Fic: Sweat (1/1), green cortina, dakfinv
Title: Sweat
Author: dak
Word Count: 2367
Rating: green cortina
Warnings: just some mild Sam pain
Pairing: none
Summary: Being handcuffed to the inside of a car on a very hot summer's day, is not what Sam would call "having a good day."
“Perspiration is an important method of temperature regulation. It draws heat out from the inside of the body. Evaporation of sweat also furthers cooling because...because of a process I can’t remember. When the body is dehydrated enough to prevent sweating, a person’s core temperature begins to rise. Rise quickly.
“Symptoms...symptoms...What are the symptoms? Headaches...Check. Confusion...I’m not sure. Dizziness...yes. Definite yes. Increase in heart rate...heart rate and respiration rate...Is a bit more difficult to breathe. Headaches, confusion, dizziness, increased heart and respiration rate, and...oh yes. Victims may become hostile.
“Well, that’s either a symptom of heat stroke or a reaction to being handcuffed to the inside of a bloody car!”
Sam kicked the side door for the thirteenth time. His heel further damaged the torn, leather door lining, but, for the thirteenth time, the door did not budge. For the one hundred and second time, he yanked on the handcuffs restraining him. One end was fastened around the driver’s side headrest. The other to his right wrist. The yanking did not faze the headrest, but was doing wonders for his wrist as the increasingly hot metal tugged and tore his oversensitive skin.
Sam had tried kicking the windows before, but the angle at which he was trapped prevented him from getting enough leverage to break the glass. He could have tried hooking the toes of his shoes under the handle and opening the door that way, except there was no handle. It had been removed.
All the car’s door handles had been removed.
All the windows had been rolled up.
The car was parked, as far as Sam could tell, in a barren, empty lot much like the one he had found himself in when he first woke in 1973, except with no high piles of rubble. There was nothing out here that would provide shade as the sun shifted. Yesterday had been one of the hottest days on record. Today was supposed to be no better.
Sam managed to pull up the leather sleeve on his unhandcuffed arm and check the time. Just after noon. He knew the hottest part of the day was usually around 3pm. Sam dropped his arm and took a deep breath.
At least he was still sweating.
*
“Do you actually think this is a good idea?”
“Course not. But, it’s the only one we have, innit?”
“May I remind you the idea came from Carling?”
“Already told you I think it’s a crap idea. But Ray’s not always at the bottom of the brain barrell, you know.”
“Did you just insult him or defend him?”
“...Yes.”
Sam leapt in his seat, not that he could go very far. Chiding himself for nearly dozing off, he sat up and leaned forward, one arm hanging loosely in his lap as the other remained raised above his head - trapped in the handcuffs. Taking a deep breath in the thick air, he tried to pull his left arm out of his leather jacket.
He bit the cuff with his teeth and bent and twisted his arm until it was free. After shrugging the jacket off his back, Sam leaned forward again, unable to lean back far enough to rest his head. A bead of sweat dripped from his nose and he wiped his face with the back of his hand.
Keeping his eyes closed and controlling his breaths, Sam tried to remember if he’d ever been this hot at any prior point in his life. As he opened his eyes and saw his damp button-down plastered to his skin, he realized the answer was no. Most definitely no.
“Simple, he’d said. A simple plan to capture the perpetrator. Of course it results in my being trapped in a burning hot car.”
Sam shut his mouth and cursed himself for speaking aloud. He was desperately thirsty and speaking would not help. He again wiped his brow and checked his watch. One o’clock. Surely they’d find him soon. Surely. Until then, all he could do was remain still and conserve his energy.
*
“Why isn’t Nelson behind the bar?”
“Why would Nelson be behind the bar?”
“He’s Nelson. He’s always behind the bar.”
“Well he won’t be behind the bar tonight.”
“Why won’t he be behind the bar tonight?”
“Cos it’s his birthday, you daft git.”
“Oh. It’s his birthday? Why didn’t you tell me. I would’ve bought him something.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know. No one told me it was his birthday.”
“Now don’t pout, Gladys. We all put in for a new darts board. Put your name on the card and all.”
“Really? You did?”
“Course. Only fitting since you contributed most to the pot.”
“I did?”
“Took it right out of your pay packet so you wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout it.”
“So that’s where that ten quid went. Hang on. How expensive are darts boards in 1973? Where’s my change?”
