” Ray nodded. “In a heartbeat.”
“Right,” Sam smiled. “I’ll, uhm, I’ll handle the stairs. Sofa...smells awful.”
“Some guest you are,” Ray snorted. “I’ll throw these in the room,” he shifted the box. “Then I’m going out for some takeaway. Don’t expect any cooking from me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam sighed.
“Get yourself a shower while I’m gone. You don’t smell too rosy yourself.” Ray started up the stairs as Sam sniffed his shirt.
“Can’t...argue with you...there.”
Ray tossed the box next to the old bed, then grabbed some extra towels from the linen closet and set them in the bathroom. Sam was almost up the stairs by the time he had finished.
“Put some towels in the bathroom for you. Don’t even think ‘bout using mine.”
“Trust me...I won’t,” Sam panted as climbed up the last step.
“I’ll give you your pills when I get back. Don’t need you passing out in the tub and drowning yourself.”
“Your concern...is...overwhelming,” Sam sighed as he limped down the hall to the bathroom.
“Oi! You have any cash?”
“Why?”
“Don’t think I’m paying for your meals out of me own pocket the whole bloody time you’re here.”
“I’ll see...what I can...come up with,” Sam sighed as he shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door.
“And you better eat what I bring you. ‘M not taking any requests!”
Satisfied, Ray stomped downstairs and out the door, leaving Tyler to his own devices.
*
Ray returned fifteen minutes later and tossed the bags of fish and chips on the kitchen table. The water wasn’t running, so either Tyler had finished in the bathroom or he hadn’t yet started. He grabbed a beer for himself and a glass of water for Sam, setting his pills beside it.
Finally heading upstairs, he noticed the bathroom door was still shut. He checked the spare room to be sure it was empty, then returned to the bathroom and knocked.
“Oi, ponce. Food’s ready.”
There was no answer.
“Tyler. Haven’t drowned yourself, have you?” he tried to laugh.
There was no answer.
“Shit, “ he sighed and tried the door knob. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked. “Tyler, you...bloody hell.”
Sam was sitting against the very back wall of the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, his face pale. His damp hair stuck up at all angles, making his face look younger than it should. His shaving kit, which had been in his box of belongings, was scattered across the floor. He was clutching the side of his face, and Ray could see a bit of blood peaking through his shaking fingers.
“What’d you do?” he asked, walking over. Sam didn’t answer, so Ray knelt in front of him and snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Sam.”
Sam finally registered that he was there, looking briefly at Ray and then focusing on the floor.
“I...I was trying...trying to shave. Haven’t...they...they shave us, there. I haven’t...I...I cut myself....Blade...blade’s dull. I...I started...bleeding....Bleeding...but I couldn’t...couldn’t feel it. Then she...she came...and she laughed at me...and...”
He was working himself up, beginning to hyperventilate.
“Whoa there, Tyler. Got the picture. Let me look.”
He waited for Sam to move his hand, then peeked at the cut.
“Barely a scratch,” he sighed with relief. “I’ll get you a flannel. You can clean it up. Get you some better blades, too. Can’t have you bleeding all over me house, can we? C’mon. Up you get,” Ray grabbed him by the arm and sat him on the toilet, then scrounged inside a drawer for a clean flannel, dampening it and handing it to Sam. Sam took it silently, stared at it, then pressed it against his cut jaw.
“I...I just want...to...want to be...normal. Can’t even...shave myself,” he sneered, closing his eyes.
“Just clean yourself up and get some clothes on. There’s food waiting for you downstairs.”
Ray left without an acknowledgement and went back downstairs, helping himself to his own fish and chips while he waited for Tyler. Sam joined him another fifteen minutes later. He said nothing, but glared at his pills before grabbing them and stuffing them down his throat.
Author: dak
Word Count: 1696 (this part); (46,266 in total, so far)
Rating: blue cortina
Warnings: none here
Summary: Post 2.08. When the Guv goes missing, CID is saddled with an inept "interim" DCI. To find Gene, and the truth, Ray must team up with a hated enemy.
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
“It weren’t me,” Chris barreled towards Ray in a panic as soon as Carling stepped foot into CID. “I’ve been in Collator’s. Not said a word,” he panted, anxious for forgiveness he didn’t need.
“Chris. Relax. We don’t even know what it’s about,” he gripped Chris by the shoulder.
“It’s about the Guv,” Chris stated matter-of-factly. “Litton was screaming his head off in Car-- in the Guv’s office. He thinks we’re up to something.”
