Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 16b/?
The light was already dimming as eight o’clock rolled slowly around, and Gene walked into the hospital, not quite listening to the chatter of the nurses in their station as he exited the lift onto the ICU. Ray and two new PC’s followed him out and onto the floor, and then down to Sam’s room, where the constables changed places with the four to eight shift outside the door. Gene walked in, followed by Ray, and were met by Chris, who had been left alone in the room with Sam.
“They’ve taken ‘im off watch, Gov, but that old bat with the stick up her arse, the one that seems to know her stuff more, she said she’d put a nurse in here all times, if you want,” Chris said as he stood, stubbing out the cigarette that he’d been smoking in an ashtray on the second chair. Gene looked over and was relieved to see Sam sleeping peacefully, still sat up at an angle, but with the oxygen mask removed. Chris looked over and then nodded at Gene, “They took off the mask about two hours back, and he’s been breathing fine on ‘is own. Slept the whole day through, like.” Gene nodded at this, and then moved closer to Chris, motioning for Ray to follow him.
“Right then; Cartwright brought Ray up to speed on everything that we found out this morning, and she and Fletcher were still tooling through the case, trying to sort out a new lead, looking over that damned spotless record of Barrie’s when we left. Ray can take you home, Chris,” Gene added, and Chris nodded at Gene. “Ray’s also going to fill you in on the reports from Denslow: looks like Barrie didn’t do anything to try and muck up Sam too much, nothing that we can nail him for. All he ever did was not show up when he said he was going to, and keep Sam off of them soddin’ drugs that did him so much good, and apparently, there’s reasons for all of that. So we still need to get prints on him, just to make sure that the lead pans out.”
Gene took a deep breath, and then continued, “I also did some digging, called over the hospital; seems Barrie’s been here for years, so if he is our man, this is a new development for the poncy bastard. Also called round to some brain and skull specialist, took me hours of waitin’ on the soddin’ phone, but I found out that memory loss could happen after concussion, like when Sam first showed up,” Gene said, waiting for his words to sink into the two other men.
“You mean ‘e might not even know where ‘e’s from, still?” Ray asked, the details of Sam’s background, which Annie had filled him in on, still fresh in his mind. “So the git really is off ‘is nut. Told you, Gov,” Ray said, and Gene grunted in response.
“It’d explain a whole bleedin’ lot, though, wouldn’t it?” Gene asked, and Ray and Chris both nodded.
“An’ about the way ‘e’s always pickin’ up phones that aren’t ringin,’ or listening to some stupid song on the radio like the bloody voice of God’s coming down it, that all from the crash ‘e had when ‘e first came?” Ray asked and Gene nodded.
“So there’s a chance he might not even know where he’s from now, like,” Chris said, casting a worried look over at Sam. “He does know his stuff good, though, like all that stuff about blood patterns and things, right?” Chris looked up expectantly at Gene, who grunted again.
“If it is all from the crash, then he might need some help rememberin’ stuff from before then, yeah,” Gene said, sitting down in the chair next to Sam’s bed. “Didn’t keep him from being a right good copper, albeit a bloody pain in the arse,” Gene added, and both Ray and Chris nodded at him again. Gene looked up at them, and then fixed them with a hard stare. “And I don’t want either of you thinking he’s crazy, well, not any more than you already thought. If anything, this means he’s less potty than we’d all thought to begin with, doesn’t it?”
“Sure thing, Gov. Might even be a decent bloke, though I doubt it,” Ray put in, and Gene shook his head at him.
“You two girls never do stop bickering, do you?” Gene added, and Ray smiled at him.
“Wouldn’t ‘ave it any other way, Gov, and I don’t think that silly twonk would, either,” Ray said, throwing his grin towards Sam. Gene smiled a bit as he grunted at this, and then turned his head towards the door.
“Right then. Clear out, you two, and make sure you’re back here at eight in the morning. We’ll go over it all with Cartwright and Fletcher, and then see where we can go from there. And hope that the bloody damned warrant comes in for those prints; we need to know whether or not Barrie’s our man, and we need to know soddin’ yesterday,” Gene motioned for the two of them to leave, and they both nodded at him again. Ray moved towards the door, but Chris took a step closer to Sam’s bed.
“Night, then, Boss,” Chris said, and he patted Sam’s hand lightly before turning towards the door, which Ray was holding open for him. Ray noticed this, rolled his eyes, and then moved to stand next to Sam for a moment.
“Know you can’t hear me an’ all, but sleep well, you damned berk, all right?” Ray said, patting Sam’s hand just as Chris had. “And remember, we’ve got a deal, you get 100%, and I mop the floor with your sorry arse,” he added, and Gene raised an eyebrow at this. Ray looked slightly sheepish as he turned to Gene, adding, “Not quite the deal we had, but it’s the way it’ll work out, Gov,” as an explanation. Gene nodded, and Ray and Chris left the room.
