Fic: One Little Mistake (1/1), brown cortina, sam/gene, dakfinv
Title: One Little Mistake (1/1)
Author: dak
Word Count: 4812 words
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, mild violence, sexual situations, swearing
Pairing: Sam/Gene, Sam/OMC
Summary: After a heated, possible relationship ending argument with Gene, Sam allows his anger to consume him. But that one mistake surely won't cost him.
A/N: I've been promising culf this fic forever. As per usual, blame her for its existence.
“You cannot disregard my advice regarding the Connelly case, humiliate me in front of our team, then expect me to come home and let you shag me without so much as an apology!”
“Work is work. Home is home. That was the deal. Your deal, if I remember. But since we’re on the subject, that scabby mick got everything he deserved, it’s my team and you’re a part of it, and I’ve done nowt worth apologizing for!”
“Sean Connelly was a man and he was murdered. He deserves a full and proper investigation into his death as much as anyone else. And I do not deserve a public lashing for admitting that to the rest of your team!”
“What would you prefer? A pat on the head? An, ‘Oh that’s a nice idea, my young Sam, but allow me to explain the situation like this?’”
“Heaven forbid we ever discuss anything with such civility, Guv. No, by all means, let’s always solve our disagreements with a punch-up in the toilets. I love it when you slam my head into the cubicle wall.”
“I didn’t hurt you, you great nancy. Not my fault you can’t hold your own in a fight with the Gene Genie.”
“That’s right. I forgot. You’re the Gene Genie. The Great Guv. A walking, talking, belching, fighting, farting, racist stereotype with no real man hiding behind the bad cop persona. I should’ve known better than to think I could imagine up someone that complex.”
“You weren’t complaining ‘bout this belching, fighting, racist whatsit yesterday when he was playing shit-stabber to your uphill gardener.”
“No, but he was when I suggested we switch positions for once. See, turns out he can fuck as many men as he wants. Doesn’t make him a real poofter till he takes it up the arse himself!”
*
Although he had slammed the door hard enough for Gene’s windows to rattle in their panes, the action had not served as an outlet for Sam’s frustrations. In fact, it had only channeled his anger further.
A run through the misty streets failed to release any of his nervous energy. It only made him more wired.
He tried running some more. He tried throwing his foot into a rubbish bin, his hand into a brick wall. All for nowt.
When he found himself on Canal Street, Sam was filled with more rage, energy, and pain than he’d had when he’d first run out on Gene.
When he found his week’s wages still stuck in his back pocket, he removed the wad of bills, running his fingers over the coarse paper.
When he saw that boy smiling coyly at him from the corner, Sam handed over the notes and screwed him into his filthy sheets until the dull, gray light of morning peeked through the cracked windows, until bruises covered both aching bodies, until Sam convinced himself he didn’t acre about Connelly, about Gene, about anything.
*
Annie placed a hot cuppa on his desk before he even had the chance to sit down.
“How’s your flu, then?” She asked.
“Better, I think. Well enough to get some work done,” he smiled, taking off his jacket and draping it across the back of his chair.
“Still look a bit peaky to me. I’d take another day, I were you. ‘Specially seeing’s how hard you’ve been working lately. Look a bit thinner, too. Did you even eat that soup I brought round?”
“Three days off is enough, Annie. And yes, I ate the soup and it was delicious. Thank you.” He sat down feeling more exhausted than he hoped he looked.
“Decided to come in, I see,” Gene swept past them as he removed his gloves. “I expected those reports Monday, Tyler.”
Sam let him disappear into his office without a reply. He stared down at his desk, not fighting the scowl he felt overtake him.
“Still rough between you two?” Annie said with concern.
“It’s fine.”
“Oh really? You and the Guv haven’t had a civil word for almost three months now.”
“Hunt doesn’t do civility. In fact, I’m not sure he even knows what it means,” Sam sneered.
“Well, whatever it is, you lot better sort it out. You’re worrying the team.”
Annie left it at that and went back to her desk. Sam was surprised how easy it was not to care, but he didn’t let that revelation bother him. There were too many other things demanding his attention.
*
She said nothing, simply stared at him from her post by his bed.
“What is now?” Sam grumbled, too tired for hysterics.
“You’ve been a very naughty boy, Sam,” she said with a smile.
Sam, for his part, turned his head into his pillow. When he looked up, she was standing on the other side of him.
“You like being naughty, don’t you? What would your mummy say?”
“She’d say I was hallucinating,” he answered.
“I hope you washed your hands,” she grinned.
Sam turned back into his pillow, pressing his hands tight over his ears. He waited like that for five minutes, just to be sure, and when he looked again, she had finally vanished. It was no use sleeping, though. As tired as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to sit still. He adjusted his body every way possible, but as soon as he found a comfortable position, he felt the urge to move.
He climbed out of bed, pacing five laps around his flat before going into the bathroom and splashing cold water over his face and through his hair. As he dried his hands on a rough towel, Sam realized he had an erection. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he thought, sighing. After all, the last time he’d tossed one off, as Gene might put it, was before he’d come down with that bastard flu.
Taking care of the problem coldly and clinically, Sam cleaned himself up and finally fell asleep - on the seat of the toilet.
*
He tapped his foot with manic energy because he knew how much it was pissing off Hunt. However, because they were desperate to present a unified front to Sticky Nicky Brooks, Hunt kept his mouth shut. Sam could see how much keeping quiet irked his guv’nor. He tapped his foot faster.
“Tyler,” Hunt finally addressed him, thinly concealing the sneer in his voice.
“Yes, Guv?” He replied cheerily.
“A word outside?”
“Absolutely, Guv. Be back in a mo, Nicky,” Sam smiled and walked calmly out of the room, Hunt close behind. As soon as they were in the corridor, Hunt grabbed him by his jacket and threw him against the bulletin board, pinning him in place. Sam felt the tacks digging into his back. He pressed back harder.
“Are you deliberately trying to be a pain in my arse?”
“Not anymore,” Sam smirked.
Gene let go of him with a shove. Sam let his head bounce off the board.
“Careful, Guv. You know that gets me randy,” he continued to grin.
“Watch your mouth,” Hunt snapped, glancing around the empty corridor.
“Can’t. Less I’m looking in a mirror.” Sam straightened his jacket.
“Think you’re clever, do you?”
“Moreso than you. But I’ve never denied that. Nor has anyone else.”
Hunt crossed his arms and stared at him darkly.
“Been acting funny ever since you returned from that sickie. What’s gotten into you?”
