Fic: Steady As She Goes (16/86)
Title: Steady As She Goes (16/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1756 this part; [27,857 overall]
Summary for Whole: After Chris is shot by accident at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart as Ray takes out his anger on Sam, Annie makes a decision which jeopardizes Gene's career, and Sam gets involved with a murder.
Summary this Part: Everyone has doubts.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina
Warnings: angst, swearing, angst, and angst here. Did I mention angst?; more angst, violence, swearing, and violent imagery, minor drug use and mild sexual situations for whole
Spoilers: 1.02, 1.08, 2.02 here; minor refs to 1.04, 1.07, 1.08, 2.01, and 2.06 in others
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Had a little trouble writing this part, don't know why. Hope it turned out okay. I'm going away this weekend, but will hopefully have time to write the next part and have it up Sunday or Monday.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54 Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61 Part 62 Part 63 Part 64 Part 65 Part 66 Part 67 Part 68 Part 69 Part 70 Part 71 Part 72 Part 73 Part 74 Part 75 Part 76 Part 77 Part 78 Part 79 Part 80 Part 81 Part 82 Part 83 Part 84 Part 85 Part 86
"I shouldn’t have told you."
Gene helped Chris lay back in bed. The doctor lifted Chris’ gown, checking to make sure the young man hadn’t pulled his stitches when he had fallen out of bed in an ill-planned scramble to find Sam Tyler. Dr. Richmond had been forced to give Chris a sedative to calm him down. The look in the doctor’s eyes told Gene he better check his cup for horse tranquilizers the next time a nurse brought him coffee.
"Shouldn’t have told you," he repeated. "What good does it do you to know?" Gene sighed and collapsed into the bedside chair.
Chris adjusted his back and rubbed his hand over the fresh bandages on his stomach. "He’s my DI, too, Guv."
His DI. Gene didn’t want to think about his DI anymore. He’d had enough of his whining, his pouting. Enough of his disappearing acts. He just didn’t want to think about him. About his broken nose and dislocated shoulder. About the cuts and welts on his chest, and about the damage Gene couldn’t see lying underneath those bruises. About the collapsed lung. About those half-digested pills...
"Doc says you’ll be out of here in a week or two, long as you keep mending like you are."
Chris nodded, the sedative making him sleepier than usual for this time of day. "If the food ‘ere don’ kill me firs’," he yawned. Chris’ eyes fluttered closed.
Sam’s eyes had never fluttered. He hadn’t regained consciousness. He’d barely been breathing, that horrible rasping sound forever echoing inside Gene’s head...
"Oh Guv, you’ll never guess who was ‘ere," Chris mumbled as fought sleep.
"Jane Seymour."
"Nelson!" Chris smiled. "Din’t think ‘e ever left the pub."
"Course he leaves the pub, Skelton. He’s gotta sleep somewhere."
Chris tried to shrug, but couldn’t quite pull it off. "Think ‘m goin’ to sleep meself."
"Good idea, Constable."
"Lemme know how the boss is." Chris fell asleep with his mouth open. Soon loud snores were echoing through the once quiet ward.
Let him know. Let him know what? That the prat was dying? That he’d probably be in a coma? Brain damaged, permanently scarred, broken, all because the skinny shit liked a drink but couldn’t hold his liquor? Apparently liked his pills, too...
"There anything I can get for you?" A friendly, young nurse tapped on Gene’s shoulder. His mind snapped back to the present.
"No. Just make sure he doesn’t cop it," he motioned to Chris. The nurse tip-toed away. Gene looked at his hands. He’d completely crushed and destroyed his pack of cigarettes. He tossed them in the bin by Chris’ bed and stood.
He needed to get back to the station. He had murderers and kidnappers and whatnot to catch. He couldn’t waste time diddling around a hospital. What good would that do?
*
Ray slammed his fist into the locker. He needed to work off this energy, but since Litton had taken Roy Martin away again, keeping him hidden from CID, the locker was the next best thing.