Gene watched them leave, and then turned his attention back to Sam. The bite mark on the right side of Sam’s face had faded down to a few faint, white scars, fading quickly away. His color was a bit darker, but still lighter than Gene was used to seeing it, and he wondered if that was a trick of the lighting or not. Either way, the thick, red welts of scars on his exposed arms glared up at Gene whenever he looked at them, standing out brightly against Sam’s flesh. Gene turned his gaze away from those, and then moved to gently stroke the side of Sam’s face with the back of his hand. He spent a few moments doing this, and then leaned back and lit a cigarette, still staring at Sam.
“So, you had to be a hushpuppy, then? Is that why you’re always on about proper, and not? Or was it just too much of that, made you request a CID post again instead?” Gene looked over at Sam’s still form, and continued to voice all of the questions that he knew he’d have to repeat once Sam woke up. “Or did it just get to be too much for you, ratting people out? Is that why you didn’t go straight to Discipline and Complaints when you first heard about old Harry, then? Or why you went and followed him around like you did? Old training and all that?”
Gene leaned back, then pulled out one of his flasks and took a long drink from it. “Or is that why you left, because you couldn’t stand the snooping? Shit, I’d hate to imagine a place that was too bloody proper for your picky arse,” Gene said, and then returned the flask to his pocket and stubbed out his cigarette in the same ashtray that Ray had been using. He stared down at Sam for a moment, and then leaned forward, and slowly pressed his lips against Sam’s, feeling the full curve of them under his own, and the soft, reassuring movement of steady, even breath from Sam’s mouth and nose. He lifted his head up, and then kissed Sam again, grazing his lips lightly against Sam’s forehead. He sat back and grasped Sam’s hand in his, staring at Sam’s face, which was still immobile, except for the fluttering of his eyes underneath their lids.
Gene stared at Sam for what felt like only a few seconds, wondering exactly how much memory loss he had, and exactly where he’d originally come from. Sam’s accent was certainly from the area; although if he’d been living in the Greater Manchester area long enough, any other northern accent might have lost a lot of its differences and faded down to sound more Mancunian… The sound of the door opening caused him to lean back and look at the door, snapped out of his reverie, his hand instinctively flying towards the gun at his belt. He looked up to see one of the younger nurses entering, carrying a pitcher and some glasses.
The nurse set the pitcher and the glasses down on the table next to Sam’s bed, and then looked at Gene, “Thought you might like some water. He probably won’t wake up tonight, but if he does, he’ll probably be thirsty, too. If he does, wake up, I mean, then you can call for one of us and we can help him out.” She smiled at Gene, and then moved to look at the chart at the foot of the bed. She slowly went through the motions of placing the blood pressure cuff on Sam’s arm, feeling his pulse, cleaning the thermometer and sliding it into his mouth, and then scribbled her findings down on the chart, giving Gene another smile. “Not long now, and we can move him out of the ICU. Doctor Denslow said he’s to have a private room, down on the third floor, so you can keep up your guard,” the nurse said, and Gene nodded at her. She looked up at the marking on the wall, and then gave Gene a slight grimace of fear, “Bit scary, that, isn’t it? All the nurses are happy that you’ve got the officers here, too.” She moved slowly to leave and then threw Gene one last smile as she exited.
Gene stopped and looked at his watch, noticing that it was nearly half past nine, and then staring back at Sam. He leaned back and lit another cigarette, taking a swig from one of his flasks at the same time, and then he continued his watch, the questions still tumbling forth in his mind, and he fought the urge to voice them out loud. Sam would hear them soon enough, and he’d get his answers then.
The nurse came and went a second time, taking the same readings as before, but not speaking to Gene this time. Instead, she simply gave him a small smile as she left, and Gene nodded at her again. He looked down at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to eleven, and then looked back up and was startled to see Sam’s eyes slowly fluttering open again. He leaned forward, grasping Sam’s hand firmly in his, and Sam responded by opening his eyes halfway, fixing a groggy stare on him.
“Sam? Can you hear me, Sammy boy?” Gene asked, and Sam opened his eyes a bit further, and then squinted against the lights above him. Gene tried to move to cast his shadow over Sam’s face, blocking out some of the lighting, and Sam’s eyes opened even wider. “Sam?” Gene asked again, and this time, he was rewarded with a response.
“Gov?” Sam asked, and then tried to move his head, only to receive a ringing pain throughout his head as a response to the movement. He clamped his eyes shut against it, and then opened them again, seeing Gene Hunt’s face leaning in close to his, much less blurry this time. The entire world seemed fuzzy, but it was gradually coming into focus as his eyes adjusted to the light.
“That’s right, Sam, it’s the old bastard himself,” Gene said, smiling at Sam, and Sam blinked several times, trying to get his eyes to focus more clearly.