“Well, not you, Guv,” Sam smiled, then paused in faux-thought. “I think his name’s David. Now, are we going to get Brooks’ confession or stand here jabbering in the hall?”
Sam returned to Lost and Found before Hunt could punch him in the stomach.
*
The way Gene had pressed his body against his. The way Gene’s breath had grazed his face. The way their legs had tangled when Gene had held him against that wall. They hadn’t been that close in weeks. Months.
Masturbating in the bathroom wasn’t enough. He needed someone else’s touch. He needed human contact. He knew he should have been exhausted by the time he reached the Canal, having run most the way, but he wasn’t. He was exhilarated, anxious. More turned on than a teenager at his first skin flick. Sam soon found the boy he was looking for.
“You again?” The lad smiled. “C’mon, then.”
Sam said nothing until they were locked in the boy’s dreary bedsit.
“The usual?” He asked as he counted the money Sam had handed him.
“Actually, I...I was,” he started, the energy inside him causing him to stutter. “I was hoping for something...more,” he finished weakly.
“More?” The boy asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Uhm, different. I don’t know,” he ran his hand through his hair and stared at the floor.
“What you into?” He asked, hiding the money away and striding over.
“Well...” Sam gasped as the boy’s fingers went underneath his shirt and ran up his chest. The touch was electric. “I’m up for anything,” he smiled, lifting his head to meet the boy’s gaze, then leaning forward and kissing him. He tasted the come of another man. He groaned in pleasure and pulled the boy closer. The boy turned his head and licked Sam’s ear.
“I’ll get me kit,” he whispered.
*
The sky was a brilliant blue. The air was warm. A gentle breeze blew, tingling his skin.
“Electric,” Sam smiled, letting his fingers brush against the rough brick walls of Manchester as he walked to work. “This place,” he sighed, “Why haven’t I noticed it before?”
He jogged up the station steps, relishing the sound his Cuban heels made as they slapped against the concrete.
Phyllis was hanging a notice in the lobby when he entered. Sam, feeling playful due to the good weather, grabbed her from behind, spun her round, and kissed her on the cheek.
“Boss?” She asked in disbelief, not hurrying to push him away.
“Morning, Phyllis,” he grinned.
“Have a good weekend, DI Tyler?”
“Brilliant. Bloody brilliant,” he sighed and decided to take the stairs. He had too much energy to contain it in a lift. On the 3rd Floor, he hurried to his desk, eager to finish the Brooks report. And maybe the Pitt as well. And maybe he’d go down to Collator’s and pull out a few cold cases. There was so much he could accomplish today.
Sam stared at his desk.
“I left it right there,” he spoke to himself. “Where is it?” He’d left the Brooks case in the middle of his desk. Now, it was gone. “It has to be here somewhere.” He frantically searched his in tray, his out tray, his rubbish bin, his desk drawers. “It has to be here!”
“Sam? Something wrong?”
He lifted his head as Annie approached.
“Annie, have you seen the Brooks file?”
“Brooks...?”
“Nicholas Brooks. I left it right here and now it’s gone. If Hunt took it before...”
“Sam, you finished that report last Friday,” she said with a worried smile.
“I did?”
“I was here when you signed it and put it in the Guv’s office. Said something about hoping he knew how to read.”
“Oh. Right,” he nodded uncertainly. “You’re sure it was the Brooks report?”
“Course I am. You’d been working on it all day. Check DCI Hunt’s desk if you don’t believe me. He’s not in yet. He wouldn’t have moved it.”
“No, no. I believe you, Annie. Sorry.” His earlier euphoria gone, Sam slumped into his chair.
“Sam, is everything alright?” Annie placed a hand on his shoulder. The heat from that simple touch was comforting, and a bit exciting.
“Long weekend. It’s nothing,” he smiled reassuringly, hoping the hand would never leave. Perhaps drop a little lower...
“If you need anything...”
“I know,” he said, straightening up. “Now go on. I’m sure you’ve better things to do than keep me company.”
Sam’s mood slumped again as Annie’s warm hand left his cold shoulder.
“Well, you know where to find me.”
As soon as she left CID, Sam leapt from his chair and hurried into Hunt’s office. There, sat in the center of his desk, was the Brooks file. Sam grabbed it and flipped it open. It was finished. He had signed it.
“How could I have forgotten?” He wondered aloud, then placed the file back on the desk.
Sam spent the rest of the day at his own desk, pretending to work on open cases while he all he really did was try and write down the lyrics of every New Order song from memory.
*
“Can’t have much to live on, you keep giving it all to me,” the boy smiled as he stashed Sam’s payment.
“I get by,” he shrugged.
“So, what’ll it be tonight?”
Sam blushed before he spoke, the mere memory of their last encounter causing his breath to quicken.
“You know that...thing...you did with the...balls...and, the uhm...”
“Mmm,” the boy purred. “I thought you liked that,” he grinned, stripping Sam of his jacket.
“Just...could you use less lube this time?”
“Less?”
“I want to feel it. Really feel it.” Sam closed his eyes and felt as the boy unbuckled his belt.
“Customer’s always right, ain’t he?”
“My world. My rules,” Sam grinned. “Which reminds me...” He placed his hands on the boy’s head and gently pushed him to his knees. “Why don’t you start down there, tonight?”
*
“Chris. Chris! Have you seen my pen?”
“Your pen, boss?” Skelton slowly lowered the ciggie from his lips.
“Yes, Chris. My pen. Long. Cylindrical. Point at the end which releases ink.” Sam had crossed his arms, but tapped his fingers against his elbow.
“Erm, you mean the pen you lent me?”
“When did I loan you a pen?”
“Yesterday.”
“You sure?”
“Erm, I think so? I have it round here somewhere, if you want it back,” Chris hurriedly scoured his desk, knocking over an ash tray, his 3rd Place darts trophy, and a stack of witness statements in the process. “Bugger,” he sighed.
“Never mind. Keep it.” Sam left Chris to his mess and headed for the stationary cupboard.
“Forgetful lately, aren’t we?”
Sam pretended he’d known Hunt had been standing next to the cupboard.
“Piss off,” he said, haphazardly searching the shelves for a fresh biro.
“Not so chipper today, are we? Lately you’ve been all sunshine and happy pills.” Hunt flicked ash from his cigarette onto Sam’s shoe.
“I like the nice weather,” Sam answered, ignoring the ash and grabbing a pen.
“It’s raining today.”
“Explains my foul mood then, doesn’t it?” Sam slammed the cupboard drawers shut. Hunt grabbed him by the elbow, preventing him from leaving. Though it was completely inappropriate, the touch went straight to his cock. Sam prided himself on wearing looser trousers today.