Tyler was smart. Smart and tough. Ray didn’t like to admit it, and he’d die before he ever said it aloud, but it was true. There were plenty of times when Ray had seen his DI take down suspects twice his size with only his mouth and a well-placed fist. Tyler should’ve had no trouble escaping those skinheads on his own.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t been at his full strength, though, had he? Ray had seen to that. Tyler already had two busted ribs when he was grabbed, concussion and a hangover on top of that.
Ray slammed his knuckles into the locker again. Why had he done it? He’d been looking for an excuse to lay into the pretty boy since he first arrived. Chris’ accident was perfect. The Guv would’ve punished him, but understood. No one would have blamed him. He was basically given a free pass. Then this had to happen, had to ruin everything.
He hadn’t thought twice about leaping in the canal. He had just done it. That’s what coppers do. That’s what men do. Doesn’t matter if you hate a bloke, you don’t let him drown in the city’s filth.
Ray Carling hated Sam Tyler. Sam Tyler hated Ray Carling. That’s how it was from day one, how it was always supposed to be. So why was he feeling so damn guilty?
He toppled over his locker.
*
"What made me think I could do this? I should’ve just stayed a WPC, not let Sa...let him talk me into the promotion."
Annie sat in the very back corner of the canteen, an untouched cup of tea in her hands and Phyllis sitting in front of her.
"You knew what you were gettin’ into, Annie. He never tried to hide it from you. An’ what makes you think you’re not a good detective anyway?"
"I..."
"You’re smart, brave, an’ you don’ let those men get away with takin’ the piss jus’ cos you’re a plonk."
Annie leaned back in the chair and let go of the cup. "But I’m not tough. Not enough for this."
"Excuse me, are we talkin’ about Annie Cartwright here? The Annie Cartwright who stood up to Kim Trent an’ his gang without batting an eye? The same Annie who told off Dickie Fingers with a gun in her face? The same Annie who slapped Ray Carling on the arse?"
Annie looked away as tears formed in her eyes. "If I’m so tough, then why do I cry? Why do I have to cry over what happened to Chris. To Sa..." She still couldn’t say his name. "Ray didn’t cry. The Guv didn’t cry."
"Because you’re human. An’ it’s natural for us to cry. Why don’t blokes do it more often? Well, there just not as secure as us women. Think they have to hide it or the world will explode."
Annie didn’t look convinced. Phyllis grabbed her hand. "You care about Chris. You care about the Boss. Bad things happened to ‘em, so you feel bad. It shouldn’t be any other way, an’ it’s okay to cry ‘bout it cos it hurts. Don’t think you can’t do your job just cos you’re brave enough to shed a few tears about it." She let go of Annie’s hand and sipped her own tea. "Besides, I don’t want yeh back. Got other WPC’s to deal with now, so you’re stuck with CID. Got it?"
Annie nodded and checked her watch. "I better go back. Make sure Ray and the Guv don’t kill anyone."
"Good girl."
Annie grabbed her purse and left as Phyllis finished her tea. The aging desk sergeant had wondered when she was going to need that speech and was glad to be done with it. Now she could stop rehearsing the damn thing over and over in her head.
*
"Cryin’ Ryan Coward! Cryin’ Ryan Coward!" The boys circled round the smaller lad, pointing and laughing, some throwing small stones and sticks.
"Stop it! Jus’ go away!" The seven year-old wept from the ground.
"Or what? Headmaster Daddy will come an’ punish us?" one of the circling nine year-olds jeered.
"Ooo! I’m so scared," said another.
"Oi! Leave ‘im alone!" Another boy, slim and blonde, came running towards them.
"Why should we?" the head boy asked.
"Yeah, Grant, why should we?" nine year-old Sam Tyler piped in.
"Maybe cos it’s wrong?" Grant stated bravely. "An’ maybe cos Mr. Howard’s headed here right now."
The gang looked up and saw the Headmaster practically sprinting towards them.
"Quick! Let’s get out of here!" Another boy shouted. In the scramble to get away Sam was knocked over. He looked up to see his friends successfully escaping, but by the time he got to his feet the headmaster was already on top of him.
The tall man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. "Straight to my office, Mr. Tyler."
"But..."
"Now!"
Sam shook off Mr. Howard’s hand and headed towards the headmaster’s office.
"You’re the coward," Grant whispered when Sam passed, then ran off to join his own friends.