“Paying for the drinks, of course.”
“Oh. Guv?”
“Hm?”
“Why’s Ray behind the bar?”
“Cos Nelson ain’t.”
“Oh. Guv?”
“Hm?”
“You think he put something in my drink?”
“Why you say that?”
“Cos I feel a bit peaky.”
Sam leaned into the front seat and vomited. The increasing nausea coupled with his hefty canteen breakfast had become too much for his stomach to handle. Fortunately, he’d managed to avoid hitting his clothes. Unfortunately, the smell now emanating from the front wouldn’t be disappearing any time soon.
Sam crawled back into the back seat and rested his head against the warm window. He knew he shouldn’t have let Gene talk him into a big breakfast this morning, but having skipped dinner the night before, his stomach had won the argument.
Sam shuddered at the memory of that greasy plate of eggs and the several portions of buttered toast. He shuddered and shuddered again, wrapping his left arm around his sensitive stomach. Two o’clock and they still hadn’t found him, but at least the car was cooling down.
Sam slowly scrambled to lift his legs onto the seat. He kept his knees bent and pulled his feet in close, curling in on himself. He was still thirsty, but at least he’d stopped sweating. He shuddered and turned his head away from the smell of the vomit. He struggled to take a deep breath. The air was rancid now. How could he keep on breathing in that smell? It burned his lungs, trying to breathe. He took shallower breaths.
Those bastards would find him soon.
*
“Sammy! Sammy come back here. You can’t go out dressed like that. Not in this weather. You’ll catch your death.”
“Sorry, Mum.”
“Now, where did you leave your jacket?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sam Tyler...”
“It doesn’t fit anymore, Mum! ‘S too small. And ‘sides, it’s not that cold out.”
“Have you been outside today?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know how cold it is?”
“Uhm...Still too small.”
“I know, love. But that jacket needs to last you the rest of the winter. I promise I’ll get you a new one for next year, alright?”
“Alright, Mum.”
“That’s my good boy. Now, go slip it on before you leave.”
“Yes, Mum.”
Sam reached behind his back and pulled his jacket over his shoulder before slipping his arm into the sleeve. He was too tired to open his eyes, but managed to put on the jacket all the same. His coat on, he focused on the next important matter - breathing. The air was awful - thick and sticky and smelling of vomit. It made him shudder, that smell. Shudder and shiver.
He took a breath. It didn’t feel like any air entered his lungs. He tried again. It was worse the second time. He tried again. It was worse the third time. He decided that if he spaced his breaths further apart, it might be easier on his lungs. It made him feel light headed, but that felt better than suffocating.
At least he wasn’t damp anymore. It was a good thing he stopped sweating.
*
“Watch the glass!”
“Careful, Sammy. You might cut yourself.”
“Door still won’t open, Guv.”
“Open the door, Sam. It’s Auntie Heather!”
“Sam. Sam can you hear me?”
“You need to listen during class, Mr. Tyler. Now, open your workbook.”
“Here’re the cuff keys, Guv.”
“Mum! I lost my keys. Can you let me in?”
“Chris, slip in through the window and unlock him.”
“It won’t budge, Maya. I’m going to try it from the outside.”
“Right-o...ohh...sick all over the seat.”
“Oh, Sam. I told you it was the flu. I’m sending you straight home, Chief Inspector.”
“Just get in there you div!”
“Suspect’s on the move! DI Roy and I are going in!”
“How’ll we get him out?”
“These stains will never come out, Sammy. And all over your new trousers, as well?”
“Skelton, you done yet?”
“Nearly, Maya. Nearly. I’ll meet you at home.”
“Almost, Guv. Smells like summat died in here.”
“Body is in full rigor mortis. Let’s wait for the coroner.”
“Well it’ll be your DI if you don’t hurry it!”
“I’ve made DI? I can’t believe it. Thank you, sir.”
“Done, Guv.”
“There, Sammy. All finished. My, don’t you look handsome, my beautiful boy.”
“Ray, break the back window...Not the one by his head!”
“C’mon, Sam! Just do it. Everyone else has. Throw the bloody stone!”
“Sorry, Guv.”
“I’m sorry, Mum.”
“Chris, get in the back. Push him to the other side. Ray reach in and grab him...Don’t bloody drop him!...Jesus, get that ruddy jacket off. Bloody roasting. Sam. Sam! Dammit, Tyler.”