“Sam. It’s been months.”
“Having trouble with abstinence?” Sam sneered and tried to pull away. Hunt yanked him back.
“It’s hurting the team. We need to talk.”
“I wouldn’t want to debase my guv’nor by partaking in such a poncey exercise, would I?” Sam finally wrenched his elbow free, but did not run off.
“You want to keep acting like this, Tyler? Fine. But let me tell you - it’ll end with a transfer for one of us, and I sure as hell ain’t leaving.” Hunt dropped his fag to the floor and crushed it under his worn loafer before turning and heading to his office.
Sam knew the words should have stung, and they did. But, the way Gene had held him tight in his grasp, it felt like every, little nerve in his body was lighting up, sending shock waves through his body. Gene’s words should not have hurt so good.
Sam closed his eyes and laughed. No matter how Gene managed to hurt him, it always managed to feel good. Too good. Sam bit his lip, half-heartedly trying to get his urges under control. He slipped his new pen in his pocket and stumbled into the corridor, hoping for some fresh air.
What he found was a gaggle of pretty, young WPC’s wearing perfume that reminded him of Maya and a new PC holding his barely used helmet, his shaggy curls reminding Sam of that very caring bunkmate he’d had while in the Academy.
“Well, as a senior officer, it is my duty to introduce myself,” he grinned, forgetting about Hunt and running his fingers through his hair, making sure it was mussed a bit. Maya always loved that. Gene, too.
“Good morning, ladies. Gentleman,” he smiled, holding his hands behind his back.
“I believe it’s afternoon, DI Tyler,” WPC Fredricks corrected him. She was a lovely thing. Big blue eyes. Gorgeous curves. Sam made a pretense of checking his watch.
“So it is, officer. My sincerest apologies.” He winked at her, then smiled at the next girl - WPC Mahoney. “And who is our new friend, Melissa?”
WPC Mahoney blushed at the use of her first name. Lovely blonde hair, she had.
“This is PC Kenworthy, sir. Brand new. Just started today.”
“Really?” Sam grinned, turning his attention to the shy, new boy. “Well, in that case, welcome to the force, PC Kenworthy.” Sam outstretched his hand. Kenworthy wrapped his own in Sam’s. His skin was so smooth, not yet scarred by years of brutal police work.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. And call me Sam.”
“Ryan,” the lad said.
“Ryan. Ryan,” Sam repeated, rolling the name off his tongue. “Good name. Strong. Think you’ll do well in our little corner of hell.”
“Tyler!” Hunt bellowed from CID’s doorway. “Going to flirt all day or try your hand at a bit of policing?”
“I’m sorry. It appears my Neanderthal is calling. Have a good first day, Ryan. Ladies,” Sam left them with a smile and strode back towards Hunt with his hands in his pockets, ignoring Hunt’s jealous glare and thanking God for the loose trousers.
*
“Sorry, mate. Told you I don’t do threesomes.”
“I know. I know. Sorry. Is there something...do you have a...a dildo?”
“No need to whisper it, man.” The boy stroked Sam’s sides, soothing him. “Course I do. A few actually.” He pressed his body closer, rubbing his thigh against Sam’s erection. “What do you want, eh? A nice big one, I bet. Biggest cock I’ve got, yeah?” He whispered into Sam’s ear.
“Yes. Oh God yes,” Sam moaned back.
“Christ. Horny as fuck tonight aren’t you?” The boy laughed, beginning his work on Sam’s trousers.
“It’s like...like I can’t control it. Not anymore. Every day, night, I need more,” he hastily undid the buttons on the boy’s shirt. “So much more,” he blew warm air over the lad’s exposed nipple before slowly licking the delicate skin.
“I know what that’s like,” the boy purred. “So, who’ll I be tonight?”
“Tonight...tonight your name is Ryan,” Sam grinned into the lad’s smooth chest. “And I’m going to fuck you into the floor.”
*
It was sunny today. Too sunny. Sam wished he knew where he’d laid his sunglasses. It would’ve made it easier to stare at the hostage taker’s glimmering knife.
“He’s talking bollocks, Guv,” Sam rolled his eyes as the man shouted his pointless demands for the umpteenth time.
“I believe Miss Cindy Drew there would care to differ,” Hunt argued, nodding to the sobbing hostage.
“He’s not actually going to use the knife. Stabbing someone is a very personal action. He wouldn’t do that to a complete stranger.”
“She’s his ex-wife, you bloody moron!”
Sam cocked his head to the side.
“How do you know that?”
“I told you that on the flipping drive here, you div! Where the bloody hell’s your brain been?”
“Don’t come any closer. I’ll hurt her! I swear!” The young man shouted. Sam could see the fear in his eyes.
“He won’t do it. He’s too scared.” Sam lowered his gun and set it on a nearby crate.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Hunt screamed.
“I’m going to talk with him,” Sam announced, moving in front of the protective barrier.
“Like hell you are. Tyler, get back here. Tyler! Tyler, that’s an order!” Hunt kept shouting and Sam kept ignoring him.
“Hiya mate,” he smiled, addressing the frantic man.
“I said don’t come any closer!”
“They always say that,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m unarmed,” he said in an exasperated voice.
“I don’t care! You stay back. You hear me?”
Sam kept walking closer, ignoring the man’s warnings.
“Look, I know you’re scared. I would be, too. Except, I’d never be dumb enough to take someone hostage.”
“I told you - stay back!” He pointed the knife at Sam.
“Please listen to him. Please,” the woman begged. The man shook her hard.
“You shut it, Cindy. Shut your mouth!”
“Now, that’s no way to speak to a lady,” Sam scolded.
“Ain’t no lady. She’s a slag! Stupid bitch. And I told you, copper - don’t take another fucking step!” He pointed the knife at Cindy’s neck, then back at Sam.
“It’s against the law to threaten a police officer. Could send you to jail for that,” Sam warned with a smile, stepping closer. “Now give me the knife.
“Like hell I will.”
“C’mon. There’s no way out of this. Hand it over,” Sam sighed, tired of the whole situation.
“You want it so bad? Eh? Do you?”
“This is getting a bit ridiculous, don’t you...”
Sam hadn’t actually felt the knife sink into his stomach. He just noticed the hostage taker pull back his arm and saw the knife covered in blood. Unaware of what was happening around him, Sam tenderly touched the new hole in his gut and held up his fingers. They were coated in blood. Looking up, he saw Gene standing before him. He didn’t know what happened to the hostage taker.