Sam, sulking, turned around as he walked and saw Mr. Howard gently pick up his son and brush him off. He straightened the boy’s clothes, checked his skinned hands, and told him to be brave, that after dinner tonight they’d play football. Just Ryan and his dad.
Sam hated Ryan Howard. He angrily pelted a stone with his foot as he entered the school. It just wasn’t fair. Stupid little Ryan had his daddy to protect him. Cryin’ Ryan Coward got to play footie with his dad after school. Sam’s mum never played football with her son. But mums didn’t play football. Dads did. Sam didn’t have a dad. Sam’s dad didn’t want him, had left him, disappearing five years ago today.
He could still remember it, even though he’d been little. He remembered asking a copper where his daddy was, and the man had said he was going to get him. Then the man came back, and his daddy wasn’t with him. He remembered his mum talking to the copper. The copper told her something that made her sad. Then she came inside and told Sammy that Daddy was gone, but he would see him again.
He sat down and waited in the headmaster’s office, crossing his arms and pouting. He hadn’t heard from his dad since. Not even a birthday card. His jacket was never hung on the bannister. He didn’t surprise Sammy anymore with toy cars or cigarette cards. His dad would never come back. He was never going to have a dad again. His mum had lied. The copper had lied. Sam didn’t want to be a policeman anymore, not if they always lied. He would be something better.
Sam waited impatiently for Mr. Howard, constantly fidgeting in his seat. He couldn’t sit still. He pulled out his Bobby Charlton card from his pocket and flipped it over in his hands. His dad had given him that card. Every time Sam pulled it out, held it, read it, he thought maybe his dad would appear, like a genie from a lamp. Sam stared at the card, his football hero staring back at him.
Sam couldn’t remember ever playing footie with his dad. He wondered what it would be like. Wished he could know.
He also wished he could run faster.Beep. Beep. It’s alright Sam. Mum’s here. Beep. Beep. Just hang in there, my beautiful boy. Beep. Beep. I know you’ll wake up. Beep. Beep.
__________________
Part 17
Author: dak
Word Count: 1756 this part; [27,857 overall]
Summary for Whole: After Chris is shot by accident at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart as Ray takes out his anger on Sam, Annie makes a decision which jeopardizes Gene's career, and Sam gets involved with a murder.
Summary this Part: Everyone has doubts.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina
Warnings: angst, swearing, angst, and angst here. Did I mention angst?; more angst, violence, swearing, and violent imagery, minor drug use and mild sexual situations for whole
Spoilers: 1.02, 1.08, 2.02 here; minor refs to 1.04, 1.07, 1.08, 2.01, and 2.06 in others
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Had a little trouble writing this part, don't know why. Hope it turned out okay. I'm going away this weekend, but will hopefully have time to write the next part and have it up Sunday or Monday.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47 Part 48 Part 49 Part 50 Part 51 Part 52 Part 53 Part 54 Part 55 Part 56 Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60 Part 61 Part 62 Part 63 Part 64 Part 65 Part 66 Part 67 Part 68 Part 69 Part 70 Part 71 Part 72 Part 73 Part 74 Part 75 Part 76 Part 77 Part 78 Part 79 Part 80 Part 81 Part 82 Part 83 Part 84 Part 85 Part 86
"I shouldn’t have told you."
Gene helped Chris lay back in bed. The doctor lifted Chris’ gown, checking to make sure the young man hadn’t pulled his stitches when he had fallen out of bed in an ill-planned scramble to find Sam Tyler. Dr. Richmond had been forced to give Chris a sedative to calm him down. The look in the doctor’s eyes told Gene he better check his cup for horse tranquilizers the next time a nurse brought him coffee.
"Shouldn’t have told you," he repeated. "What good does it do you to know?" Gene sighed and collapsed into the bedside chair.
Chris adjusted his back and rubbed his hand over the fresh bandages on his stomach. "He’s my DI, too, Guv."
His DI. Gene didn’t want to think about his DI anymore. He’d had enough of his whining, his pouting. Enough of his disappearing acts. He just didn’t want to think about him. About his broken nose and dislocated shoulder. About the cuts and welts on his chest, and about the damage Gene couldn’t see lying underneath those bruises. About the collapsed lung. About those half-digested pills...
