Fic: So (1/1), white cortina, dakfinv
Title: So
Author: dak
Word Count: 2021
Rating: white cortina
Pairing: none
Warnings: none (surprise!)
Summary: Sam takes Ryan to the match.
A/N: A happy!Sam fic for mikes_grrl who asked for a follow-up to 1.05, where Sam does take Ryan to a match, like he offered. I don't know if it's happy, but it's not angsty. Does that count?
Friday was drawing to an uneventful close, much like every other night that week. The criminal scum of Manchester had appeared to take the week off and though peace in his city is what Hunt wanted, he had to admit he was itching for a bit of excitement. So, when he noticed Tyler’s odd behavior, he couldn’t help but find himself intrigued.
Granted, Tyler was always odd and to the general CID population, he didn’t appear any odder than usual. But, to the well-honed eye of the Guv, the differences were obvious.
First off, there was the way he was looking at the clock. Tyler never checked the clock. He was never concerned with when his shift would end. In fact, there were some nights Gene didn’t think Sam ever left the station.
Secondly, Sam kept crumpling up reports and tossing them away. Gene hadn’t seen him have that much trouble since he’d arrived. Those first weeks, it was like Tyler had never seen carbon paper before. Lately, though, he’d had no trouble. Except for today, when every piece was causing a problem.
Thirdly, it was the way Sam kept staring off into space. Again, not an unusual behavior for DI Tyler. But, the frequency of the stares was different and their duration shorter than Tyler’s normal turns - more like a normal person simply stopping in nervous thought.
Looking to shake up his otherwise normal week, the Gene Genie decided a littler interrogation was in order. He waited until Tyler wasn’t looking, then strode over and perched himself on the edge of the desk - right on the paper Sam had been blindly reaching for.
“So...” Gene crossed his arms and looked over his shoulder at Tyler. An aggravated sigh and eye roll were the initial responses.
“That diet regimen the missus put you on clearly isn’t working, is it?” Sam said as he struggled to pull the paper out from under Gene’s arse. Gene smirked, refusing to take the bait.
“Big night tonight?” He asked.
“Why? Darts match?” Sam continued to shuffle through his papers.
“I was asking you.”
“Asking me what?”
“My, she must be gorgeous, putting your brain on the fritz.”
“Who?”
“Bird you’re hoping to shag.”
“What bird...woman? Hunt, what are you on about?” Sam finally turned in his chair and looked straight at him.
“Come off it, Tyler. Can’t hide from the Gene Genie. Checking the clock, staring into space. You telling me you don’t have date tonight?”
“Tonight? No,” Sam looked away and closed the folder he was working on.
“Ah,” Gene tapped his nose. “Not tonight, eh?”
Sam rose from his desk and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.
“Good night, Guv,” he said primly, tossing on his coat as he walked to the door.
“Have fun tomorrow night, Sammy-boy!”
“Goodbye, Gene!”
Hunt leaned back and watched his DI scurry out of the office. There had been no direct admission from Sam, but Gene knew the truth. He’d get all the details come Monday morning.
*
Sam adjusted his collar as he walked down the pavement. He made sure his shirt was tucked in and that his hair wasn’t askew. It was getting a bit long. Though, the last time he went to get it cut, the hairdresser had just laughed and said it was already short enough.
Noticing he was nearing the house, he pulled the last touch from his pocket - tying the red and white scarf loosely around his neck before knocking on the door.
“Hiya, Ryan. Ready for the match?”
“Can’t wait,” the boy smiled and hurried outside, closing the door behind him.
“Should you tell your mum you’re leaving?”
“She’s not home.”
“Oh. Where is she?”
“Out with this bloke,” he shrugged.
“Is he a boyfriend or...” Sam saw Ryan’s cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “Sorry. From now on, I promise I won’t be a detective.”
“’S alright.”
They walked silently toward the pitch, soon falling in with a crowd of United fans. Sam had no idea what to say. Instead, he kept sticking his hands in his pockets and removing them, fiddling with his scarf, and straightening his jacket. He always had trouble with children or, in Ryan’s case, teenagers. Sam had spent most of his own teenage years locked in his room with his guitar, listening to New Order rather than hanging out with mates. He had trouble understanding how teenagers worked. He wondered if Ryan even listened to music and if so, what kinds. The boy didn’t seem like the Marc Bolan type.