“Bright,” Sam muttered, trying to adjust his eyes again, and then he felt Gene shifting up and onto the bed next to him, trying to move between him and the light. In the end, Gene was successful, positioning himself next to Sam’s thighs on the edge of the bed and bracing himself against the floor with one of his feet, his shadow falling fully across Sam’s face.
“’Bout ruddy damned time you woke up, Tyler,” Gene said, and Sam could see that there was still a grin plastered across his features.
Sam’s thoughts tumbled and ran into each other as he tried to remember all that had happened, slowly separating out everything that he’d seen while he was in the bizarre dream world, and everything that had to have come from 1973, as well. The act of concentration made his head spin, and he closed his eyes for a moment while he tried to take it all in. The case… Sam’s eyes snapped open once more and he stared at Gene again.
“Did you get him?” Sam asked, trying to speak more loudly, and his voice broke dryly as he spoke. He swallowed hard and found that his throat seemed to be lined in sandpaper, and then locked his eyes back onto Gene’s, an expectant look on his face.
Gene grimaced in response to Sam’s question, and Sam felt him reaching down to grasp his hand again, the feeling incredibly real and concrete.
“Not yet, Sam. Haven’t managed a collar on the bastard yet. Seems you’re more useful than you look; it would’ve been nice to have you in on this one,” Gene said, and Sam closed his eyes in thought once more, trying to digest this new fact. His thinking slowly cleared out, just as his vision had, and he fought against the strong urge to sleep that kept surging up around him, threatening to engulf him once more. He had to know what was happening: somehow, if he solved the case here, everything in 2006 would go back to normal, and he might even wake up. The thought, no, the strange certainty of it, was just as reassuring to Sam as the strong, steady grip of Gene’s fingers around his.
“How long?” Sam asked, staring at Gene, and Gene took a moment to realize what Sam was asking. He gave Sam an odd, sad look, one that Sam had very rarely seen touching his features, and then met Sam’s eyes again.
“Nearly midnight on the 21st, now, and you were taken on the 9th. You’ve been in hospital quite some days now, Sammy, but you’re gonna be okay. I made the dumbshit ponces running this place promise me that,” Gene smiled at his last statement, and Sam blinked hard, wondering exactly how hard Gene had been to deal with for the hospital staff, and vaguely remembering waking up to find Gene screaming at one of the nurses.
“And he’s still at large?” Sam asked, and his voice creaked again, causing him to grimace and lean back slightly, wincing at the sensation in his throat. Gene gave him a concerned look for a moment, and then sat up straighter, shifting his shadow away from Sam’s eyes and allowing some of the light to filter down onto Sam’s face. This time, Sam tried to keep his eyes open against the light, willing his eyes to adjust to being open once more.
“You want some water? Nurse brought it in… I can go get one of them, one that’s been coming in’s a tasty little tart, might do you good to see a nice pair of tits fluttering about, eh?” Gene asked, and Sam moved his fingers so that they were clasped around Gene’s.
“Stay,” Sam pleaded, and Gene nodded at him, and then stood, letting the light fall fully onto Sam’s face. Sam blinked rapidly, finding that his eyes were adjusting more quickly than his mind, and fighting against the strong urge to sleep once again. Gene moved away from him then, but Sam heard him shuffling up at the head of the bed, and Gene returned a moment later, a thin plastic cup in one hand.
“Here, Sammy boy, shut up and get some of this down you,” Gene stated, and Sam couldn’t help but give a small smile at the thought that Gene was still giving him orders, even in his current state. The normalcy of being bossed about by Gene Hunt hit home and filled him with a small surge of elation, and then he felt one of Gene’s hands at the back of his neck, lifting his head up slightly. Sam closed his eyes at the feeling of the strong fingers against his flesh, the sensation that they were absolutely real and there for him driving away all other thoughts and fears that he might have had, if only for a moment.
Gene slowly tilted Sam’s head and brought the cup to his lips, and Sam felt water sliding into his mouth, slowly slipping coldly down his parched throat and alleviating some of the dryness and discomfort there. Gene pulled back for a moment, and then tried tipping the glass to Sam’s mouth again, spilling a bit more down Sam’s front than he had the first time, and Sam reveled in the concrete reality of the sensation as Gene pulled away, and then came shuffling back, rubbing at the water on Sam’s chin, neck, and shoulder with the sleeve of his suit jacket.
“There you go, Sam. How’s that, then?” Gene asked, and Sam smiled up at him, and then gave him a slight frown. Twelve days he’d been out of the picture, and still no collar, not even some poor suspect getting the living shit beaten out of him every few minutes? It didn’t seem like Gene, and that worried him slightly.
