Fic: Steady As She Goes (51/86), Blue Cortina, dakfinv
Title: Steady As She Goes (51/86)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2013 this part; [94,834 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart while his and Sam's friendship is pushed to the limits.
Summary this Part: Gene finds out something he shouldn't have.
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: 2x01; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: I wanted to get this part up sooner but wasn't happy with it so after some more editing, here it finally is!
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
"Tell me about home, Sam."
Gene sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He desperately wanted to go to the filing cabinet and extract a tumbler and his bottle but she had a nose like a bloodhound. Would be able to tell if a single drop had touched his lips. For the sake of preventing an unnecessary argument, and a very necessary shag, later, Gene kept himself glued in his desk chair.
Gene had always made the effort not dwell on his thoughts. He never liked where they led and preferred to forget what he was feeling. Hiding it all away like that little animal which used to gnaw on his insides over taking back-handers. This weekend had been utter shit, however, and he didn’t see any way around thinking about how it had all gotten to this point.
"Tell me about home, Sam."
"No...no I can’t."
Gene knew he should let Tyler rest but Gladys was the one who’d brought it up in the first place. It was entirely the nonce’s fault that Gene’s curiosity was piqued.
Gene couldn’t understand why he’d pressed so hard. Why had he so badly wanted to know? Where had it gotten him? Gotten them? Why was he dwelling on this? He grabbed a pen and started filling out the preliminary paperwork on DI Graham’s suicide.
"You...you won’t believe me. No one believes me. Annie doesn’t. How can she?"
"Don’t mean I can’t listen."
And Sam laughed.
Gene crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. "God help me. Doin’ the ruddy, nancy-boy organizing." He threw out a few other half-completed forms just for good measure.
Sam had laughed. Then sobbed. Then told him about the future. Told him exactly what Tony Crane had told them about the future.
"Bugger it all." Gene rose from his desk. He’d come to the station to think things out in peace. It was the only place he could get any. CID was always empty on bright, Sunday afternoons like this, but what was thinking without a bit of whiskey? A filled glass was in his hands in an instant and down his throat just as quick.
Then Sam had passed out. The fever broke. The next morning he woke up, clear as a bell, denying everything. At least that’s what Gene had expected. Tyler, of course, never did what he was meant to. He hadn’t denied anything, had he? Had practically confirmed every fear Gene had about him. After Sam had told him, back when he was still sweating buckets and seeing dancing monkeys on the ceiling and whatever else was prancing through his head while it was doubling as a frying pan, after Tyler’s little "confession" Gene had already decided it had just been the fever. The lies of Crane blending with the truth of Sam’s depressing life.
Then Sam woke up. Then Sam became curiously belligerent over mentions of his parents. Mentions of Hyde. Then Merrick mentioned schizophrenia. Then it had all clicked into place. Somehow a third of the bottle was gone. That was enough. That would do. Gene capped it and buried it back in the drawer. He could think clearly now. He could finally decide what he would do about Tyler.
Of course, in that moment of clarity, in bounded Ray and Chris, strolling through the doors like it was a Monday afternoon. There went his peace. Gene hitched up his pants, maybe her diet was working after all, and pushed open his door, eliciting a grunt from Ray and a gasp from Chris.
"What’re you doin’ here?" Gene grumbled.
"Wanted to make sure the body got in without any trouble," Ray reasoned.
"And I had to ride with Ray cos Annie borrowed me car," Chris added, then quickly prayed the Guv wouldn’t ask why.
"Why?"
Chris needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. "She was going to give DI Tyler a ride home. I think."
"You think?" Gene scoffed, stuffing his fists in his pockets. Chris never thought when he was supposed to and always thought too much when he didn’t need to.
"It was either home or hospital, Guv," Ray interjected, hoping to save Chris a little trouble. "Bloody twat nearly killed hisself on those stairs jus’ to repeat what you already told us."
" ‘Cept he mentioned checkin’ for the note with the wife," Chris defended Sam to Ray even though Ray was trying to defend Chris to the Guv. "Found nowt in his cell, Guv," the DC said, turning to Gene.
