Fic: Steady As She Goes (28/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (28/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1260 this part; [50,666 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: Gene has flashbacks of his own.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina, uhm, what's slightly darker than blue?
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: 1x07 and 2x01; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Borrowed a bit of original dialogue from 1x07 and 2x01 here. I also took some liberties with inventing Sam's birth date in order to fit my evil plans. Once again italics = flashbacks. Sorry for the shortness of this part.
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
"No bleeding way."
Gene stood at the side of the road leaning against the Cortina, arms crossed and fingers clenched, staring at the car wreck that had claimed Roy Martin’s life.
"They expect me to believe that bastard was accidently killed in a car crash while they escorted him back to prison? They must be nuttier than Tyler," Gene told Ray as they watched forensics photograph the twisted lump of metal formerly known as a car.
Tyler. Why was he thinking of him again? Gene couldn’t help imagining what Sam would do if he were here. Strutting about like he owned the place, spouting off nonsense about impact and trajectories. Pissing Gene off with that cocky little grin.
He hadn’t been so cocky last night. Crying like a baby and getting Gene’s shirt all damp after the missus had so carefully pressed it. Crying for his mum. For his dad. For...
"...think so, Guv? Guv?"
"Hm?" Gene found his hip flask but it was empty. He stuffed it back in his pocket as Ray reiterated the question.
"This’ll make it more difficult to prove Litton responsible, don’t you think so?"
Gene located his second flask but it, too, was empty. He threw it in the Cortina via the open window. "Keep an eye on things here. We’ll discuss it in the morning." Gene finally found a flask with something in it, swigged it down and loaded himself into the car.
Ray approached the forensics crew as Gene sped off. "Alright you fairies. ‘Urry it up. Don’ want to be out ‘ere all night, do yeh?"
*
He should’ve gone home. Straight home. Sat with the wife. Shared a cuppa. Changed his clothes. Instead he found himself back at the station. She would understand. Poor woman always did. Since he was at the station he should be at least looking into Skelton’s shooting or the recent, untimely death of Roy Martin.
Instead he was looking at Sam Tyler’s personnel file. The radio played softly in the background as Gene opened the folder, noticing how surprisingly thin it was. Most of the papers regarded incidents in Manchester, after his transfer. Gene flipped through the complaints, all of which were filed by DS Carling for reasons ranging from "arrogant prick" to "wanker." He passed over the original transfer orders. Nothing special there. Here it was, the very back page. Personal information, emergency contacts. This is what Gene needed to see.
Name: Tyler, Sam
"Well he got that right," Gene whispered through cigarette smoke.
Date of birth: 6 September 1936
Like it should be. 1969. What kind of shit was that, Gene thought. Wait. 6 September. 6/9. 69.
"That solves that then." Gene tried to feel satisfied, but something was still gnawing at him. He stared at the birth date and finished his fag as Peters & Lee came over the radio.
"I’m so alone, my love, without you/You’re part of everything I do/When you come back/and you’re beside me/these are the words I’ll sing to you/Welcome home. Welcome/Come on in and close the door."
That’s pulp.
No. Tastes like spinach.
That’s Pulp. I saw them play at the Nynex, 96.
Bollocks. Gene extinguished his fag so hard the glass ash tray nearly shattered. Nynex 96. That was just some pervy Hyde night club he must have visited. That’s all. He hadn’t meant in 1996...
Bollocks. The whole thing. Just utter bollocks.
He reclined in the wobbly chair and plopped his feet on the desk, the personal information sheet still in his hands. Gene continued to scan the page. Current address. Phone number. Allergies.
Peanut butter.
"You’re joking." Gene made a mental note to ask Tyler if he was deathly allergic or get-sick-for-a-day-and-fully-recover allergic. It could be a handy, and mildly amusing, way to win arguments with the prat. Gene flipped over the page, curious as to why anyone would bother to mention such a food allergy under their emergency information. Then again this was Tyler.
Emergency contacts. Bingo.
This had been filled in recently. Sam’s handwriting was a little sloppier and he had used a different pen. He’d started fill out the first contact slot with something that resembled "Ruth" but had crossed it out. The space was now filled in full with "DCI Gene Hunt."
"That cheeky bastard. Why would I care if he was hurt? Probably be the one who hurt ‘im in the first place," Gene explained to no one in particular, mild anger masking something else entirely.
The second contact spot was given to "WPC Annie Cartwright."
So Tyler had filled this out after arriving in Manchester but before Cartwright’s promotion. Before that business with Crane...
Sam Tyler is from the future.