“Dammit, Sam! Why can’t you ever listen to me? We never talk anymore!”
“He’s in bad shape, Guv.”
“He’s in bad shape, Sammy. I don’t know if Ivanhoe will make it.”
“Help me get him in the car.”
That was it.
“...No...more...cars...”
Sammy was tired. He didn’t want to go back in the car. He’d spent all day in the car. Why did Gran have to live so far away? Why couldn’t they have taken the train? Trains were much faster.
“...Train, Mum...Want to take the train...”
“I’ll drive faster than any train, Sammy.”
There was a draught. Sammy felt cold. He reached for his jacket. His jacket was gone.
“Jacket...where’s...jacket...”
“Last thing you need.”
It was cold. He was shivering. He needed his jacket. Why couldn’t he have his jacket?
“Hold him still! Bought to fly out the bloody window!”
“Ow! Bastard hit me in the face.”
“Need...need jacket...cold...”
Sam reached again for his jacket. Someone held his arms. Sam kicked with his legs. Someone held his feet. Sam shouldn’t have fought. It made him sleepy.
Sam fell asleep.
*
“Which is what caused the bluish skin color. Chills and trembling often occur. The chills are why he was complaining of feeling cold, despite his dangerously high body temperature. Such acute dehydration does cause nausea and vomiting. Mr. Tyler did experience the beginnings of organ failure which is what caused him to fall unconscious. We can only hope that since he is now in medical care, he will regain consciousness, instead of slipping into a coma.”
The doctor finished his explanation and left Gene alone in the private room with his ailing deputy.
“Oh, Sammy,” he sighed, strolling towards the bed. “What am I going to do with you? Get yourself in some serious situations, don’t you? Always getting guns pointed at you. Getting yourself kidnapped. Drugged.” He stood next to the bed, resting his hands on the protective rails. “And how does that make me look, hm? Like I can’t control you, that’s how. Like the Gene Genie doesn’t have mastery over his deputy dog. And I can’t have that, Tyler. Can’t have you ruining me reputation.”
Gene reached down and stroked Sam’s hair before pulling the pillow out from under his head and placing it over his face.
“Goodnight, Sammy.”
Gene pressed down. Sam twitched. Gene pressed harder. Sam thrashed.
He was couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating. He was dying.
He fought back.
He kicked and scratched and swung.
“Jesus! Sam. Sam! Calm down. You’re alright. You’re in hospital.”
Sam opened his eyes and saw Gene’s own staring back at him. He reached up a hand and slapped Hunt in the face. Granted, it wasn’t a hard hit, but it did manage to startle the DCI.
“Bloody hell! What was that for?”
“You tried...tried...to...kill me!”
“Did not!”
“Did...to.”
“Did not.”
“Did...pillow. You put...the pillow...over...over my face!”
“Your pillow’s under your head, you berk. Christ Sam, you’re shaking again. C’mon. Lie down.” Gene placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders and gently eased him back into the bed. Sam felt his head hit the pillow and confusion immediately washed over him.
“There you are. Now, how you feeling?” Gene placed his hands on the protective rail. Sam eyed him warily.
“I...I don’t...”
The outburst had tired him and Sam struggled to find the words he was looking for. He refrained from attempting to speak and simply stared at the IV running from his hand up to the bottle on his left.
“Been pumping that stuff in you like there’s no tomorrow,” Gene informed him. “Well, almost wasn’t,” he added gruffly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pack of fags. Sam managed to roll his eyes.
“Please...don’t,” he sighed.
Gene glared but slipped the cigarettes back into his pocket.
“You been sleeping two days with me sitting there with nowt but a ratty paper, an empty flask, and a broken biro. Couldn’t even do me crossword. And now you’re telling me I can’t smoke?”
“Poor...baby,” Sam sighed. For some reason, that got a grin out of Gene. Whatever energy he had left, dissipated, and Sam felt his body go limp as his eyes fell shut.
“Good to have you back, Tyler,” he heard, then felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.
Sam waited for blessed unconscious, listening to the sounds in the room as his body went still.
“Was he able to speak?”
“Few words. Too tired for owt else.”
“Try keeping him awake for longer next time, Mr. Hunt. We need to assess Sam’s mental state. Determine if there is any permanent brain damage.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me DI’s brain. Never were right in the first place.”