“It’s so warm,” he told Gene, rolling the blood around his fingers, and he laughed. Then his knees gave way. Gene caught him.
“Dammit, Sam.”
In the distance he could hear a heart monitor.
“Ambulance now! And you, you keep your bloody eyes open, you stupid berk.”
He felt Gene lay him on the ground.
“Shh. I think I can hear my mum,” he smiled, gazing up into Gene’s worried eyes. Then he passed out.
*
“I’m listed as next of kin! Anything you say to him, you say to me.”
“Shhhh...too loud,” Sam muttered, cracking open his clouded eyes.
“Sammy? Christ, it’s about time.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It felt good. He smiled.
“Mr. Tyler? Can you hear me? My name is Dr. Massie.”
“I can hear you,” Sam sighed, letting his eyes fall shut.
“Mr. Tyler, there is some information regarding your condition that I would prefer to share with you in private.”
“Only three of us here. Can’t get more private than that,” Gene argued.
“Guv, s’alright.” Sam flopped a hand on top of Gene’s. “Let him tell me. Then I’ll tell you.” He cracked open his eyes. Gene was staring at him with uncertainty. “Please?” He added.
“Not like you to beg,” Gene grumbled. “Fine. But you tell me straight away, soon as he’s finished. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Guv,” Sam agreed, too tired and doped up to argue. Gene left the room with a nod, leaving Sam with the doctor.
“Mr. Tyler...”
“Sam.”
“Sam, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“I gathered that. ‘Bout my injuries? The stabbing?”
“Well, no, actually. See, Sam, when you were admitted, we ran a series of standard blood tests. There were some abnormalities, so we ran a few more tests...”
“Oh God,” Sam was suddenly awake. “Do I have cancer?”
“No. No, no,” the doctor assured him with a laugh. “Nothing quite so serious.”
“But I have something.”
“I’m afraid so. But I assure you, it’s easily treated with antibiotics. Should be out of your system in a few weeks.”
The doctor told him. Sam laughed until he ran out of breath.
*
Sam lay in bed, staring up at the water damaged hospital ceiling. He wondered how it came to be water damaged. He didn’t notice Gene had entered the room until he spoke.
“Well then? Not going to cop it. Are you?”
“No,” Sam sighed, still staring at the ceiling. “I...”
“You what?”
“I have an infection,” he grinned.
“From what? The operation? Is it serious?”
“It’s syphilis,” he announced. “Syphilis,” he repeated, laughing. The whole idea was absurd. “Neurosyphilis,” he laughed again. How was that even possible? He kept laughing until he was sobbing. Gene made no move to comfort him, but neither did he flee the room. He laughed until his side ache, until the tears streamed down his face, until Gene finally placed a hand on his wrist and his breathing evened out.
“Does that mean I...” Gene asked quietly.
“No. I’m fairly certain it was after you left.”
“You’re the one what left.”
“Suppose that’s true,” Sam sighed. There was silence. He stared at the ceiling, allowing the hysterical tremors to make their way through his body.
“Who?” Gene asked.
“Bloke on Canal Street.”
“A rent boy?”
Sam heard the disgusted tone in Gene’s voice.
“We all have needs,” he said.
“Never took you for the type.”
“Neither did I. Amazing, how this place changes you.”
He listened as Gene sat down beside him.
“You’ll have to tell everyone else you’ve been shagging. Reckon the whole Women’s Department will need to be tested, way you’ve been carrying on lately.”
“I hadn’t noticed a change. I felt the same. Only...happier. I only thought I was happy.” Sam shifted in the bed, focusing his eyes on a different patch of ceiling. “There’s not been anyone else. Just the boy.”
“Boy? How old is he?”
“Dunno. Twenty-something.”
“And just him?”
“Just him.”
“Trust you to be monogamous with your whores,” Gene scoffed. Sam kept staring at the ceiling.
“I am a man of commitment.”
“More like a committed man. Were about to have you locked up. All that flirting. Pouting. Talking into phones that weren’t plugged in. And what the bloody hell does ‘blue Monday’ mean?”
“The doctor said it’s because the infection was attacking my brain cells.”
“Just what you need.”
Sam wanted to look at Gene. He stuck with the ceiling. It looked as bare and isolated as he felt.
“It’s permanent, the damage. Brain cells don’t regenerate. I’ll never be me again. Just a sick, useless, horny, piece of shite with poor judgement and an even worse memory.”
“Well, that’s putting a positive spin on it.”
“Depression is another symptom. The doctor said they have pills to help with that. Lucky me.”
Sam never knew a ceiling could be so interesting. So numbing.
“Still recovering from the stabbing. Once you’re back at full strength, we’ll get you sorted out.”
“We? Surprised you’re even talking to me. I should disgust you. I am disgusting.”
He heard Gene adjust in the plastic chair. Heard him flick his lighter as he lit a fag.
“I did National Service, Sam. Seen my fair share of tackle rot - the clap, herpes, syphilis. You name it. Someone had it. Happens to the best of ‘em.”
“Personal experience, I suppose.”
“Not that personal,” Gene was quick to correct. “The Gene Genie always protects his most important equipment.”
Sam tried counting the ceiling tiles but kept losing focus.
“I should care more. Why can’t I feel anything?”
“Cos at the moment, you’ve got more morphine running through your veins than blood. Nasty jab you took. Two surgeries to sort you out.”
“Because I couldn’t read the situation properly. Poor judgement. Permanent poor judgement. Perfect trait for a police officer. I’ll make a great DI.”
“Sam, we don’t know how this’ll work out. Let’s get you fixed up ‘fore we decide owt.”
“Not everything can be fixed, Gene. You said this would end in a transfer. Looks like I’ll be pensioned off instead.”
Gene had no answer for that. Sam smelled the smoke from the cigarette.
“One mistake. I let my anger control me for one night, and I’ll pay for it the rest of my life.”
The smell of smoke became stronger as Gene leaned in and placed a hand on Sam’s arm.
“Christ. Bleeding through your gown,” he said quietly. “Must’ve pulled your stitches with that fit earlier. I’ll fetch the doctor.”
“Will you come back? We should...talk.”
“I’ll be back. But you should rest. Lost a lot of blood.”
“And a lot of brain.”
“Get some rest. Try not to bleed too much.”
Sam listened as Gene opened and shut the door to the private room. He was bleeding again. He hadn’t noticed. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, hoping the bleep of the monitor would make him forget everything.
Even if Sam wakes up...Mrs. Tyler, you have to understand, with an injury and complications such as his, there is a likely possibility of permanent brain damage.