“So, that bloke who killed me dad?”
“Hm? Oh, Pete Bonds.” Sam was startled by Ryan’s question, but soon found himself on solid ground.
“Yeah. His trial’s soon, innit?” Ryan asked, staring at the ground as they walked.
“Scheduled to begin next week, I believe. I’ll have to check the calendar for the exact day.”
They walked a few more steps in silence, listening to chants of “come on you Reds!”
“So,” Ryan began again. “So, you think they’ll convict him or...”
“Well, we have his confession, a witness, and all the physical evidence besides. I’d say the chances are good,” Sam smiled solemnly. Ryan simply nodded. There were four more silent steps before Ryan asked another question.
“Is it hard? Being a copper?”
“Sometimes. Depends on how the rest of your team cooperates. You thinking of joining up?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t know what I want to do yet. Thinking about driving trucks, like me dad. His boss, Mr. Mackey, said there’s always a job for me there. But, I don’t know. I think Mum wants me to stay in school. Go to the polytechnic or uni or summat. I don’t know,” Ryan shrugged.
“Well, you’ve a few years to decide. No need to rush into anything, is there?”
“S’pose not. When did you decide you wanted to be a copper?”
“When I was four. Except one year when I was eight, my cousin convinced me we should be Muppets.”
“What’s a muppet?”
“Nevermind,” Sam coughed and reached into his pockets, searching for their tickets.
At the pitch, Sam bought some snacks and (non-alcoholic) drinks and together, he and Ryan sat down to enjoy the match. The game kept them both occupied and entertained and slowly, Sam began to relax. There was no need for conversation while they were joining in cheers for their beloved Reds.
However, after the game, and a disappointing loss, Sam once again began to feel awkward and uncomfortable. He and Ryan scrutinized every play of the match, but soon even that conversation dried up.
“You hungry?” Sam asked as they passed a pasty shop.
“Sure.”
Securing a lamb and mint for himself and a bacon and cheese for Ryan, Sam sat them on the curb of a calm street.
“How is your mum?” Sam asked when the quiet became too much.
“Alright. I guess. She don’t talk about it much. About Dad.”
“My mum was the same. Well, my dad left when I was much younger than you, but when I got older, about your age, I tried asking her about him. She wouldn’t say much. Still doesn’t,” Sam sighed and, after a brief stare into space, took another bite of his pasty.
“So...is that normal, then?” Ryan asked hesitantly, picking at the crust of his pastry.
“Is what normal?” Sam replied as he swallowed.
“Mums. Not...not wanting to talk about it.”
Sam rested his hands on his knees, his pasty held between them.
“I think our mums want to protect us. I think they’re afraid of hurting us if they talk about something we can’t have. Someone we can’t...”
“How old were you when your Dad left?”
“Four. Why I wanted to become a policeman. I thought I’d be able to find him.”
“Did you?”
“I...no. I thought I had, but turns out he wasn’t the man I thought he was,” Sam held back his disappointment well, he thought, though he’d suddenly lost his appetite.
“Did your mum ever remarry?” Ryan asked.
“No. There was one man she dated for awhile, in the Eight...about ten years later, but it didn’t work out. I don’t think he liked me very much and I certainly didn’t like him. Fined him for speeding my first year on the force, actually,” Sam remembered with great amusement. He managed to take another bite of his pasty.
“My mum, she’s seeing this bloke. I don’t like him much. Don’t you think it’s too soon? Dad’s not even been dead a year.”
“Well, I don’t know your mother.”
“Haven’t even had the trial yet and she’s off shagging this other bloke,” Ryan’s pasty was crumpling in his hands as his anger bubbled to the surface.
“Whoa whoa whoa. Now, hang on. How do you know that?” Sam tried to calm him.
“Well...well, I don’t. But, he’s taken her for coffee a few times. And to dinner at that fancy French restaurant on the high street.”
“She could just be looking for companionship. Someone her own age. My mum did the same. Has your mum ever spent the night at his?”
“No.”
“As he ever spent the night at yours?”
“No.”
“So, how do you know?”
Ryan shrugged.
“Wayne says she’s probably not. But the other lads at school...”