Author: dak
Word Count: 2367
Rating: green cortina
Warnings: just some mild Sam pain
Pairing: none
Summary: Being handcuffed to the inside of a car on a very hot summer's day, is not what Sam would call "having a good day."
“Perspiration is an important method of temperature regulation. It draws heat out from the inside of the body. Evaporation of sweat also furthers cooling because...because of a process I can’t remember. When the body is dehydrated enough to prevent sweating, a person’s core temperature begins to rise. Rise quickly.
“Symptoms...symptoms...What are the symptoms? Headaches...Check. Confusion...I’m not sure. Dizziness...yes. Definite yes. Increase in heart rate...heart rate and respiration rate...Is a bit more difficult to breathe. Headaches, confusion, dizziness, increased heart and respiration rate, and...oh yes. Victims may become hostile.
“Well, that’s either a symptom of heat stroke or a reaction to being handcuffed to the inside of a bloody car!”
Sam kicked the side door for the thirteenth time. His heel further damaged the torn, leather door lining, but, for the thirteenth time, the door did not budge. For the one hundred and second time, he yanked on the handcuffs restraining him. One end was fastened around the driver’s side headrest. The other to his right wrist. The yanking did not faze the headrest, but was doing wonders for his wrist as the increasingly hot metal tugged and tore his oversensitive skin.
Sam had tried kicking the windows before, but the angle at which he was trapped prevented him from getting enough leverage to break the glass. He could have tried hooking the toes of his shoes under the handle and opening the door that way, except there was no handle. It had been removed.
All the car’s door handles had been removed.
All the windows had been rolled up.
The car was parked, as far as Sam could tell, in a barren, empty lot much like the one he had found himself in when he first woke in 1973, except with no high piles of rubble. There was nothing out here that would provide shade as the sun shifted. Yesterday had been one of the hottest days on record. Today was supposed to be no better.
Sam managed to pull up the leather sleeve on his unhandcuffed arm and check the time. Just after noon. He knew the hottest part of the day was usually around 3pm. Sam dropped his arm and took a deep breath.
At least he was still sweating.
*
“Do you actually think this is a good idea?”
“Course not. But, it’s the only one we have, innit?”
“May I remind you the idea came from Carling?”
“Already told you I think it’s a crap idea. But Ray’s not always at the bottom of the brain barrell, you know.”
“Did you just insult him or defend him?”
“...Yes.”
Sam leapt in his seat, not that he could go very far. Chiding himself for nearly dozing off, he sat up and leaned forward, one arm hanging loosely in his lap as the other remained raised above his head - trapped in the handcuffs. Taking a deep breath in the thick air, he tried to pull his left arm out of his leather jacket.
He bit the cuff with his teeth and bent and twisted his arm until it was free. After shrugging the jacket off his back, Sam leaned forward again, unable to lean back far enough to rest his head. A bead of sweat dripped from his nose and he wiped his face with the back of his hand.
Keeping his eyes closed and controlling his breaths, Sam tried to remember if he’d ever been this hot at any prior point in his life. As he opened his eyes and saw his damp button-down plastered to his skin, he realized the answer was no. Most definitely no.
“Simple, he’d said. A simple plan to capture the perpetrator. Of course it results in my being trapped in a burning hot car.”
Sam shut his mouth and cursed himself for speaking aloud. He was desperately thirsty and speaking would not help. He again wiped his brow and checked his watch. One o’clock. Surely they’d find him soon. Surely. Until then, all he could do was remain still and conserve his energy.
*
“Why isn’t Nelson behind the bar?”
“Why would Nelson be behind the bar?”
“He’s Nelson. He’s always behind the bar.”
“Well he won’t be behind the bar tonight.”
“Why won’t he be behind the bar tonight?”
“Cos it’s his birthday, you daft git.”
“Oh. It’s his birthday? Why didn’t you tell me. I would’ve bought him something.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know. No one told me it was his birthday.”
“Now don’t pout, Gladys. We all put in for a new darts board. Put your name on the card and all.”
“Really? You did?”
“Course. Only fitting since you contributed most to the pot.”
“I did?”
“Took it right out of your pay packet so you wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout it.”
“So that’s where that ten quid went. Hang on. How expensive are darts boards in 1973? Where’s my change?”
“Paying for the drinks, of course.”
