Fic: Steady As She Goes (18/86)
Title: Steady As She Goes (18/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2279 this part; [32,189 overall]
Summary for Whole: After Chris is shot by accident at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: Gene lays it all on the line.
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: refs to 1.01, 1.04, and 1.06 here; minor refs to 1.02, 1.04, 1.07, 1.08, 2.01, 2.02 and 2.06, 2.08 (but not the ending) in others
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Good news/Bad News: Good news, I got the job I interviewed for last week. Bad news, I'll have no life the next 9 weeks, so updates will probably be a lot slower. But no matter how long it takes, I promise I won't quit on this story. Please enjoy!
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
The station had fallen into a morose monotony, or maybe it was just CID. Chris couldn’t tell, but something was definitely off when he returned to work one week later.
"Mornin’ Phyllis," he said as he walked through the doors.
"Mornin’ Chris. Good to see yeh back," she smiled and nodded. It was an average enough greeting, but Chris thought he could detect in it a trace of melancholy. He shuffled to the lift and waited patiently for it to arrive. He was hoping things would be normal on the third floor. He’d told Ray he hadn’t wanted any surprise party, or signs, or special food and drink. It didn’t seem right. Not with DI Tyler...
Chris left the lift and walked to the locker room. He dropped off his extra clothes and a few magazines his mum had picked up for him. As he closed the locker door he noticed a few odd dents in Ray’s own locker. Something told Chris he shouldn’t ask about it.
He carefully opened the door to CID and to his great relief (and maybe just a little disappointment) it was just as Ray had promised. No banners. No signs. Just normality.
It was early enough that Chris was the only one there. He sat at his desk. Tapped his fingers. Looked around. Everything was normal, but wrong at the same time. Chris couldn’t describe. A fog of despair coated the empty room.
Gradually as the other detectives started filing in, saying hello and welcoming him back, the fog seemed to lift. Chris thought maybe it was all in his head to begin with. That the office only seemed empty because he’d been the only person in it. That made sense. Didn’t it?
*
"They want to give me a new DI, Sammy."
Gene was leaning forward in the hospital chair, arms on his legs, hands folded.
"I told ‘em it’s barely been a month. That I din’t need one anyway. City’s been quiet lately. No murders. A few robberies. An assault. You’d be bored outta your mind."
The clicking respirator was the only response.
"Told Ray to apply for inspector. Figured, if they’re goin’ ta force a new one on me, might as well be one of me own."
Click. Woosh.
Gene leaned back in the chair and ran a slightly shaking hand through his unwashed hair. "Stupid nonce won’t do it. Made some half-brained excuse, but I know it’s cos of you. Doesn’t want to step on your toes."
Click. Woosh.
"Funny that. ‘Specially considering a month ago he’d of had no trouble bashin’ your toes with a crowbar. Don’ know what you did to ‘im. You fairy."
Click. Woosh.
Gene pulled a cigarette from his pocket and rolled it around in his fingers. "I can keep puttin’ it off, but not forever, Sam. I need you to wake up. I need you to give me something. Something I can take to the Super. Show you’re still there. Anything, Sam."
Click. Woosh.
Gene stared at Sam a moment longer. He was so thin now. The doctors had mentioned something about his muscles beginning to atrophy from disuse. Gene didn’t know what that meant. Tyler usually explained those things to him. Even if he didn’t know, the picky pain would look it up then quote Gene the entire text. Gene would pretend not listen, throw out an insult, then a punch, then solve the case on Tyler’s newfound information.
Click. Woosh.
Gene had gone to the library. Looked it up. Gene Hunt went to the fucking, fairy-boy, student-smelling, spinsters-only library. He hadn’t liked what he read.
Click. Woosh.
Gene stood up, ready to leave. "Oh," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tape. "Cartwright made this for yeh. Her nephew’s been sick so she’s been helpin’ out her sister. Why she hasn’t been in this week, but she wanted you to have this."
Click. Woosh.