"He thought of that?" Gene hoped he was able to hide his surprise, though he mentally added a check to Tyler’s "recovery" column, a short list that was sorely lacking some company.
Chris nodded, then shifted nervously. "Then he sort of fainted. But not really. I mean, his eyes were open like, but he weren’t all there."
"When’s ‘e ever been all there?" Ray huffed, lighting a cigarette.
"Walkin’ those stairs made ‘im tired is all," Chris stated, knowing he was dangerously close to whining.
"Nearly killed himself for nowt."
"Wouldn’t be the first time," Gene added, reminding them of his presence as he leaned back against Tyler’s empty desk.
"Or even the second."
The cigarette nearly burned a whole in Ray’s trousers as it fell from his lips. The whiskey nearly came back up Gene’s throat as he stared at his young DC. Chris gulped and braced himself for a barrage of questions. He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.
*
"It’s just chicken broth, sir. It won’t bite you but you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to."
Sam stared down at the intimidating bowl before him. He lowered the spoon. "No. It’s about time I ate something."
Annie regarded Sam curiously as he fought a trembling hand in order to bring the filled spoon to his mouth. Surely the Guv had fed him yesterday? She watched as Sam swallowed the first spoonful, his face etched in fear as if he was being force fed by an executioner. As it settled in his stomach she saw his muscles relax, a surprisingly heavy burden lifted from his shoulders.
"Thank you," he said without smiling, eyes still fixed on the bowl as he scooped up another bite.
"I’ll be in the next room if you need me," she said abruptly and quickly left the small kitchen. Sam decided to ignore her actions for now and concentrate on the food in front of him. He was determined to finish the entire bowl. Even if he sicked it up later at least they would have seen that he tried. He focused on establishing a rhythm.
Spoon down. Spoon up. Swallow. Breathe. Repeat. Each drop of plain, hot broth made his stomach feel heavier than the last but he knew, in the long run, that it was all for his own benefit. Broth for a day or two. Then maybe some stew, yogurt, oatmeal. Boiled chicken, veg, fruits next week. It was a process, a progression. Sam could do that. He was good at maintaining order. Spoon down. Spoon up. Breath. Ignore the cramping. Repeat. Down. Up. Breathe. Ignore. Repeat. Down. Up. The telephone rang. He could hear Annie answering it in the sitting room.
"Hello?...Guv?...No he’s here...Do you..."
Sam strained to listen. What was Gene playing at? Taking him in. Kicking him out. Now calling to find him. Couldn’t he make up his bloody mind?
Annie’s voice suddenly dropped several decibels. Dammit. Sam had to know what was happening. This couldn’t be about the new case. He could feel it. He saw a second telephone hanging on the wall, not too far from reach. Scrambling as softly and quickly as he could, Sam miraculously made it to the phone, with much protest from his aching legs, and picked up the other line.
"...leaps off the fucking roof I have a right to know!"
Gene’s voice echoed in Sam’s head. He sorely wished he would’ve stayed in the chair.
"It....it was a private matter, sir. I thought--"
There was no way Annie would be able to win this argument and Sam would have felt sorry for her if the familiar despair which preceded his panic attacks hadn’t begun to chew at his already frayed nerves.
"How private would it be if his brains were splattered all over my station?"
He and Gene had been working things out. They had. Today hadn’t started out that well between them but it was only a little setback. Overall it had been getting better. Hadn’t it?
"Sir...I’m sorry, sir. But...why does this matter now?"
It was over. It was over between him and Gene, wasn’t it? Yes, Gene had come back for him before. Saved him from the kidnappers. From the hospital. This time, Sam had pushed him too far. Gene could never forgive him again.
"Twice Cartwright! Twice he’s tried to off himself an’ we keep carrying on like it’s fucking normal!"
"Guv..."
Annie was close to tears now. If Sam could hear anything but Gene’s voice he would have noticed.
"How many other times were there? Hm? These are just the ones we know of. Those times he din’t join us at the pub? Took a day off? How many of those times has he been sitting in his grubby, little flat with a pistol to his head and finger on the trigger?"
Never, Sam wanted to scream. Not once. Never. No. No. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t that sort of person. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. Wasn’t he? Sam didn’t hear any more of the conversation. He didn’t hear Gene say "and we did nothing."