Author: dak
Word Count: 4812 words
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, mild violence, sexual situations, swearing
Pairing: Sam/Gene, Sam/OMC
Summary: After a heated, possible relationship ending argument with Gene, Sam allows his anger to consume him. But that one mistake surely won't cost him.
A/N: I've been promising culf this fic forever. As per usual, blame her for its existence.
“You cannot disregard my advice regarding the Connelly case, humiliate me in front of our team, then expect me to come home and let you shag me without so much as an apology!”
“Work is work. Home is home. That was the deal. Your deal, if I remember. But since we’re on the subject, that scabby mick got everything he deserved, it’s my team and you’re a part of it, and I’ve done nowt worth apologizing for!”
“Sean Connelly was a man and he was murdered. He deserves a full and proper investigation into his death as much as anyone else. And I do not deserve a public lashing for admitting that to the rest of your team!”
“What would you prefer? A pat on the head? An, ‘Oh that’s a nice idea, my young Sam, but allow me to explain the situation like this?’”
“Heaven forbid we ever discuss anything with such civility, Guv. No, by all means, let’s always solve our disagreements with a punch-up in the toilets. I love it when you slam my head into the cubicle wall.”
“I didn’t hurt you, you great nancy. Not my fault you can’t hold your own in a fight with the Gene Genie.”
“That’s right. I forgot. You’re the Gene Genie. The Great Guv. A walking, talking, belching, fighting, farting, racist stereotype with no real man hiding behind the bad cop persona. I should’ve known better than to think I could imagine up someone that complex.”
“You weren’t complaining ‘bout this belching, fighting, racist whatsit yesterday when he was playing shit-stabber to your uphill gardener.”
“No, but he was when I suggested we switch positions for once. See, turns out he can fuck as many men as he wants. Doesn’t make him a real poofter till he takes it up the arse himself!”
*
Although he had slammed the door hard enough for Gene’s windows to rattle in their panes, the action had not served as an outlet for Sam’s frustrations. In fact, it had only channeled his anger further.
A run through the misty streets failed to release any of his nervous energy. It only made him more wired.
He tried running some more. He tried throwing his foot into a rubbish bin, his hand into a brick wall. All for nowt.
When he found himself on Canal Street, Sam was filled with more rage, energy, and pain than he’d had when he’d first run out on Gene.
When he found his week’s wages still stuck in his back pocket, he removed the wad of bills, running his fingers over the coarse paper.
When he saw that boy smiling coyly at him from the corner, Sam handed over the notes and screwed him into his filthy sheets until the dull, gray light of morning peeked through the cracked windows, until bruises covered both aching bodies, until Sam convinced himself he didn’t acre about Connelly, about Gene, about anything.
*
Annie placed a hot cuppa on his desk before he even had the chance to sit down.
“How’s your flu, then?” She asked.
“Better, I think. Well enough to get some work done,” he smiled, taking off his jacket and draping it across the back of his chair.
“Still look a bit peaky to me. I’d take another day, I were you. ‘Specially seeing’s how hard you’ve been working lately. Look a bit thinner, too. Did you even eat that soup I brought round?”
“Three days off is enough, Annie. And yes, I ate the soup and it was delicious. Thank you.” He sat down feeling more exhausted than he hoped he looked.
“Decided to come in, I see,” Gene swept past them as he removed his gloves. “I expected those reports Monday, Tyler.”
Sam let him disappear into his office without a reply. He stared down at his desk, not fighting the scowl he felt overtake him.
“Still rough between you two?” Annie said with concern.
“It’s fine.”
“Oh really? You and the Guv haven’t had a civil word for almost three months now.”
“Hunt doesn’t do civility. In fact, I’m not sure he even knows what it means,” Sam sneered.
“Well, whatever it is, you lot better sort it out. You’re worrying the team.”
Annie left it at that and went back to her desk. Sam was surprised how easy it was not to care, but he didn’t let that revelation bother him. There were too many other things demanding his attention.
*
She said nothing, simply stared at him from her post by his bed.
“What is now?” Sam grumbled, too tired for hysterics.
“You’ve been a very naughty boy, Sam,” she said with a smile.
Sam, for his part, turned his head into his pillow. When he looked up, she was standing on the other side of him.
“You like being naughty, don’t you? What would your mummy say?”
“She’d say I was hallucinating,” he answered.
“I hope you washed your hands,” she grinned.
Sam turned back into his pillow, pressing his hands tight over his ears. He waited like that for five minutes, just to be sure, and when he looked again, she had finally vanished. It was no use sleeping, though. As tired as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to sit still. He adjusted his body every way possible, but as soon as he found a comfortable position, he felt the urge to move.
He climbed out of bed, pacing five laps around his flat before going into the bathroom and splashing cold water over his face and through his hair. As he dried his hands on a rough towel, Sam realized he had an erection. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he thought, sighing. After all, the last time he’d tossed one off, as Gene might put it, was before he’d come down with that bastard flu.
Taking care of the problem coldly and clinically, Sam cleaned himself up and finally fell asleep - on the seat of the toilet.
*
He tapped his foot with manic energy because he knew how much it was pissing off Hunt. However, because they were desperate to present a unified front to Sticky Nicky Brooks, Hunt kept his mouth shut. Sam could see how much keeping quiet irked his guv’nor. He tapped his foot faster.
“Tyler,” Hunt finally addressed him, thinly concealing the sneer in his voice.
“Yes, Guv?” He replied cheerily.
“A word outside?”
“Absolutely, Guv. Be back in a mo, Nicky,” Sam smiled and walked calmly out of the room, Hunt close behind. As soon as they were in the corridor, Hunt grabbed him by his jacket and threw him against the bulletin board, pinning him in place. Sam felt the tacks digging into his back. He pressed back harder.
“Are you deliberately trying to be a pain in my arse?”
“Not anymore,” Sam smirked.
Gene let go of him with a shove. Sam let his head bounce off the board.
“Careful, Guv. You know that gets me randy,” he continued to grin.
“Watch your mouth,” Hunt snapped, glancing around the empty corridor.
“Can’t. Less I’m looking in a mirror.” Sam straightened his jacket.
“Think you’re clever, do you?”
“Moreso than you. But I’ve never denied that. Nor has anyone else.”
Hunt crossed his arms and stared at him darkly.
“Been acting funny ever since you returned from that sickie. What’s gotten into you?”
“Well, not you, Guv,” Sam smiled, then paused in faux-thought. “I think his name’s David. Now, are we going to get Brooks’ confession or stand here jabbering in the hall?”