“Oh. Guv?”
“Hm?”
“Why’s Ray behind the bar?”
“Cos Nelson ain’t.”
“Oh. Guv?”
“Hm?”
“You think he put something in my drink?”
“Why you say that?”
“Cos I feel a bit peaky.”
Sam leaned into the front seat and vomited. The increasing nausea coupled with his hefty canteen breakfast had become too much for his stomach to handle. Fortunately, he’d managed to avoid hitting his clothes. Unfortunately, the smell now emanating from the front wouldn’t be disappearing any time soon.
Sam crawled back into the back seat and rested his head against the warm window. He knew he shouldn’t have let Gene talk him into a big breakfast this morning, but having skipped dinner the night before, his stomach had won the argument.
Sam shuddered at the memory of that greasy plate of eggs and the several portions of buttered toast. He shuddered and shuddered again, wrapping his left arm around his sensitive stomach. Two o’clock and they still hadn’t found him, but at least the car was cooling down.
Sam slowly scrambled to lift his legs onto the seat. He kept his knees bent and pulled his feet in close, curling in on himself. He was still thirsty, but at least he’d stopped sweating. He shuddered and turned his head away from the smell of the vomit. He struggled to take a deep breath. The air was rancid now. How could he keep on breathing in that smell? It burned his lungs, trying to breathe. He took shallower breaths.
Those bastards would find him soon.
*
“Sammy! Sammy come back here. You can’t go out dressed like that. Not in this weather. You’ll catch your death.”
“Sorry, Mum.”
“Now, where did you leave your jacket?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sam Tyler...”
“It doesn’t fit anymore, Mum! ‘S too small. And ‘sides, it’s not that cold out.”
“Have you been outside today?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know how cold it is?”
“Uhm...Still too small.”
“I know, love. But that jacket needs to last you the rest of the winter. I promise I’ll get you a new one for next year, alright?”
“Alright, Mum.”
“That’s my good boy. Now, go slip it on before you leave.”
“Yes, Mum.”
Sam reached behind his back and pulled his jacket over his shoulder before slipping his arm into the sleeve. He was too tired to open his eyes, but managed to put on the jacket all the same. His coat on, he focused on the next important matter - breathing. The air was awful - thick and sticky and smelling of vomit. It made him shudder, that smell. Shudder and shiver.
He took a breath. It didn’t feel like any air entered his lungs. He tried again. It was worse the second time. He tried again. It was worse the third time. He decided that if he spaced his breaths further apart, it might be easier on his lungs. It made him feel light headed, but that felt better than suffocating.
At least he wasn’t damp anymore. It was a good thing he stopped sweating.
*
“Watch the glass!”
“Careful, Sammy. You might cut yourself.”
“Door still won’t open, Guv.”
“Open the door, Sam. It’s Auntie Heather!”
“Sam. Sam can you hear me?”
“You need to listen during class, Mr. Tyler. Now, open your workbook.”
“Here’re the cuff keys, Guv.”
“Mum! I lost my keys. Can you let me in?”
“Chris, slip in through the window and unlock him.”
“It won’t budge, Maya. I’m going to try it from the outside.”
“Right-o...ohh...sick all over the seat.”
“Oh, Sam. I told you it was the flu. I’m sending you straight home, Chief Inspector.”
“Just get in there you div!”
“Suspect’s on the move! DI Roy and I are going in!”
“How’ll we get him out?”
“These stains will never come out, Sammy. And all over your new trousers, as well?”
“Skelton, you done yet?”
“Nearly, Maya. Nearly. I’ll meet you at home.”
“Almost, Guv. Smells like summat died in here.”
“Body is in full rigor mortis. Let’s wait for the coroner.”
“Well it’ll be your DI if you don’t hurry it!”
“I’ve made DI? I can’t believe it. Thank you, sir.”
“Done, Guv.”
“There, Sammy. All finished. My, don’t you look handsome, my beautiful boy.”
“Ray, break the back window...Not the one by his head!”
“C’mon, Sam! Just do it. Everyone else has. Throw the bloody stone!”
“Sorry, Guv.”
“I’m sorry, Mum.”
“Chris, get in the back. Push him to the other side. Ray reach in and grab him...Don’t bloody drop him!...Jesus, get that ruddy jacket off. Bloody roasting. Sam. Sam! Dammit, Tyler.”