“We are up to something,” Ray replied.
“Yeah, but they weren’t supposed to know, were they?”
“DS Carling? My office please,” Carter made his presence known as he stood in the office doorway, his arms crossed like a stern headmaster.
“It’ll be fine. Leave it to me,” he pat Chris on the arm, then walked confidently up to Carter. “Afternoon, sir.”
“Inside now,” Carter ordered and Ray politely obliged, if only to aggravate him further. When he entered, he saw Litton perched in the corner, arms crossed in the same manner, his face bright red. He tapped his foot constantly as if trying to fan the hideous smell of Paco Rabanne throughout the room.
“Why DCI Litton. What a pleasant surprise,” Ray grinned. Litton’s face turned a shade darker.
“You conniving, little...”
“Chief Inspector, please,” Carter cut him off as he found his own seat.
“This is about Tyler, isn’t it?” Ray asked, hoping to deflect their interest from the Guv.
“Oh that is a whole other matter entirely,” Litton snarled.
“DS Carling, it has come to our attention that there is the possibility you may still be investigating DCI Hunt’s disappearance - a matter which, as you know, was handed over to RCS.
“How is that going, by the way?” Ray asked Litton. “Find a nice carpet to brush it under or are you flashing it about a bit so the Super at least thinks you’re doing summat?”
“You know Hunt only put up with a brute like you because he needed a guard dog, DS Carling,” Litton smirked. “It’s why you never made Inspector - all fists, no brains. Of course, it doesn’t seem your old DI Tyler has much of either right now, does he?”
Ray leapt out of his chair and Carter rose from his, desperate to keep space between the two men.
“Carling, sit down. DCI Litton, sir, I understand your frustration, but insults will get us nowhere. Gentlemen, please.”
Ray waited for Litton to back off first before retreating himself.
“Thank you,” Carter sighed. “Now, Sergeant. Is there any truth to these rumors?”
“Why does it matter?”
“The case is in the hands of RCS. If you were also...too many cooks, and all that, you know?”
“Not really. Don’t spend much time in the kitchen, unlike you girls.”
Litton tensed, but Carter only closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued.
“Communication is key to any investigation.”
“And how would you know that? Haven’t worked a case since you got here.”
“DS Carling. Ray. If you know anything that could assist DCI Litton--”
“I’ll assist him right over a bridge, that’s how I’ll assist him.”
“You ungrateful, brainless, brute. I’ll--”
“DCI Litton,” Carter held him back once more. “Could I have a word with my man in private, sir?”
Litton fumed silently, eyes burning into Ray and Ray’s burning right back, before the DCI straightened up and feigned composure.
“I’ll be in my office,” he announced, fixing his tie, then leaving via the back door.
“I’m not your man,” Ray spat at Carter as soon as Litton was gone.
“Sergeant Carling...”
“I am not your man. This is not your office. And that is not your team,” he pointed outside.
“I have always considered your loyalty quite admirable, but if you have information that could help DCI Litton...”
“I have nowt to say to that man, if that’s what you want to call him.”
“Alright, then, DS Carling. Alright,” Carter looked down at his hands, then adjusted a hideous paperweight.
“Anything else? Sir?”
“Actually, there is. It...has come, well, also come to my attention...That is to say...Sam Williams.”
“He can’t go back there. Not yet.”
“No, no. Of course not. He is the victim and witness to a brutal crime. Now, while his safety is of the utmost importance, of course...”
“Of course,” Ray grunted.
“I do not think it wise he should spend his days outside the hospital here, at the station. Therefor, I am putting you in charge of his well being and temporarily suspending you from all other duties.”
“What?” Ray flew out of his chair. “You can’t--”
“All other duties, DS Carling. So, as long as Mr. Williams is in your care, you can spend your days however you like. Doing whatever you like,” Carter finally looked up at Ray, his face nervous and calm all at once.
“ Are you saying...”
“Good day, DS Carling,” he interrupted, returning his gaze to his papers.
“Right. Good day, sir,” Ray nodded and hurried out of the room.
Chris was sat at his desk, chewing anxiously on a wad of gum. He jumped up as soon as Ray came towards him.
“What happened? Do they know? Why are you smiling?”
“I’ve been suspended,” Ray clapped Chris on the back and continued towards the door.
“What? But, then, Ray...why are you smiling?”
*
“Got all you clothes?”
“Well, uhm, yes...I think so. Ow.”