Sam returned to Lost and Found before Hunt could punch him in the stomach.
*
The way Gene had pressed his body against his. The way Gene’s breath had grazed his face. The way their legs had tangled when Gene had held him against that wall. They hadn’t been that close in weeks. Months.
Masturbating in the bathroom wasn’t enough. He needed someone else’s touch. He needed human contact. He knew he should have been exhausted by the time he reached the Canal, having run most the way, but he wasn’t. He was exhilarated, anxious. More turned on than a teenager at his first skin flick. Sam soon found the boy he was looking for.
“You again?” The lad smiled. “C’mon, then.”
Sam said nothing until they were locked in the boy’s dreary bedsit.
“The usual?” He asked as he counted the money Sam had handed him.
“Actually, I...I was,” he started, the energy inside him causing him to stutter. “I was hoping for something...more,” he finished weakly.
“More?” The boy asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Uhm, different. I don’t know,” he ran his hand through his hair and stared at the floor.
“What you into?” He asked, hiding the money away and striding over.
“Well...” Sam gasped as the boy’s fingers went underneath his shirt and ran up his chest. The touch was electric. “I’m up for anything,” he smiled, lifting his head to meet the boy’s gaze, then leaning forward and kissing him. He tasted the come of another man. He groaned in pleasure and pulled the boy closer. The boy turned his head and licked Sam’s ear.
“I’ll get me kit,” he whispered.
*
The sky was a brilliant blue. The air was warm. A gentle breeze blew, tingling his skin.
“Electric,” Sam smiled, letting his fingers brush against the rough brick walls of Manchester as he walked to work. “This place,” he sighed, “Why haven’t I noticed it before?”
He jogged up the station steps, relishing the sound his Cuban heels made as they slapped against the concrete.
Phyllis was hanging a notice in the lobby when he entered. Sam, feeling playful due to the good weather, grabbed her from behind, spun her round, and kissed her on the cheek.
“Boss?” She asked in disbelief, not hurrying to push him away.
“Morning, Phyllis,” he grinned.
“Have a good weekend, DI Tyler?”
“Brilliant. Bloody brilliant,” he sighed and decided to take the stairs. He had too much energy to contain it in a lift. On the 3rd Floor, he hurried to his desk, eager to finish the Brooks report. And maybe the Pitt as well. And maybe he’d go down to Collator’s and pull out a few cold cases. There was so much he could accomplish today.
Sam stared at his desk.
“I left it right there,” he spoke to himself. “Where is it?” He’d left the Brooks case in the middle of his desk. Now, it was gone. “It has to be here somewhere.” He frantically searched his in tray, his out tray, his rubbish bin, his desk drawers. “It has to be here!”
“Sam? Something wrong?”
He lifted his head as Annie approached.
“Annie, have you seen the Brooks file?”
“Brooks...?”
“Nicholas Brooks. I left it right here and now it’s gone. If Hunt took it before...”
“Sam, you finished that report last Friday,” she said with a worried smile.
“I did?”
“I was here when you signed it and put it in the Guv’s office. Said something about hoping he knew how to read.”
“Oh. Right,” he nodded uncertainly. “You’re sure it was the Brooks report?”
“Course I am. You’d been working on it all day. Check DCI Hunt’s desk if you don’t believe me. He’s not in yet. He wouldn’t have moved it.”
“No, no. I believe you, Annie. Sorry.” His earlier euphoria gone, Sam slumped into his chair.
“Sam, is everything alright?” Annie placed a hand on his shoulder. The heat from that simple touch was comforting, and a bit exciting.
“Long weekend. It’s nothing,” he smiled reassuringly, hoping the hand would never leave. Perhaps drop a little lower...
“If you need anything...”
“I know,” he said, straightening up. “Now go on. I’m sure you’ve better things to do than keep me company.”
Sam’s mood slumped again as Annie’s warm hand left his cold shoulder.
“Well, you know where to find me.”
As soon as she left CID, Sam leapt from his chair and hurried into Hunt’s office. There, sat in the center of his desk, was the Brooks file. Sam grabbed it and flipped it open. It was finished. He had signed it.
“How could I have forgotten?” He wondered aloud, then placed the file back on the desk.
Sam spent the rest of the day at his own desk, pretending to work on open cases while he all he really did was try and write down the lyrics of every New Order song from memory.
*
“Can’t have much to live on, you keep giving it all to me,” the boy smiled as he stashed Sam’s payment.
“I get by,” he shrugged.
“So, what’ll it be tonight?”
Sam blushed before he spoke, the mere memory of their last encounter causing his breath to quicken.
“You know that...thing...you did with the...balls...and, the uhm...”
“Mmm,” the boy purred. “I thought you liked that,” he grinned, stripping Sam of his jacket.
“Just...could you use less lube this time?”
“Less?”
“I want to feel it. Really feel it.” Sam closed his eyes and felt as the boy unbuckled his belt.
“Customer’s always right, ain’t he?”
“My world. My rules,” Sam grinned. “Which reminds me...” He placed his hands on the boy’s head and gently pushed him to his knees. “Why don’t you start down there, tonight?”
*
“Chris. Chris! Have you seen my pen?”
“Your pen, boss?” Skelton slowly lowered the ciggie from his lips.
“Yes, Chris. My pen. Long. Cylindrical. Point at the end which releases ink.” Sam had crossed his arms, but tapped his fingers against his elbow.
“Erm, you mean the pen you lent me?”
“When did I loan you a pen?”
“Yesterday.”
“You sure?”
“Erm, I think so? I have it round here somewhere, if you want it back,” Chris hurriedly scoured his desk, knocking over an ash tray, his 3rd Place darts trophy, and a stack of witness statements in the process. “Bugger,” he sighed.
“Never mind. Keep it.” Sam left Chris to his mess and headed for the stationary cupboard.
“Forgetful lately, aren’t we?”
Sam pretended he’d known Hunt had been standing next to the cupboard.
“Piss off,” he said, haphazardly searching the shelves for a fresh biro.
“Not so chipper today, are we? Lately you’ve been all sunshine and happy pills.” Hunt flicked ash from his cigarette onto Sam’s shoe.
“I like the nice weather,” Sam answered, ignoring the ash and grabbing a pen.
“It’s raining today.”
“Explains my foul mood then, doesn’t it?” Sam slammed the cupboard drawers shut. Hunt grabbed him by the elbow, preventing him from leaving. Though it was completely inappropriate, the touch went straight to his cock. Sam prided himself on wearing looser trousers today.