“Dammit, Sam! Why can’t you ever listen to me? We never talk anymore!”
“He’s in bad shape, Guv.”
“He’s in bad shape, Sammy. I don’t know if Ivanhoe will make it.”
“Help me get him in the car.”
That was it.
“...No...more...cars...”
Sammy was tired. He didn’t want to go back in the car. He’d spent all day in the car. Why did Gran have to live so far away? Why couldn’t they have taken the train? Trains were much faster.
“...Train, Mum...Want to take the train...”
“I’ll drive faster than any train, Sammy.”
There was a draught. Sammy felt cold. He reached for his jacket. His jacket was gone.
“Jacket...where’s...jacket...”
“Last thing you need.”
It was cold. He was shivering. He needed his jacket. Why couldn’t he have his jacket?
“Hold him still! Bought to fly out the bloody window!”
“Ow! Bastard hit me in the face.”
“Need...need jacket...cold...”
Sam reached again for his jacket. Someone held his arms. Sam kicked with his legs. Someone held his feet. Sam shouldn’t have fought. It made him sleepy.
Sam fell asleep.
*
“Which is what caused the bluish skin color. Chills and trembling often occur. The chills are why he was complaining of feeling cold, despite his dangerously high body temperature. Such acute dehydration does cause nausea and vomiting. Mr. Tyler did experience the beginnings of organ failure which is what caused him to fall unconscious. We can only hope that since he is now in medical care, he will regain consciousness, instead of slipping into a coma.”
The doctor finished his explanation and left Gene alone in the private room with his ailing deputy.
“Oh, Sammy,” he sighed, strolling towards the bed. “What am I going to do with you? Get yourself in some serious situations, don’t you? Always getting guns pointed at you. Getting yourself kidnapped. Drugged.” He stood next to the bed, resting his hands on the protective rails. “And how does that make me look, hm? Like I can’t control you, that’s how. Like the Gene Genie doesn’t have mastery over his deputy dog. And I can’t have that, Tyler. Can’t have you ruining me reputation.”
Gene reached down and stroked Sam’s hair before pulling the pillow out from under his head and placing it over his face.
“Goodnight, Sammy.”
Gene pressed down. Sam twitched. Gene pressed harder. Sam thrashed.
He was couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating. He was dying.
He fought back.
He kicked and scratched and swung.
“Jesus! Sam. Sam! Calm down. You’re alright. You’re in hospital.”
Sam opened his eyes and saw Gene’s own staring back at him. He reached up a hand and slapped Hunt in the face. Granted, it wasn’t a hard hit, but it did manage to startle the DCI.
“Bloody hell! What was that for?”
“You tried...tried...to...kill me!”
“Did not!”
“Did...to.”
“Did not.”
“Did...pillow. You put...the pillow...over...over my face!”
“Your pillow’s under your head, you berk. Christ Sam, you’re shaking again. C’mon. Lie down.” Gene placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders and gently eased him back into the bed. Sam felt his head hit the pillow and confusion immediately washed over him.
“There you are. Now, how you feeling?” Gene placed his hands on the protective rail. Sam eyed him warily.
“I...I don’t...”
The outburst had tired him and Sam struggled to find the words he was looking for. He refrained from attempting to speak and simply stared at the IV running from his hand up to the bottle on his left.
“Been pumping that stuff in you like there’s no tomorrow,” Gene informed him. “Well, almost wasn’t,” he added gruffly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pack of fags. Sam managed to roll his eyes.
“Please...don’t,” he sighed.
Gene glared but slipped the cigarettes back into his pocket.
“You been sleeping two days with me sitting there with nowt but a ratty paper, an empty flask, and a broken biro. Couldn’t even do me crossword. And now you’re telling me I can’t smoke?”
“Poor...baby,” Sam sighed. For some reason, that got a grin out of Gene. Whatever energy he had left, dissipated, and Sam felt his body go limp as his eyes fell shut.
“Good to have you back, Tyler,” he heard, then felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.
Sam waited for blessed unconscious, listening to the sounds in the room as his body went still.
“Was he able to speak?”
“Few words. Too tired for owt else.”
“Try keeping him awake for longer next time, Mr. Hunt. We need to assess Sam’s mental state. Determine if there is any permanent brain damage.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me DI’s brain. Never were right in the first place.”