"Doc says you’ll be out of here in a week or two, long as you keep mending like you are."
Chris nodded, the sedative making him sleepier than usual for this time of day. "If the food ‘ere don’ kill me firs’," he yawned. Chris’ eyes fluttered closed.
Sam’s eyes had never fluttered. He hadn’t regained consciousness. He’d barely been breathing, that horrible rasping sound forever echoing inside Gene’s head...
"Oh Guv, you’ll never guess who was ‘ere," Chris mumbled as fought sleep.
"Jane Seymour."
"Nelson!" Chris smiled. "Din’t think ‘e ever left the pub."
"Course he leaves the pub, Skelton. He’s gotta sleep somewhere."
Chris tried to shrug, but couldn’t quite pull it off. "Think ‘m goin’ to sleep meself."
"Good idea, Constable."
"Lemme know how the boss is." Chris fell asleep with his mouth open. Soon loud snores were echoing through the once quiet ward.
Let him know. Let him know what? That the prat was dying? That he’d probably be in a coma? Brain damaged, permanently scarred, broken, all because the skinny shit liked a drink but couldn’t hold his liquor? Apparently liked his pills, too...
"There anything I can get for you?" A friendly, young nurse tapped on Gene’s shoulder. His mind snapped back to the present.
"No. Just make sure he doesn’t cop it," he motioned to Chris. The nurse tip-toed away. Gene looked at his hands. He’d completely crushed and destroyed his pack of cigarettes. He tossed them in the bin by Chris’ bed and stood.
He needed to get back to the station. He had murderers and kidnappers and whatnot to catch. He couldn’t waste time diddling around a hospital. What good would that do?
*
Ray slammed his fist into the locker. He needed to work off this energy, but since Litton had taken Roy Martin away again, keeping him hidden from CID, the locker was the next best thing.
Tyler was smart. Smart and tough. Ray didn’t like to admit it, and he’d die before he ever said it aloud, but it was true. There were plenty of times when Ray had seen his DI take down suspects twice his size with only his mouth and a well-placed fist. Tyler should’ve had no trouble escaping those skinheads on his own.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t been at his full strength, though, had he? Ray had seen to that. Tyler already had two busted ribs when he was grabbed, concussion and a hangover on top of that.
Ray slammed his knuckles into the locker again. Why had he done it? He’d been looking for an excuse to lay into the pretty boy since he first arrived. Chris’ accident was perfect. The Guv would’ve punished him, but understood. No one would have blamed him. He was basically given a free pass. Then this had to happen, had to ruin everything.
He hadn’t thought twice about leaping in the canal. He had just done it. That’s what coppers do. That’s what men do. Doesn’t matter if you hate a bloke, you don’t let him drown in the city’s filth.
Ray Carling hated Sam Tyler. Sam Tyler hated Ray Carling. That’s how it was from day one, how it was always supposed to be. So why was he feeling so damn guilty?
He toppled over his locker.
*
"What made me think I could do this? I should’ve just stayed a WPC, not let Sa...let him talk me into the promotion."
Annie sat in the very back corner of the canteen, an untouched cup of tea in her hands and Phyllis sitting in front of her.
"You knew what you were gettin’ into, Annie. He never tried to hide it from you. An’ what makes you think you’re not a good detective anyway?"
"I..."
"You’re smart, brave, an’ you don’ let those men get away with takin’ the piss jus’ cos you’re a plonk."
Annie leaned back in the chair and let go of the cup. "But I’m not tough. Not enough for this."
"Excuse me, are we talkin’ about Annie Cartwright here? The Annie Cartwright who stood up to Kim Trent an’ his gang without batting an eye? The same Annie who told off Dickie Fingers with a gun in her face? The same Annie who slapped Ray Carling on the arse?"
Annie looked away as tears formed in her eyes. "If I’m so tough, then why do I cry? Why do I have to cry over what happened to Chris. To Sa..." She still couldn’t say his name. "Ray didn’t cry. The Guv didn’t cry."