“Sam. It’s been months.”
“Having trouble with abstinence?” Sam sneered and tried to pull away. Hunt yanked him back.
“It’s hurting the team. We need to talk.”
“I wouldn’t want to debase my guv’nor by partaking in such a poncey exercise, would I?” Sam finally wrenched his elbow free, but did not run off.
“You want to keep acting like this, Tyler? Fine. But let me tell you - it’ll end with a transfer for one of us, and I sure as hell ain’t leaving.” Hunt dropped his fag to the floor and crushed it under his worn loafer before turning and heading to his office.
Sam knew the words should have stung, and they did. But, the way Gene had held him tight in his grasp, it felt like every, little nerve in his body was lighting up, sending shock waves through his body. Gene’s words should not have hurt so good.
Sam closed his eyes and laughed. No matter how Gene managed to hurt him, it always managed to feel good. Too good. Sam bit his lip, half-heartedly trying to get his urges under control. He slipped his new pen in his pocket and stumbled into the corridor, hoping for some fresh air.
What he found was a gaggle of pretty, young WPC’s wearing perfume that reminded him of Maya and a new PC holding his barely used helmet, his shaggy curls reminding Sam of that very caring bunkmate he’d had while in the Academy.
“Well, as a senior officer, it is my duty to introduce myself,” he grinned, forgetting about Hunt and running his fingers through his hair, making sure it was mussed a bit. Maya always loved that. Gene, too.
“Good morning, ladies. Gentleman,” he smiled, holding his hands behind his back.
“I believe it’s afternoon, DI Tyler,” WPC Fredricks corrected him. She was a lovely thing. Big blue eyes. Gorgeous curves. Sam made a pretense of checking his watch.
“So it is, officer. My sincerest apologies.” He winked at her, then smiled at the next girl - WPC Mahoney. “And who is our new friend, Melissa?”
WPC Mahoney blushed at the use of her first name. Lovely blonde hair, she had.
“This is PC Kenworthy, sir. Brand new. Just started today.”
“Really?” Sam grinned, turning his attention to the shy, new boy. “Well, in that case, welcome to the force, PC Kenworthy.” Sam outstretched his hand. Kenworthy wrapped his own in Sam’s. His skin was so smooth, not yet scarred by years of brutal police work.
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. And call me Sam.”
“Ryan,” the lad said.
“Ryan. Ryan,” Sam repeated, rolling the name off his tongue. “Good name. Strong. Think you’ll do well in our little corner of hell.”
“Tyler!” Hunt bellowed from CID’s doorway. “Going to flirt all day or try your hand at a bit of policing?”
“I’m sorry. It appears my Neanderthal is calling. Have a good first day, Ryan. Ladies,” Sam left them with a smile and strode back towards Hunt with his hands in his pockets, ignoring Hunt’s jealous glare and thanking God for the loose trousers.
*
“Sorry, mate. Told you I don’t do threesomes.”
“I know. I know. Sorry. Is there something...do you have a...a dildo?”
“No need to whisper it, man.” The boy stroked Sam’s sides, soothing him. “Course I do. A few actually.” He pressed his body closer, rubbing his thigh against Sam’s erection. “What do you want, eh? A nice big one, I bet. Biggest cock I’ve got, yeah?” He whispered into Sam’s ear.
“Yes. Oh God yes,” Sam moaned back.
“Christ. Horny as fuck tonight aren’t you?” The boy laughed, beginning his work on Sam’s trousers.
“It’s like...like I can’t control it. Not anymore. Every day, night, I need more,” he hastily undid the buttons on the boy’s shirt. “So much more,” he blew warm air over the lad’s exposed nipple before slowly licking the delicate skin.
“I know what that’s like,” the boy purred. “So, who’ll I be tonight?”
“Tonight...tonight your name is Ryan,” Sam grinned into the lad’s smooth chest. “And I’m going to fuck you into the floor.”
*
It was sunny today. Too sunny. Sam wished he knew where he’d laid his sunglasses. It would’ve made it easier to stare at the hostage taker’s glimmering knife.
“He’s talking bollocks, Guv,” Sam rolled his eyes as the man shouted his pointless demands for the umpteenth time.
“I believe Miss Cindy Drew there would care to differ,” Hunt argued, nodding to the sobbing hostage.
“He’s not actually going to use the knife. Stabbing someone is a very personal action. He wouldn’t do that to a complete stranger.”
“She’s his ex-wife, you bloody moron!”
Sam cocked his head to the side.
“How do you know that?”
“I told you that on the flipping drive here, you div! Where the bloody hell’s your brain been?”
“Don’t come any closer. I’ll hurt her! I swear!” The young man shouted. Sam could see the fear in his eyes.
“He won’t do it. He’s too scared.” Sam lowered his gun and set it on a nearby crate.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Hunt screamed.
“I’m going to talk with him,” Sam announced, moving in front of the protective barrier.
“Like hell you are. Tyler, get back here. Tyler! Tyler, that’s an order!” Hunt kept shouting and Sam kept ignoring him.
“Hiya mate,” he smiled, addressing the frantic man.
“I said don’t come any closer!”
“They always say that,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m unarmed,” he said in an exasperated voice.
“I don’t care! You stay back. You hear me?”
Sam kept walking closer, ignoring the man’s warnings.
“Look, I know you’re scared. I would be, too. Except, I’d never be dumb enough to take someone hostage.”
“I told you - stay back!” He pointed the knife at Sam.
“Please listen to him. Please,” the woman begged. The man shook her hard.
“You shut it, Cindy. Shut your mouth!”
“Now, that’s no way to speak to a lady,” Sam scolded.
“Ain’t no lady. She’s a slag! Stupid bitch. And I told you, copper - don’t take another fucking step!” He pointed the knife at Cindy’s neck, then back at Sam.
“It’s against the law to threaten a police officer. Could send you to jail for that,” Sam warned with a smile, stepping closer. “Now give me the knife.
“Like hell I will.”
“C’mon. There’s no way out of this. Hand it over,” Sam sighed, tired of the whole situation.
“You want it so bad? Eh? Do you?”
“This is getting a bit ridiculous, don’t you...”
Sam hadn’t actually felt the knife sink into his stomach. He just noticed the hostage taker pull back his arm and saw the knife covered in blood. Unaware of what was happening around him, Sam tenderly touched the new hole in his gut and held up his fingers. They were coated in blood. Looking up, he saw Gene standing before him. He didn’t know what happened to the hostage taker.