Gene popped it in Sam’s tape recorder and hit play. T. Rex’s "Telegram Sam" began to play. "Don’ know why you listen to that rubbish." Gene took a deep breath. "Look, I can only hold off the Super another week or so, Sammy. Now might be a good time to stop being such a girl and wake the fuck up."
Click. Woosh.
*
Sam sat at his desk tapping along to Bauhaus’ cover of "Telegram Sam" as he read through a report. He happened to look up the moment a beautiful, young woman walked in the door. She had gorgeous, shoulder-length black hair. A smart, tailored woman’s suit hugged her figure perfectly, her red blouse nicely accenting her skin.
Sam spilled his coffee all over the report. He leaped out of his chair as the coffee started to drip on his pants and stood there nervously, not knowing what to clean up first.
The woman noticed and came over to help. "Here, I think I have some napkins in my purse. Ah! Here we go. Left over from breakfast." She handed them to Sam.
"Cheers, thanks, sorry." He started to dab up the runny mess. "McDonald’s?"
"No, Roy. Maya Roy."
"Oh, no. I meant the uh..." he motioned to the wet napkins.
Maya playfully slapped her forehead. "Sorry, yeah. That was stupid. Especially for a detective."
Sam threw the used napkins in the bin. "You’re our new DC?"
Maya became slightly defensive. "Is that a problem?"
"What? No! No, sorry. I’m just surprised."
Maya glared at him.
"Pleasantly surprised! I mean. Usually the new detectives are..."
"Men?"
"No."
"White?"
"Not as nice as you."
"Looking you mean."
"No! Nice personality. Not that you’re not nice looking, I mean, because you are. Quite attractive. But I don’t mean that in a sexist way!" Sam closed his eyes. "Please don’t report me to disciplinary complaints."
"I think we can avoid that," Maya smirked and held out her hand. "Let’s try again. Hello. I’m DC Maya Roy."
"DS Sam Tyler." They shook hands. Sam didn’t want to let go, and neither, apparently, did Maya.
"Pleased to meet you DS Tyler."
"Likewise DC Roy."
Finally they let go. Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You really shouldn’t eat that. Especially for breakfast."
"What?"
"McDonald’s."
"Oh I know. It’s horrible for you, but I’m usually in such a rush." She ran her hand through her soft hair. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off that hair.
"Well, there’s this little shop, just round the corner. Makes a great, quick breakfast. And it’s not nearly as bad for you."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I could show you later. If you like."
"That’d be lovely. Thanks." Maya checked her watch. "Shit! Sorry. I mean..."
"I won’t tell disciplinary complaints," Sam whispered conspiratorially.
"Cheers. Anyway, I"ve got to go meet the DCI. It was nice meeting you."
"Same here." Sam smiled as she walked away. The back was certainly as nice as the front...
Sam looked away. That wasn’t right. Not at work. He sat back down at his desk and continued to clean up the mess. The report was completely ruined. He was going to have to run off a whole new copy.
Beep. Beep. I’m sorry Mrs. Tyler. Beep. Beep. There’s not much else we can do. Beep. Beep.
*
It was another calm day at the station, though Annie thought "calm" was just a euphemism for boring and depressing. Having Chris back definitely lightened the mood, but at the same time it only served to remind them they were still missing another one of their own.
The Guv had been better since he started visiting Sam. Ray even told them he was sleeping at home again. Yet the news that Rathbone was pressuring him to find a new DI had put A-Division on edge. No one was sure exactly how DCI Hunt would react when the day finally came. The day a new man, a different man, would be sitting at DI Tyler’s overly immaculate desk.
That is, if any of them could even admit that day was actually coming.
Today was especially tense. Tonight was the scheduled monthly darts match versus RCS down at the Arms. Gene had insisted it still take place despite the near certainty that before the night was over half of them would be in the nick and the other half would be in the hospital. Yet, when DCI Hunt insisted something happen, they knew it damn well better happen.
So it was that at 5:30 detectives from both sides began to trickle into the Railway Arms. RCS huddled in the back corner while CID took over the bar. The pub was a powder keg on top of dynamite surrounded by moat of petrol. One wrong word was all it needed.