He managed to hang up the phone without arousing suspicion, though later he wouldn’t recall doing it. He wouldn’t recall getting back to the table but he did it. He wouldn’t recall finishing the chicken broth but he did it. He wouldn’t recall swallowing the two pills he dug from his pocket but he did it.
*
It was about forty-five minutes before Annie realized something was wrong. After a fifteen minute verbal beating from the Guv she had locked herself in her bedroom, determined to compose herself before facing Sam. She also had to prepare a good cover story. She knew Sam would have overheard at least some of her end of the conversation and Sam being Sam, he would ask about it. She had to be ready.
When she reentered the kitchen to clear away his empty bowl he was noticeably more calm. Too calm. At his most relaxed, before all this started, Sam Tyler had never been that calm. He breathed deeply, vacant eyes fixed on a corner of the room, an upsetting smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. What worried Annie most was that Sam never inquired about the phone call. Not once. He didn’t seem curious in the slightest. That was not her Sam at all.
"Sam?" She bent down so she was eye level with him. "How was the soup?"
"Hm?" He slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers.
"The soup?"
"Oh. ‘S good." He sighed and his eyes lost focus again. Annie noticed that the constant tremor he had developed over the weekend had disappeared.
"What would you like to do next?"
"Hm?"
"What would you like to do?"
Sam shrugged then noticed the dirt under his fingernails.
"Well, would you like to move to the sofa or get some sleep?"
"Okay," he shrugged. "Which one? The sofa or sleep?" Sam looked at her as if she’d just asked him to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity. His breathing quickened for a moment then calmed as he forgot what Annie had asked him. "Wait here. Okay?" She resisted the urge to grab his hand and braced herself for the phone call she knew she had to make. She picked up the phone, each second spent waiting for the connection to go through worse than the one before.
"DCI Hunt? Please don’t hang up, sir. It’s Sam. I...I think he might’ve taken something."
_________
Part 52
Author: dak
Word Count: 2013 this part; [94,834 overall]
Summary for Whole: After an accidental shooting at the station, Gene struggles to keep his team from tearing themselves apart while his and Sam's friendship is pushed to the limits.
Summary this Part: Gene finds out something he shouldn't have.
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: 2x01; see each chapter for specific spoiler warnings
Pairing: mild Sam/Annie, Sam/Maya, Gene/missus
Disclaimer: Belongs to BBC/Kudos
A/N: I wanted to get this part up sooner but wasn't happy with it so after some more editing, here it finally is!
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
"Tell me about home, Sam."
Gene sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He desperately wanted to go to the filing cabinet and extract a tumbler and his bottle but she had a nose like a bloodhound. Would be able to tell if a single drop had touched his lips. For the sake of preventing an unnecessary argument, and a very necessary shag, later, Gene kept himself glued in his desk chair.
Gene had always made the effort not dwell on his thoughts. He never liked where they led and preferred to forget what he was feeling. Hiding it all away like that little animal which used to gnaw on his insides over taking back-handers. This weekend had been utter shit, however, and he didn’t see any way around thinking about how it had all gotten to this point.
"Tell me about home, Sam."
"No...no I can’t."
Gene knew he should let Tyler rest but Gladys was the one who’d brought it up in the first place. It was entirely the nonce’s fault that Gene’s curiosity was piqued.
Gene couldn’t understand why he’d pressed so hard. Why had he so badly wanted to know? Where had it gotten him? Gotten them? Why was he dwelling on this? He grabbed a pen and started filling out the preliminary paperwork on DI Graham’s suicide.
"You...you won’t believe me. No one believes me. Annie doesn’t. How can she?"
"Don’t mean I can’t listen."
And Sam laughed.
Gene crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. "God help me. Doin’ the ruddy, nancy-boy organizing." He threw out a few other half-completed forms just for good measure.
Sam had laughed. Then sobbed. Then told him about the future. Told him exactly what Tony Crane had told them about the future.
"Bugger it all." Gene rose from his desk. He’d come to the station to think things out in peace. It was the only place he could get any. CID was always empty on bright, Sunday afternoons like this, but what was thinking without a bit of whiskey? A filled glass was in his hands in an instant and down his throat just as quick.