“It’s so warm,” he told Gene, rolling the blood around his fingers, and he laughed. Then his knees gave way. Gene caught him.
“Dammit, Sam.”
In the distance he could hear a heart monitor.
“Ambulance now! And you, you keep your bloody eyes open, you stupid berk.”
He felt Gene lay him on the ground.
“Shh. I think I can hear my mum,” he smiled, gazing up into Gene’s worried eyes. Then he passed out.
*
“I’m listed as next of kin! Anything you say to him, you say to me.”
“Shhhh...too loud,” Sam muttered, cracking open his clouded eyes.
“Sammy? Christ, it’s about time.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder. It felt good. He smiled.
“Mr. Tyler? Can you hear me? My name is Dr. Massie.”
“I can hear you,” Sam sighed, letting his eyes fall shut.
“Mr. Tyler, there is some information regarding your condition that I would prefer to share with you in private.”
“Only three of us here. Can’t get more private than that,” Gene argued.
“Guv, s’alright.” Sam flopped a hand on top of Gene’s. “Let him tell me. Then I’ll tell you.” He cracked open his eyes. Gene was staring at him with uncertainty. “Please?” He added.
“Not like you to beg,” Gene grumbled. “Fine. But you tell me straight away, soon as he’s finished. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Guv,” Sam agreed, too tired and doped up to argue. Gene left the room with a nod, leaving Sam with the doctor.
“Mr. Tyler...”
“Sam.”
“Sam, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“I gathered that. ‘Bout my injuries? The stabbing?”
“Well, no, actually. See, Sam, when you were admitted, we ran a series of standard blood tests. There were some abnormalities, so we ran a few more tests...”
“Oh God,” Sam was suddenly awake. “Do I have cancer?”
“No. No, no,” the doctor assured him with a laugh. “Nothing quite so serious.”
“But I have something.”
“I’m afraid so. But I assure you, it’s easily treated with antibiotics. Should be out of your system in a few weeks.”
The doctor told him. Sam laughed until he ran out of breath.
*
Sam lay in bed, staring up at the water damaged hospital ceiling. He wondered how it came to be water damaged. He didn’t notice Gene had entered the room until he spoke.
“Well then? Not going to cop it. Are you?”
“No,” Sam sighed, still staring at the ceiling. “I...”
“You what?”
“I have an infection,” he grinned.
“From what? The operation? Is it serious?”
“It’s syphilis,” he announced. “Syphilis,” he repeated, laughing. The whole idea was absurd. “Neurosyphilis,” he laughed again. How was that even possible? He kept laughing until he was sobbing. Gene made no move to comfort him, but neither did he flee the room. He laughed until his side ache, until the tears streamed down his face, until Gene finally placed a hand on his wrist and his breathing evened out.
“Does that mean I...” Gene asked quietly.
“No. I’m fairly certain it was after you left.”
“You’re the one what left.”
“Suppose that’s true,” Sam sighed. There was silence. He stared at the ceiling, allowing the hysterical tremors to make their way through his body.
“Who?” Gene asked.
“Bloke on Canal Street.”
“A rent boy?”
Sam heard the disgusted tone in Gene’s voice.
“We all have needs,” he said.
“Never took you for the type.”
“Neither did I. Amazing, how this place changes you.”
He listened as Gene sat down beside him.
“You’ll have to tell everyone else you’ve been shagging. Reckon the whole Women’s Department will need to be tested, way you’ve been carrying on lately.”
“I hadn’t noticed a change. I felt the same. Only...happier. I only thought I was happy.” Sam shifted in the bed, focusing his eyes on a different patch of ceiling. “There’s not been anyone else. Just the boy.”
“Boy? How old is he?”
“Dunno. Twenty-something.”
“And just him?”
“Just him.”
“Trust you to be monogamous with your whores,” Gene scoffed. Sam kept staring at the ceiling.
“I am a man of commitment.”
“More like a committed man. Were about to have you locked up. All that flirting. Pouting. Talking into phones that weren’t plugged in. And what the bloody hell does ‘blue Monday’ mean?”
“The doctor said it’s because the infection was attacking my brain cells.”
“Just what you need.”
Sam wanted to look at Gene. He stuck with the ceiling. It looked as bare and isolated as he felt.
“It’s permanent, the damage. Brain cells don’t regenerate. I’ll never be me again. Just a sick, useless, horny, piece of shite with poor judgement and an even worse memory.”
“Well, that’s putting a positive spin on it.”
“Depression is another symptom. The doctor said they have pills to help with that. Lucky me.”
Sam never knew a ceiling could be so interesting. So numbing.
“Still recovering from the stabbing. Once you’re back at full strength, we’ll get you sorted out.”
“We? Surprised you’re even talking to me. I should disgust you. I am disgusting.”
He heard Gene adjust in the plastic chair. Heard him flick his lighter as he lit a fag.
“I did National Service, Sam. Seen my fair share of tackle rot - the clap, herpes, syphilis. You name it. Someone had it. Happens to the best of ‘em.”
“Personal experience, I suppose.”
“Not that personal,” Gene was quick to correct. “The Gene Genie always protects his most important equipment.”
Sam tried counting the ceiling tiles but kept losing focus.
“I should care more. Why can’t I feel anything?”
“Cos at the moment, you’ve got more morphine running through your veins than blood. Nasty jab you took. Two surgeries to sort you out.”
“Because I couldn’t read the situation properly. Poor judgement. Permanent poor judgement. Perfect trait for a police officer. I’ll make a great DI.”
“Sam, we don’t know how this’ll work out. Let’s get you fixed up ‘fore we decide owt.”
“Not everything can be fixed, Gene. You said this would end in a transfer. Looks like I’ll be pensioned off instead.”
Gene had no answer for that. Sam smelled the smoke from the cigarette.
“One mistake. I let my anger control me for one night, and I’ll pay for it the rest of my life.”
The smell of smoke became stronger as Gene leaned in and placed a hand on Sam’s arm.
“Christ. Bleeding through your gown,” he said quietly. “Must’ve pulled your stitches with that fit earlier. I’ll fetch the doctor.”
“Will you come back? We should...talk.”
“I’ll be back. But you should rest. Lost a lot of blood.”
“And a lot of brain.”
“Get some rest. Try not to bleed too much.”
Sam listened as Gene opened and shut the door to the private room. He was bleeding again. He hadn’t noticed. Exhausted, he closed his eyes, hoping the bleep of the monitor would make him forget everything.
Even if Sam wakes up...Mrs. Tyler, you have to understand, with an injury and complications such as his, there is a likely possibility of permanent brain damage.