“Ah. Word of advice. And I can tell you this from first hand experience - never ever listen to the lads at school. Except your best mate, they’ll all talk bollocks. The whole lot of ‘em. They’ll think they’re better than you cos you’re different. Because you don’t have a dad. But you know what? It’s you that’s better than them.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?” Ryan scoffed.
“Because you’re stronger than they are. You’ve been through something no one should have to go through, not at your age, and you’ve survived.”
“Maybe you have. But, how do I know...”
“You believe you will and you will.”
“Sounds sort of...”
“Stupid? Trust me, I know,” Sam smiled. “But I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. So, next time those boys give you trouble, you just ignore them. If that doesn’t work, tell ‘em to piss off. And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you know a Detective Inspector whose DCI wouldn’t mind if they were thrown in cells for a night or two.”
“Would you really do that?” Ryan grinned.
“Well, harassment is a crime,” Sam grinned back. Ryan looked at his cold, uneaten pasty.
“Thanks, DI Tyler.”
“Sam. And you’re welcome. Now, is it just me, or is that an ice cream truck down there? C’mon. A ninety-nine. My treat.” Sam pat him on the back and rose from the pavement. Ryan followed suit and together, they walked down the street, silence overtaking them once again.
“So, Ryan,” Sam began as they waited in the queue. “Have you ever heard of T. Rex?”
*
“Well, how’d it go?”
“How’d what go?”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t a happy shagging Sammy over the weekend?” Gene rested his feet on his desk and crossed his arms, waiting for the lad to break under the pressure and confess. Sam closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
“No, Guv. I was not a happy shagging Sammy,” he responded coldly, tossing a file next to Gene’s feet.
“Turn you down did she? Didn’t buy the whole ‘not the size that matters’ argument, eh?”
“There was no girl, Gene,” Sam rolled his eyes and turned round, ready to leave.
“Ah. So he turned you...”
“There was no he. There was no she. There was no date. Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone has to do the work around here.”
“Should’ve just paid her a little extra. Would’ve done whatever you said for a few extra quid. They always do,” Gene shouted after him, but Sam swept out of the office with no reply. Through the blinds, Gene watched him go, certain his instincts had not failed him.
No matter. He’d pry the dirty details out of Tyler after a few drinks at the Arms. The poor sod was probably just upset over United’s weekend loss.
Author: dak
Word Count: 2021
Rating: white cortina
Pairing: none
Warnings: none (surprise!)
Summary: Sam takes Ryan to the match.
A/N: A happy!Sam fic for mikes_grrl who asked for a follow-up to 1.05, where Sam does take Ryan to a match, like he offered. I don't know if it's happy, but it's not angsty. Does that count?
Friday was drawing to an uneventful close, much like every other night that week. The criminal scum of Manchester had appeared to take the week off and though peace in his city is what Hunt wanted, he had to admit he was itching for a bit of excitement. So, when he noticed Tyler’s odd behavior, he couldn’t help but find himself intrigued.
Granted, Tyler was always odd and to the general CID population, he didn’t appear any odder than usual. But, to the well-honed eye of the Guv, the differences were obvious.
First off, there was the way he was looking at the clock. Tyler never checked the clock. He was never concerned with when his shift would end. In fact, there were some nights Gene didn’t think Sam ever left the station.
Secondly, Sam kept crumpling up reports and tossing them away. Gene hadn’t seen him have that much trouble since he’d arrived. Those first weeks, it was like Tyler had never seen carbon paper before. Lately, though, he’d had no trouble. Except for today, when every piece was causing a problem.
Thirdly, it was the way Sam kept staring off into space. Again, not an unusual behavior for DI Tyler. But, the frequency of the stares was different and their duration shorter than Tyler’s normal turns - more like a normal person simply stopping in nervous thought.
Looking to shake up his otherwise normal week, the Gene Genie decided a littler interrogation was in order. He waited until Tyler wasn’t looking, then strode over and perched himself on the edge of the desk - right on the paper Sam had been blindly reaching for.
“So...” Gene crossed his arms and looked over his shoulder at Tyler. An aggravated sigh and eye roll were the initial responses.
“That diet regimen the missus put you on clearly isn’t working, is it?” Sam said as he struggled to pull the paper out from under Gene’s arse. Gene smirked, refusing to take the bait.
“Big night tonight?” He asked.
“Why? Darts match?” Sam continued to shuffle through his papers.
“I was asking you.”
“Asking me what?”