Gene swung his legs off the desk and tossed the paper aside, tearing through the rest of the file. Where was the other paperwork he must have brought with him from Hyde? Papers with his old address, old contacts. There was nothing else there. All that existed of Sam Tyler was right there in front of him, all of it completely useless and previously known except one odd bit about a food Gene thought only pansies ate anyway.
Enough of this. He reached for the phone about to ask for Hyde, C-Division. Demand answers about the crackpot DI they’d unceremoniously dumped on him so many months ago. His hand hovered over the phone.
Why shouldn’t he? Just one simple call would be all it took. All the mysteries and enigmas wrapped around Sam Tyler finally solved.
Do you want to know about Hyde? Do you want to know where I really come from?
Go on Sam. Get it off your chest. You know you want to.
What’s he on about Sam?
Sam Tyler is from the future. Oh yes. He’s a time traveller, sort of. Go on Sam. Tell ‘em the truth. They know you’re not right in the ‘ead. You can’t hide it anymore. So tell ‘em.
Gene closed his eyes and breathed slowly. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? He could...he should...
And it should be 2006 and I should be a DCI and I should have my mobile.
He remembered how Sam had clung to him, begged him to send him home. Send him home to a different year. The doctors, maybe they could...Send me home, Guv. Please. Send me home.
He remembered how Sam had trusted him. Believed in him.
He pulled back his hand and gathered up the pieces of Tyler’s file. Who bloody cared about paperwork anyway? Carling was right. He was spending too much time with the twat. The injuries, the fever, that’s all it had been. That’s all.
Tyler was a good copper. That’s all that mattered. A good copper. All that mattered. Gene repeated it to himself over and over, trying to force himself into believing it was truth as he left his office and put the folder back in the shaky cabinet. He was a good copper and he trusted his DCI. That’s all that should matter.
Gene shoved the drawer shut causing the ancient metal tower to sway uncertainly. So preoccupied with convincing himself about something he knew he shouldn’t be trying to convince himself of, he didn’t even notice the man who came up behind him.
"I believe...I believe I may...require your...assistance, DCI Hunt." He spoke the words like they were poison on his tongue, but Gene could tell he meant it, that coming here had been a very, very last resort.
"An’ why should I oblige, Litton?"
___________
Part 29
Author: dak
Word Count: 1260 this part; [50,666 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart.
Summary this Part: Gene has flashbacks of his own.
Rating: still Blue-ish Cortina, uhm, what's slightly darker than blue?
Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, violent imagery, minor drug use, mild sexual situations, self-harm for whole
Spoilers: 1x07 and 2x01; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: Borrowed a bit of original dialogue from 1x07 and 2x01 here. I also took some liberties with inventing Sam's birth date in order to fit my evil plans. Once again italics = flashbacks. Sorry for the shortness of this part.
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
"No bleeding way."
Gene stood at the side of the road leaning against the Cortina, arms crossed and fingers clenched, staring at the car wreck that had claimed Roy Martin’s life.
"They expect me to believe that bastard was accidently killed in a car crash while they escorted him back to prison? They must be nuttier than Tyler," Gene told Ray as they watched forensics photograph the twisted lump of metal formerly known as a car.
Tyler. Why was he thinking of him again? Gene couldn’t help imagining what Sam would do if he were here. Strutting about like he owned the place, spouting off nonsense about impact and trajectories. Pissing Gene off with that cocky little grin.
He hadn’t been so cocky last night. Crying like a baby and getting Gene’s shirt all damp after the missus had so carefully pressed it. Crying for his mum. For his dad. For...
"...think so, Guv? Guv?"
"Hm?" Gene found his hip flask but it was empty. He stuffed it back in his pocket as Ray reiterated the question.
"This’ll make it more difficult to prove Litton responsible, don’t you think so?"
Gene located his second flask but it, too, was empty. He threw it in the Cortina via the open window. "Keep an eye on things here. We’ll discuss it in the morning." Gene finally found a flask with something in it, swigged it down and loaded himself into the car.
Ray approached the forensics crew as Gene sped off. "Alright you fairies. ‘Urry it up. Don’ want to be out ‘ere all night, do yeh?"
*
He should’ve gone home. Straight home. Sat with the wife. Shared a cuppa. Changed his clothes. Instead he found himself back at the station. She would understand. Poor woman always did. Since he was at the station he should be at least looking into Skelton’s shooting or the recent, untimely death of Roy Martin.