"Because you’re human. An’ it’s natural for us to cry. Why don’t blokes do it more often? Well, there just not as secure as us women. Think they have to hide it or the world will explode."
Annie didn’t look convinced. Phyllis grabbed her hand. "You care about Chris. You care about the Boss. Bad things happened to ‘em, so you feel bad. It shouldn’t be any other way, an’ it’s okay to cry ‘bout it cos it hurts. Don’t think you can’t do your job just cos you’re brave enough to shed a few tears about it." She let go of Annie’s hand and sipped her own tea. "Besides, I don’t want yeh back. Got other WPC’s to deal with now, so you’re stuck with CID. Got it?"
Annie nodded and checked her watch. "I better go back. Make sure Ray and the Guv don’t kill anyone."
"Good girl."
Annie grabbed her purse and left as Phyllis finished her tea. The aging desk sergeant had wondered when she was going to need that speech and was glad to be done with it. Now she could stop rehearsing the damn thing over and over in her head.
*
"Cryin’ Ryan Coward! Cryin’ Ryan Coward!" The boys circled round the smaller lad, pointing and laughing, some throwing small stones and sticks.
"Stop it! Jus’ go away!" The seven year-old wept from the ground.
"Or what? Headmaster Daddy will come an’ punish us?" one of the circling nine year-olds jeered.
"Ooo! I’m so scared," said another.
"Oi! Leave ‘im alone!" Another boy, slim and blonde, came running towards them.
"Why should we?" the head boy asked.
"Yeah, Grant, why should we?" nine year-old Sam Tyler piped in.
"Maybe cos it’s wrong?" Grant stated bravely. "An’ maybe cos Mr. Howard’s headed here right now."
The gang looked up and saw the Headmaster practically sprinting towards them.
"Quick! Let’s get out of here!" Another boy shouted. In the scramble to get away Sam was knocked over. He looked up to see his friends successfully escaping, but by the time he got to his feet the headmaster was already on top of him.
The tall man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. "Straight to my office, Mr. Tyler."
"But..."
"Now!"
Sam shook off Mr. Howard’s hand and headed towards the headmaster’s office.
"You’re the coward," Grant whispered when Sam passed, then ran off to join his own friends.
Sam, sulking, turned around as he walked and saw Mr. Howard gently pick up his son and brush him off. He straightened the boy’s clothes, checked his skinned hands, and told him to be brave, that after dinner tonight they’d play football. Just Ryan and his dad.
Sam hated Ryan Howard. He angrily pelted a stone with his foot as he entered the school. It just wasn’t fair. Stupid little Ryan had his daddy to protect him. Cryin’ Ryan Coward got to play footie with his dad after school. Sam’s mum never played football with her son. But mums didn’t play football. Dads did. Sam didn’t have a dad. Sam’s dad didn’t want him, had left him, disappearing five years ago today.
He could still remember it, even though he’d been little. He remembered asking a copper where his daddy was, and the man had said he was going to get him. Then the man came back, and his daddy wasn’t with him. He remembered his mum talking to the copper. The copper told her something that made her sad. Then she came inside and told Sammy that Daddy was gone, but he would see him again.
He sat down and waited in the headmaster’s office, crossing his arms and pouting. He hadn’t heard from his dad since. Not even a birthday card. His jacket was never hung on the bannister. He didn’t surprise Sammy anymore with toy cars or cigarette cards. His dad would never come back. He was never going to have a dad again. His mum had lied. The copper had lied. Sam didn’t want to be a policeman anymore, not if they always lied. He would be something better.
Sam waited impatiently for Mr. Howard, constantly fidgeting in his seat. He couldn’t sit still. He pulled out his Bobby Charlton card from his pocket and flipped it over in his hands. His dad had given him that card. Every time Sam pulled it out, held it, read it, he thought maybe his dad would appear, like a genie from a lamp. Sam stared at the card, his football hero staring back at him.
Sam couldn’t remember ever playing footie with his dad. He wondered what it would be like. Wished he could know.
He also wished he could run faster.Beep. Beep. It’s alright Sam. Mum’s here. Beep. Beep. Just hang in there, my beautiful boy. Beep. Beep. I know you’ll wake up. Beep. Beep.
__________________
Part 17