Nelson gave stern orders to Gene that his pub best be in one piece by the end of the evening or he’d turn it from a copper’s boozer into a knitting circle for the elderly of Manchester.
Six o’clock sharp, Litton and Gene approached each other in the center of the room. RCS had their arms crossed and stood up straight. CID leaned against the bar, already finishing their second round.
Gene had shed his camel coat and stood before Litton in his sharpest gray suit. He kept his hands in his trouser pockets and looked Litton up and down without expression.
"Well," he finally said. "Isn’t this cozy."
"Quite," Litton replied. "So, Hunt. What are we playing for? Same as usual?"
"No."
Litton wasn’t expecting this. RCS wasn’t expecting this. CID should have expected it, but didn’t. The vacuum of space was never this silent or dangerous.
"What exactly did you have in mind, then. Hm?"
Gene didn’t hesitate. "Roy Martin."
Litton held back a scoff. He knew he’d be dead if he didn’t. "Excuse me?"
"I. Want. Roy. Martin." Gene stepped closer to Litton with each word.
"And if you lose?"
Gene stared down at the shorter DCI. "Name it."
Litton thought a moment. Then, a devilish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "A friend of mine is looking to transfer to Manchester. There’s only one position available at the moment. A vacant detective inspector post."
All of CID set down their drinks and stood up. Nelson backed away from the counter. RCS pretended they hadn’t just heard what they thought they heard.
Gene never blinked. "Done."
"Get your team together then."
"Get ready to transfer Roy Martin."
The DCI’s backed away to their respective corners. Gene nodded to Nelson and the barman poured him a double. Gene swallowed it back in one go. He set the glass down then removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
"We lose, you’re all fired."
Gene went and grabbed the darts from the board.
*
Chris was shot. Chris was shot. Chris was shot. It was all his fault. The girl had said so. Oh god. It was all his fault.
Sam didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking. Where was he anyway?
Sam clutched the file and looked around. The canal. How’d he get to the canal? Wasn’t this where...? It was. This was near where they found Joni. Another of his mistakes. Another person dead because of him.
He had to get away from here. From the canal. From Joni. From Chris. From 1973. What had he said to Annie once? That first day, near the record shop. He’d thought that if he kept walking his mind would eventually run out of ideas. No new faces or people. No more Sweeney-fied images of 1973. Maybe he could do that now.
So he kept walking along the canal. He walked another hour. Drinking seriously slowed his coordination, he realized. He did not, however, realize that crack in the road existed, caught his foot, and fell forward. When did his mind put that there? Stupid brain.
He dropped the file when he fell and several pages were now scattered in front of him. He got to his knees and started to pick them up when something large and heavy fell from the sky and landed to the embankment on his left. Sam cautiously peered over and soon discovered it was a body.
His mind was certainly doing odd things today.
"Oi! Who’s that?"
Where did that come from, he wondered. Was it the body talking?
"Get down there an’ hold ‘im!"
Sam looked up and saw three bald men pointing at him from the bridge above. Well, that made more sense, he thought.
The next thing Sam knew one of the men was sitting on his back, pinning him to the ground.
"What’d you see, huh? What’d you see you spastic?" The heavy man shouted in his ear.
"I, there’s, you’re hurting me," he slurred.
"Oh let ‘im go, Al. ‘E’s just a boozer. Won’ remember nowt come mornin’ anyway," said a man Sam couldn’t see. Sam liked that man.
"Not so fast, Bobby," said Bald Man #3. "We better make sure he really won’ remember this. ‘Ere Al. Use this."
Sam couldn’t see what was happening, but he knew there was no way it was good. He felt the pressure ease off his back as Al stood up, but before he could take advantage of that opportunity something heavy slammed into the back of his head. Once. Then twice. And Sam was out cold.Beep. Beep. But according to the latest tests there is no brain activity. We’re only keeping the body alive. Sam is gone. Beep. Beep. Try convincing the mother of that. It’s up to her whether we take him off life support. Beep. Beep. She couldn’t do it before. I doubt you’ll convince her now. Beep. Beep.
_______________
Part 19