Then Sam had passed out. The fever broke. The next morning he woke up, clear as a bell, denying everything. At least that’s what Gene had expected. Tyler, of course, never did what he was meant to. He hadn’t denied anything, had he? Had practically confirmed every fear Gene had about him. After Sam had told him, back when he was still sweating buckets and seeing dancing monkeys on the ceiling and whatever else was prancing through his head while it was doubling as a frying pan, after Tyler’s little "confession" Gene had already decided it had just been the fever. The lies of Crane blending with the truth of Sam’s depressing life.
Then Sam woke up. Then Sam became curiously belligerent over mentions of his parents. Mentions of Hyde. Then Merrick mentioned schizophrenia. Then it had all clicked into place. Somehow a third of the bottle was gone. That was enough. That would do. Gene capped it and buried it back in the drawer. He could think clearly now. He could finally decide what he would do about Tyler.
Of course, in that moment of clarity, in bounded Ray and Chris, strolling through the doors like it was a Monday afternoon. There went his peace. Gene hitched up his pants, maybe her diet was working after all, and pushed open his door, eliciting a grunt from Ray and a gasp from Chris.
"What’re you doin’ here?" Gene grumbled.
"Wanted to make sure the body got in without any trouble," Ray reasoned.
"And I had to ride with Ray cos Annie borrowed me car," Chris added, then quickly prayed the Guv wouldn’t ask why.
"Why?"
Chris needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. "She was going to give DI Tyler a ride home. I think."
"You think?" Gene scoffed, stuffing his fists in his pockets. Chris never thought when he was supposed to and always thought too much when he didn’t need to.
"It was either home or hospital, Guv," Ray interjected, hoping to save Chris a little trouble. "Bloody twat nearly killed hisself on those stairs jus’ to repeat what you already told us."
" ‘Cept he mentioned checkin’ for the note with the wife," Chris defended Sam to Ray even though Ray was trying to defend Chris to the Guv. "Found nowt in his cell, Guv," the DC said, turning to Gene.
"He thought of that?" Gene hoped he was able to hide his surprise, though he mentally added a check to Tyler’s "recovery" column, a short list that was sorely lacking some company.
Chris nodded, then shifted nervously. "Then he sort of fainted. But not really. I mean, his eyes were open like, but he weren’t all there."
"When’s ‘e ever been all there?" Ray huffed, lighting a cigarette.
"Walkin’ those stairs made ‘im tired is all," Chris stated, knowing he was dangerously close to whining.
"Nearly killed himself for nowt."
"Wouldn’t be the first time," Gene added, reminding them of his presence as he leaned back against Tyler’s empty desk.
"Or even the second."
The cigarette nearly burned a whole in Ray’s trousers as it fell from his lips. The whiskey nearly came back up Gene’s throat as he stared at his young DC. Chris gulped and braced himself for a barrage of questions. He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.
*
"It’s just chicken broth, sir. It won’t bite you but you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to."
Sam stared down at the intimidating bowl before him. He lowered the spoon. "No. It’s about time I ate something."
Annie regarded Sam curiously as he fought a trembling hand in order to bring the filled spoon to his mouth. Surely the Guv had fed him yesterday? She watched as Sam swallowed the first spoonful, his face etched in fear as if he was being force fed by an executioner. As it settled in his stomach she saw his muscles relax, a surprisingly heavy burden lifted from his shoulders.
"Thank you," he said without smiling, eyes still fixed on the bowl as he scooped up another bite.
"I’ll be in the next room if you need me," she said abruptly and quickly left the small kitchen. Sam decided to ignore her actions for now and concentrate on the food in front of him. He was determined to finish the entire bowl. Even if he sicked it up later at least they would have seen that he tried. He focused on establishing a rhythm.
Spoon down. Spoon up. Swallow. Breathe. Repeat. Each drop of plain, hot broth made his stomach feel heavier than the last but he knew, in the long run, that it was all for his own benefit. Broth for a day or two. Then maybe some stew, yogurt, oatmeal. Boiled chicken, veg, fruits next week. It was a process, a progression. Sam could do that. He was good at maintaining order. Spoon down. Spoon up. Breath. Ignore the cramping. Repeat. Down. Up. Breathe. Ignore. Repeat. Down. Up. The telephone rang. He could hear Annie answering it in the sitting room.