“My, she must be gorgeous, putting your brain on the fritz.”
“Who?”
“Bird you’re hoping to shag.”
“What bird...woman? Hunt, what are you on about?” Sam finally turned in his chair and looked straight at him.
“Come off it, Tyler. Can’t hide from the Gene Genie. Checking the clock, staring into space. You telling me you don’t have date tonight?”
“Tonight? No,” Sam looked away and closed the folder he was working on.
“Ah,” Gene tapped his nose. “Not tonight, eh?”
Sam rose from his desk and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.
“Good night, Guv,” he said primly, tossing on his coat as he walked to the door.
“Have fun tomorrow night, Sammy-boy!”
“Goodbye, Gene!”
Hunt leaned back and watched his DI scurry out of the office. There had been no direct admission from Sam, but Gene knew the truth. He’d get all the details come Monday morning.
*
Sam adjusted his collar as he walked down the pavement. He made sure his shirt was tucked in and that his hair wasn’t askew. It was getting a bit long. Though, the last time he went to get it cut, the hairdresser had just laughed and said it was already short enough.
Noticing he was nearing the house, he pulled the last touch from his pocket - tying the red and white scarf loosely around his neck before knocking on the door.
“Hiya, Ryan. Ready for the match?”
“Can’t wait,” the boy smiled and hurried outside, closing the door behind him.
“Should you tell your mum you’re leaving?”
“She’s not home.”
“Oh. Where is she?”
“Out with this bloke,” he shrugged.
“Is he a boyfriend or...” Sam saw Ryan’s cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “Sorry. From now on, I promise I won’t be a detective.”
“’S alright.”
They walked silently toward the pitch, soon falling in with a crowd of United fans. Sam had no idea what to say. Instead, he kept sticking his hands in his pockets and removing them, fiddling with his scarf, and straightening his jacket. He always had trouble with children or, in Ryan’s case, teenagers. Sam had spent most of his own teenage years locked in his room with his guitar, listening to New Order rather than hanging out with mates. He had trouble understanding how teenagers worked. He wondered if Ryan even listened to music and if so, what kinds. The boy didn’t seem like the Marc Bolan type.
“So, that bloke who killed me dad?”
“Hm? Oh, Pete Bonds.” Sam was startled by Ryan’s question, but soon found himself on solid ground.
“Yeah. His trial’s soon, innit?” Ryan asked, staring at the ground as they walked.
“Scheduled to begin next week, I believe. I’ll have to check the calendar for the exact day.”
They walked a few more steps in silence, listening to chants of “come on you Reds!”
“So,” Ryan began again. “So, you think they’ll convict him or...”
“Well, we have his confession, a witness, and all the physical evidence besides. I’d say the chances are good,” Sam smiled solemnly. Ryan simply nodded. There were four more silent steps before Ryan asked another question.
“Is it hard? Being a copper?”
“Sometimes. Depends on how the rest of your team cooperates. You thinking of joining up?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t know what I want to do yet. Thinking about driving trucks, like me dad. His boss, Mr. Mackey, said there’s always a job for me there. But, I don’t know. I think Mum wants me to stay in school. Go to the polytechnic or uni or summat. I don’t know,” Ryan shrugged.
“Well, you’ve a few years to decide. No need to rush into anything, is there?”
“S’pose not. When did you decide you wanted to be a copper?”
“When I was four. Except one year when I was eight, my cousin convinced me we should be Muppets.”
“What’s a muppet?”
“Nevermind,” Sam coughed and reached into his pockets, searching for their tickets.
At the pitch, Sam bought some snacks and (non-alcoholic) drinks and together, he and Ryan sat down to enjoy the match. The game kept them both occupied and entertained and slowly, Sam began to relax. There was no need for conversation while they were joining in cheers for their beloved Reds.
However, after the game, and a disappointing loss, Sam once again began to feel awkward and uncomfortable. He and Ryan scrutinized every play of the match, but soon even that conversation dried up.
“You hungry?” Sam asked as they passed a pasty shop.
“Sure.”
Securing a lamb and mint for himself and a bacon and cheese for Ryan, Sam sat them on the curb of a calm street.
“How is your mum?” Sam asked when the quiet became too much.
“Alright. I guess. She don’t talk about it much. About Dad.”