“He’s still at large, then?” Sam asked, and Gene sat back down on the side of the bed, and this time, Sam felt Gene’s weight against his leg, felt the way that the bed sank under it, felt the warmth of the other man’s body. The sensations were comforting, and once again sleep tried to reach out and take him, but Sam fought, hard, willing himself to try and find out as much as he could about the case. Somehow, the case was important, more than any of the others, and he knew that it had to be solved.
Gene was nodding at him, a mild look of disgust and disappointment on his face, and he looked away from Sam as he muttered, “Yeah, bastard’s still out there.” He looked back at Sam, and then reached forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to smile at him again. “We’ll get him, though. Got everyone I can spare on this; Cartwright’s been a gem, pulling her weight a lot more than I ever thought the damned skirt would, and even Skelton seems to have picked his brain out of his arse and set it to good use on this.”
Sam tried to shake his head at this, but was stopped as the motion called up pounding and ringing again. He winced against it, and opened his eyes again to see Gene leaning in close, his brows knitted together in concern. Sam tried to smile at him, and then tried to look around the room without moving his head too much, finding it impossible to do so.
“Sam?” Gene asked, and Sam was shocked to hear the worry in his voice. He vaguely remembered Gene crying, remembered… God, Gene’s wife. The horrible pasts that his mind had managed to create for all of CID came tumbling back at him, and he grimaced at the thought of what he’d done to them.
“Still here,” Sam said softly, bringing his eyes back to meet Gene’s, and Gene’s face swapped over to a small grin again. “Case files,” Sam muttered, feeling the strange, heavy arms of sleep trying to spread over him again and fighting them off. “I need you to bring me the case files.”
Gene shook his head, “Plenty of time for that later, Sam. I’ve been saying we need you on this, but it can bloody well wait another day or two, all right?”
Sam tightened his fingers around Gene’s hand, struggling to make his grip as strong as possible, and hoping that Gene could feel it. “No. We need to get him.” Sam said, and Gene moved his hand inside of Sam’s, shifting his grip so that the fingers on their hands were interlaced, and then closing his grip. He felt Sam do the same, and saw the look of determination sliding over Sam’s features.
“All right. I’ll have whoever’s here with you have a copy of the damned case files with them, every soddin’ watch we take. That way, any time you feel up to it, you can have a look through, okay?” Gene raised his free hand up and patted Sam on the shoulder again, and then moved his hand in and pressed the back of it against Sam’s jaw and neck, slowly stroking the flesh there. Sam closed his eyes and smiled slightly at the movement, not sure how to take the fact that a feeling so gentle and comforting was coming from his great thug of a DCI.
“Thank you.” Sam said, and Gene continued the motion, filling Sam with a fear that it would lull him to sleep. There was so much that he needed to ask Gene, but he just couldn’t think of what it was that he’d wanted to ask… He started to muse over all that he knew about the case, concentrating on that instead of on the soft, slow motion against his neck. His eyes flickered open again, and he stared at Gene.
“How bad?” he asked, and then tried to move his arms up, and found that they were both laid firmly in place on the bed. His mind reeled as his memories filtered through, of the shards of glass driven through his flesh and then ripped slowly out… If one of those shards had hit a nerve… Sam tried to think of whether or not he could feel his arms, knowing that if he could feel them, he’d be able to move them soon enough. He took stock of every small ache and pain, and then came to the conclusion that he still had sensation, in his arms, and he hoped that this meant he had control over them as well. He looked up at Gene and saw him looking away again, that same sad, defeated look on his face, and terror gripped him. What had happened?
“Don’t worry about it, all right, you daft git? It’s not the ruddy time for that,” Gene said, and Sam saw him trying to smile at him. He pulled back slightly, his hand drawing away from Sam’s neck, and Sam was slightly disappointed that it had done so, and even more afraid of the fact that Gene wasn’t telling him. Why wouldn’t Gene, who had always been just as much the king of blunt as he was the king of blunt force, not tell him?
“How bad?” Sam asked again, trying to make his voice more firm. Gene seemed to give him an appraising look for a second, and then spoke to him.
“Bad, Sam, but nothing permanent, all right? Just a few scars,” Gene’s gaze moved towards Sam’s arm, and Sam tried to focus his eyes on it, as well, taking in the sight of the scars against his skin. He swallowed, and then felt sleep start to close in on him again, rising up and trying to overpower him once more.
“Tired,” he muttered, and he felt Gene’s hand again, this time on the side of his face, slowly stroking his cheek. He leaned slightly into the motion, and then noticed that his eyes were closed, and forced them open again. “Need you to tell me about the case, Gov,” Sam said, and found his eyes starting to clamp shut on him again. He forced them open, blinking several times, and Gene smiled down at him again.
“Oughtta sleep, you daft tart. Practically falling back asleep now, and you’re fighting it. You always have to fight against everything, don’t you?” Gene’s smile reached his voice this time, and Sam felt his eyes clamp shut again, sending him back to sleep.