“What?”
“Hit...hit my elbow on the door.”
“Berk.”
“Cheers....A little help?”
Sam looked up pitifully from his seat in the passenger’s side of Ray’s car, the box of clothes piled onto his lap looking larger the man himself.
“Oh fine,” Ray rolled his eyes and grabbed the box from Sam, carrying it up to his front door, while leaving Sam to make the journey on his own. “There is an spare bedroom upstairs, if you want to sleep there ‘stead of the sofa.”
“So, you’re...keeping me?” Sam asked breathlessly as he limped into the main corridor.
“You don’t like it, I’ll put you on the street.”
“You wouldn’t...do that,” Sam smiled.
“Course I would,” Ray nodded. “In a heartbeat.”
“Right,” Sam smiled. “I’ll, uhm, I’ll handle the stairs. Sofa...smells awful.”
“Some guest you are,” Ray snorted. “I’ll throw these in the room,” he shifted the box. “Then I’m going out for some takeaway. Don’t expect any cooking from me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam sighed.
“Get yourself a shower while I’m gone. You don’t smell too rosy yourself.” Ray started up the stairs as Sam sniffed his shirt.
“Can’t...argue with you...there.”
Ray tossed the box next to the old bed, then grabbed some extra towels from the linen closet and set them in the bathroom. Sam was almost up the stairs by the time he had finished.
“Put some towels in the bathroom for you. Don’t even think ‘bout using mine.”
“Trust me...I won’t,” Sam panted as climbed up the last step.
“I’ll give you your pills when I get back. Don’t need you passing out in the tub and drowning yourself.”
“Your concern...is...overwhelming,” Sam sighed as he limped down the hall to the bathroom.
“Oi! You have any cash?”
“Why?”
“Don’t think I’m paying for your meals out of me own pocket the whole bloody time you’re here.”
“I’ll see...what I can...come up with,” Sam sighed as he shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door.
“And you better eat what I bring you. ‘M not taking any requests!”
Satisfied, Ray stomped downstairs and out the door, leaving Tyler to his own devices.
*
Ray returned fifteen minutes later and tossed the bags of fish and chips on the kitchen table. The water wasn’t running, so either Tyler had finished in the bathroom or he hadn’t yet started. He grabbed a beer for himself and a glass of water for Sam, setting his pills beside it.
Finally heading upstairs, he noticed the bathroom door was still shut. He checked the spare room to be sure it was empty, then returned to the bathroom and knocked.
“Oi, ponce. Food’s ready.”
There was no answer.
“Tyler. Haven’t drowned yourself, have you?” he tried to laugh.
There was no answer.
“Shit, “ he sighed and tried the door knob. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked. “Tyler, you...bloody hell.”
Sam was sitting against the very back wall of the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, his face pale. His damp hair stuck up at all angles, making his face look younger than it should. His shaving kit, which had been in his box of belongings, was scattered across the floor. He was clutching the side of his face, and Ray could see a bit of blood peaking through his shaking fingers.
“What’d you do?” he asked, walking over. Sam didn’t answer, so Ray knelt in front of him and snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Sam.”
Sam finally registered that he was there, looking briefly at Ray and then focusing on the floor.
“I...I was trying...trying to shave. Haven’t...they...they shave us, there. I haven’t...I...I cut myself....Blade...blade’s dull. I...I started...bleeding....Bleeding...but I couldn’t...couldn’t feel it. Then she...she came...and she laughed at me...and...”
He was working himself up, beginning to hyperventilate.
“Whoa there, Tyler. Got the picture. Let me look.”
He waited for Sam to move his hand, then peeked at the cut.
“Barely a scratch,” he sighed with relief. “I’ll get you a flannel. You can clean it up. Get you some better blades, too. Can’t have you bleeding all over me house, can we? C’mon. Up you get,” Ray grabbed him by the arm and sat him on the toilet, then scrounged inside a drawer for a clean flannel, dampening it and handing it to Sam. Sam took it silently, stared at it, then pressed it against his cut jaw.
“I...I just want...to...want to be...normal. Can’t even...shave myself,” he sneered, closing his eyes.
“Just clean yourself up and get some clothes on. There’s food waiting for you downstairs.”
Ray left without an acknowledgement and went back downstairs, helping himself to his own fish and chips while he waited for Tyler. Sam joined him another fifteen minutes later. He said nothing, but glared at his pills before grabbing them and stuffing them down his throat.