“My mum was the same. Well, my dad left when I was much younger than you, but when I got older, about your age, I tried asking her about him. She wouldn’t say much. Still doesn’t,” Sam sighed and, after a brief stare into space, took another bite of his pasty.
“So...is that normal, then?” Ryan asked hesitantly, picking at the crust of his pastry.
“Is what normal?” Sam replied as he swallowed.
“Mums. Not...not wanting to talk about it.”
Sam rested his hands on his knees, his pasty held between them.
“I think our mums want to protect us. I think they’re afraid of hurting us if they talk about something we can’t have. Someone we can’t...”
“How old were you when your Dad left?”
“Four. Why I wanted to become a policeman. I thought I’d be able to find him.”
“Did you?”
“I...no. I thought I had, but turns out he wasn’t the man I thought he was,” Sam held back his disappointment well, he thought, though he’d suddenly lost his appetite.
“Did your mum ever remarry?” Ryan asked.
“No. There was one man she dated for awhile, in the Eight...about ten years later, but it didn’t work out. I don’t think he liked me very much and I certainly didn’t like him. Fined him for speeding my first year on the force, actually,” Sam remembered with great amusement. He managed to take another bite of his pasty.
“My mum, she’s seeing this bloke. I don’t like him much. Don’t you think it’s too soon? Dad’s not even been dead a year.”
“Well, I don’t know your mother.”
“Haven’t even had the trial yet and she’s off shagging this other bloke,” Ryan’s pasty was crumpling in his hands as his anger bubbled to the surface.
“Whoa whoa whoa. Now, hang on. How do you know that?” Sam tried to calm him.
“Well...well, I don’t. But, he’s taken her for coffee a few times. And to dinner at that fancy French restaurant on the high street.”
“She could just be looking for companionship. Someone her own age. My mum did the same. Has your mum ever spent the night at his?”
“No.”
“As he ever spent the night at yours?”
“No.”
“So, how do you know?”
Ryan shrugged.
“Wayne says she’s probably not. But the other lads at school...”
“Ah. Word of advice. And I can tell you this from first hand experience - never ever listen to the lads at school. Except your best mate, they’ll all talk bollocks. The whole lot of ‘em. They’ll think they’re better than you cos you’re different. Because you don’t have a dad. But you know what? It’s you that’s better than them.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?” Ryan scoffed.
“Because you’re stronger than they are. You’ve been through something no one should have to go through, not at your age, and you’ve survived.”
“Maybe you have. But, how do I know...”
“You believe you will and you will.”
“Sounds sort of...”
“Stupid? Trust me, I know,” Sam smiled. “But I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. So, next time those boys give you trouble, you just ignore them. If that doesn’t work, tell ‘em to piss off. And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you know a Detective Inspector whose DCI wouldn’t mind if they were thrown in cells for a night or two.”
“Would you really do that?” Ryan grinned.
“Well, harassment is a crime,” Sam grinned back. Ryan looked at his cold, uneaten pasty.
“Thanks, DI Tyler.”
“Sam. And you’re welcome. Now, is it just me, or is that an ice cream truck down there? C’mon. A ninety-nine. My treat.” Sam pat him on the back and rose from the pavement. Ryan followed suit and together, they walked down the street, silence overtaking them once again.
“So, Ryan,” Sam began as they waited in the queue. “Have you ever heard of T. Rex?”
*
“Well, how’d it go?”
“How’d what go?”
“Don’t tell me you weren’t a happy shagging Sammy over the weekend?” Gene rested his feet on his desk and crossed his arms, waiting for the lad to break under the pressure and confess. Sam closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
“No, Guv. I was not a happy shagging Sammy,” he responded coldly, tossing a file next to Gene’s feet.
“Turn you down did she? Didn’t buy the whole ‘not the size that matters’ argument, eh?”
“There was no girl, Gene,” Sam rolled his eyes and turned round, ready to leave.
“Ah. So he turned you...”
“There was no he. There was no she. There was no date. Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone has to do the work around here.”
“Should’ve just paid her a little extra. Would’ve done whatever you said for a few extra quid. They always do,” Gene shouted after him, but Sam swept out of the office with no reply. Through the blinds, Gene watched him go, certain his instincts had not failed him.
No matter. He’d pry the dirty details out of Tyler after a few drinks at the Arms. The poor sod was probably just upset over United’s weekend loss.