Instead he was looking at Sam Tyler’s personnel file. The radio played softly in the background as Gene opened the folder, noticing how surprisingly thin it was. Most of the papers regarded incidents in Manchester, after his transfer. Gene flipped through the complaints, all of which were filed by DS Carling for reasons ranging from "arrogant prick" to "wanker." He passed over the original transfer orders. Nothing special there. Here it was, the very back page. Personal information, emergency contacts. This is what Gene needed to see.
Name: Tyler, Sam
"Well he got that right," Gene whispered through cigarette smoke.
Date of birth: 6 September 1936
Like it should be. 1969. What kind of shit was that, Gene thought. Wait. 6 September. 6/9. 69.
"That solves that then." Gene tried to feel satisfied, but something was still gnawing at him. He stared at the birth date and finished his fag as Peters & Lee came over the radio.
"I’m so alone, my love, without you/You’re part of everything I do/When you come back/and you’re beside me/these are the words I’ll sing to you/Welcome home. Welcome/Come on in and close the door."
That’s pulp.
No. Tastes like spinach.
That’s Pulp. I saw them play at the Nynex, 96.
Bollocks. Gene extinguished his fag so hard the glass ash tray nearly shattered. Nynex 96. That was just some pervy Hyde night club he must have visited. That’s all. He hadn’t meant in 1996...
Bollocks. The whole thing. Just utter bollocks.
He reclined in the wobbly chair and plopped his feet on the desk, the personal information sheet still in his hands. Gene continued to scan the page. Current address. Phone number. Allergies.
Peanut butter.
"You’re joking." Gene made a mental note to ask Tyler if he was deathly allergic or get-sick-for-a-day-and-fully-recover allergic. It could be a handy, and mildly amusing, way to win arguments with the prat. Gene flipped over the page, curious as to why anyone would bother to mention such a food allergy under their emergency information. Then again this was Tyler.
Emergency contacts. Bingo.
This had been filled in recently. Sam’s handwriting was a little sloppier and he had used a different pen. He’d started fill out the first contact slot with something that resembled "Ruth" but had crossed it out. The space was now filled in full with "DCI Gene Hunt."
"That cheeky bastard. Why would I care if he was hurt? Probably be the one who hurt ‘im in the first place," Gene explained to no one in particular, mild anger masking something else entirely.
The second contact spot was given to "WPC Annie Cartwright."
So Tyler had filled this out after arriving in Manchester but before Cartwright’s promotion. Before that business with Crane...
Sam Tyler is from the future.
Gene swung his legs off the desk and tossed the paper aside, tearing through the rest of the file. Where was the other paperwork he must have brought with him from Hyde? Papers with his old address, old contacts. There was nothing else there. All that existed of Sam Tyler was right there in front of him, all of it completely useless and previously known except one odd bit about a food Gene thought only pansies ate anyway.
Enough of this. He reached for the phone about to ask for Hyde, C-Division. Demand answers about the crackpot DI they’d unceremoniously dumped on him so many months ago. His hand hovered over the phone.
Why shouldn’t he? Just one simple call would be all it took. All the mysteries and enigmas wrapped around Sam Tyler finally solved.
Do you want to know about Hyde? Do you want to know where I really come from?
Go on Sam. Get it off your chest. You know you want to.
What’s he on about Sam?
Sam Tyler is from the future. Oh yes. He’s a time traveller, sort of. Go on Sam. Tell ‘em the truth. They know you’re not right in the ‘ead. You can’t hide it anymore. So tell ‘em.
Gene closed his eyes and breathed slowly. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? He could...he should...
And it should be 2006 and I should be a DCI and I should have my mobile.
He remembered how Sam had clung to him, begged him to send him home. Send him home to a different year. The doctors, maybe they could...Send me home, Guv. Please. Send me home.
He remembered how Sam had trusted him. Believed in him.
He pulled back his hand and gathered up the pieces of Tyler’s file. Who bloody cared about paperwork anyway? Carling was right. He was spending too much time with the twat. The injuries, the fever, that’s all it had been. That’s all.
Tyler was a good copper. That’s all that mattered. A good copper. All that mattered. Gene repeated it to himself over and over, trying to force himself into believing it was truth as he left his office and put the folder back in the shaky cabinet. He was a good copper and he trusted his DCI. That’s all that should matter.
Gene shoved the drawer shut causing the ancient metal tower to sway uncertainly. So preoccupied with convincing himself about something he knew he shouldn’t be trying to convince himself of, he didn’t even notice the man who came up behind him.
"I believe...I believe I may...require your...assistance, DCI Hunt." He spoke the words like they were poison on his tongue, but Gene could tell he meant it, that coming here had been a very, very last resort.
"An’ why should I oblige, Litton?"
___________
Part 29