"Hello?...Guv?...No he’s here...Do you..."
Sam strained to listen. What was Gene playing at? Taking him in. Kicking him out. Now calling to find him. Couldn’t he make up his bloody mind?
Annie’s voice suddenly dropped several decibels. Dammit. Sam had to know what was happening. This couldn’t be about the new case. He could feel it. He saw a second telephone hanging on the wall, not too far from reach. Scrambling as softly and quickly as he could, Sam miraculously made it to the phone, with much protest from his aching legs, and picked up the other line.
"...leaps off the fucking roof I have a right to know!"
Gene’s voice echoed in Sam’s head. He sorely wished he would’ve stayed in the chair.
"It....it was a private matter, sir. I thought--"
There was no way Annie would be able to win this argument and Sam would have felt sorry for her if the familiar despair which preceded his panic attacks hadn’t begun to chew at his already frayed nerves.
"How private would it be if his brains were splattered all over my station?"
He and Gene had been working things out. They had. Today hadn’t started out that well between them but it was only a little setback. Overall it had been getting better. Hadn’t it?
"Sir...I’m sorry, sir. But...why does this matter now?"
It was over. It was over between him and Gene, wasn’t it? Yes, Gene had come back for him before. Saved him from the kidnappers. From the hospital. This time, Sam had pushed him too far. Gene could never forgive him again.
"Twice Cartwright! Twice he’s tried to off himself an’ we keep carrying on like it’s fucking normal!"
"Guv..."
Annie was close to tears now. If Sam could hear anything but Gene’s voice he would have noticed.
"How many other times were there? Hm? These are just the ones we know of. Those times he din’t join us at the pub? Took a day off? How many of those times has he been sitting in his grubby, little flat with a pistol to his head and finger on the trigger?"
Never, Sam wanted to scream. Not once. Never. No. No. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t that sort of person. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. Wasn’t he? Sam didn’t hear any more of the conversation. He didn’t hear Gene say "and we did nothing."
He managed to hang up the phone without arousing suspicion, though later he wouldn’t recall doing it. He wouldn’t recall getting back to the table but he did it. He wouldn’t recall finishing the chicken broth but he did it. He wouldn’t recall swallowing the two pills he dug from his pocket but he did it.
*
It was about forty-five minutes before Annie realized something was wrong. After a fifteen minute verbal beating from the Guv she had locked herself in her bedroom, determined to compose herself before facing Sam. She also had to prepare a good cover story. She knew Sam would have overheard at least some of her end of the conversation and Sam being Sam, he would ask about it. She had to be ready.
When she reentered the kitchen to clear away his empty bowl he was noticeably more calm. Too calm. At his most relaxed, before all this started, Sam Tyler had never been that calm. He breathed deeply, vacant eyes fixed on a corner of the room, an upsetting smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. What worried Annie most was that Sam never inquired about the phone call. Not once. He didn’t seem curious in the slightest. That was not her Sam at all.
"Sam?" She bent down so she was eye level with him. "How was the soup?"
"Hm?" He slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers.
"The soup?"
"Oh. ‘S good." He sighed and his eyes lost focus again. Annie noticed that the constant tremor he had developed over the weekend had disappeared.
"What would you like to do next?"
"Hm?"
"What would you like to do?"
Sam shrugged then noticed the dirt under his fingernails.
"Well, would you like to move to the sofa or get some sleep?"
"Okay," he shrugged. "Which one? The sofa or sleep?" Sam looked at her as if she’d just asked him to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity. His breathing quickened for a moment then calmed as he forgot what Annie had asked him. "Wait here. Okay?" She resisted the urge to grab his hand and braced herself for the phone call she knew she had to make. She picked up the phone, each second spent waiting for the connection to go through worse than the one before.
"DCI Hunt? Please don’t hang up, sir. It’s Sam. I...I think he might’ve taken something."
_________
Part 52