Fic: Bad Bounce (1/1), green cortina, dakfinv
Title: Bad Bounce
Author: dak
Word Count: 1919
Rating: Green Cortina
Warnings: angst with a side of blood
Set: Sometime between 1.08 and 2.01
Pairing: Sam/Gene if you squint, (I think I'm getting dangerously close to actually writing slash now...)
Summary: An arrest doesn't go as planned.
A/N: I was having a bit of a conversation with
dorsetgirl about writing with impersonal narration rather than from the POV of the characters, as I usually tend to do, so I was inspired to try and write in that style. I'm not sure if I totally succeeded or if I do like writing in this way, but I decided to experiment and this is what happened. Please enjoy!
Peter Mackintosh was battled to the ground as Sam was able to wrap his wiry body around the hefty man’s legs, pushing him off balance and sending them both crashing to the floor. Mackintosh lost his grip on the pistol he had been waving around carelessly just a few minutes before.
Using his knees and the strength in his legs to keep the suspect pinned, DI Tyler wrenched the man’s thick, hairy arms roughly around and handcuffed them securely behind his equally hairy back. Too out of breath and too pissed off to bother reading him his rights, Sam waited for the middle-aged man to stop struggling before climbing off him and disgustedly wiping his wet hands on his black cords.
His pinched face and tightened shoulders clearly indicated to Chris and Ray that wrestling down shirtless, overweight, and unnaturally sweaty Scotsmen was not how their Inspector had imagined spending his day. They replaced their own shooters with cigarettes and stood back, waiting with anticipation for the impending verbal battle between Tyler and their DCI, who was standing silently a few steps away.
It didn’t take Tyler long to spin round and channel his rapidly multiplying frustration at the stoic Hunt.
“Did I or did I not say that we should wait and draw Mackintosh out instead of wasting our time and resources chasing an armed man through the endless maze that is this bloody factory?”
Gene wasn’t retaliating, possibly letting his DI vent his anger, but it only increased Sam’s indignation.
“Is it even possible for you to listen to anyone’s advice other than your own or do you get some sick satisfaction out of being such a stubborn bastard?”
It was an argument they’d all heard a thousand times before, Tyler was just changing the words for this occasion. Hunt was certainly unimpressed as he reached a hand into his inner coat pocket.
“Of course now’s the perfect time for a drink, Guv,” Sam spat the word out in distaste. “I think it’s nearly noon after all,” he continued to mock but Gene didn’t pull out a flask. He didn’t pull out anything except a weathered hand covered in blood.
“Weren’t expecting that,” Gene stated calmly, his voice already thinner than it should be.
“Guv?” Sam asked in a voice almost as quiet as Gene’s.
Ray and Chris, deep in their own conversation over their preferred Bond Girls and preferred Bond Girl fantasies, failed to realize anything was wrong until Gene fell back against the gritty, factory wall and Tyler cried out sharp and worried, “Gene!”
Sam leapt over Mackintosh’s legs and grabbed Gene by the shoulders, helping him slide slowly to the floor. The Guv now in a sitting position, Sam pushed back the heavy, tan coat to see a wet patch of red slowly spreading out over his neatly pressed green shirt.
“Well then...” Gene remarked as his deputy hurried to apply pressure to the wound.
“Call an ambulance,” Sam ordered, unable to tear his eyes from the warm blood that was now spreading over his own skin. When he didn’t receive a response he spun his head angrily to where Chris and Ray were standing, pale and open-mouthed, already in their own state of shock. “DS Carling! Radio for an ambulance now,” he barked in his best authoritative voice, remembering that he did use to be a DCI himself.
Ray immediately went into action and Sam turned his attention back to Gene, whose eyelids were now half shut. Tyler slapped him in the face but took no pleasure in taking a free shot at his DCI. “Gene?”
Gene stirred and took a deep breath. “Never actually been shot before, Sammy-boy. ‘S not all it’s cracked up to be.” His words were already slurring together. Sam pressed his hands down tighter.
“Ambulance is almost here Guv. We’ll get you to hospital and have you patched up in no time. Bet you won’t even spend more than one night. I think the hardest part will be avoiding alcohol the next few days. You know it most likely won’t mix with whatever medication they’re going to put you on but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take it just so you can down a few pints at the Arms Friday night. Soon as you’re all healed up I’m sure people will be lining up to buy you a drink.”
“Tyler...” Gene sighed, trying without success to adjust himself into a more comfortable position. “You are a rambling bastard when you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried,” Sam lied horribly.
“You, Gladys, are more nervous than...” Gene winced, squeezing his eyes tight. Sam didn’t know what to do other than continue to hang onto him. “Than...” Hunt continued, his breath weaker than before. “A virgin undressing on her wedding night.”
“Oh real original, that one,” Sam bantered, twisting his head back and forth, checking continuously for the ambulance drivers who had yet to arrive.
“Well, pardon me if my usual boundless energy is focused on not bleeding to death, Dorothy. For Christ’s sake...” He jerked again and Sam noticed his hand’s were shaking. Gene’s were starting to tremble, too.
“You’re not dying,” Sam grumbled, his voice sounding more like a whiny teenager than a Detective Inspector.
“Always have to disagree with me, don’t you?” Gene’s eyes were closed now.
“Not always. But on this particular occasion, Guv, I refuse to alter my position.” Finally, several sets of footsteps could be heard running up the corridor.
Gene’s lips formed the ghost of a smile. “Good lad,” he whispered and placed his hand on Sam’s arm before slipping into unconsciousness.
The next half hour passed by in a blur for the Inspector. Threats involving castration and disappearing whisky bottles did as little to stir the DCI as did promises of a naked Britt Ecklund and the burning of gay-boy science procedural manuals. It didn’t stop Sam from trying.
He rode in the ambulance, not caring how Dorothy it was of him to be holding Gene’s hand. Sheriff and deputy were finally separated when the Guv was rushed into the operating theatre. Carling and Skelton, after securing Mackintosh at the station, caught up with their DI in the waiting room. Sam sat there silently leaning forward, arms on his knees, head held up, and eyes lost in space.
“Boss, how is ‘e?” Ray ventured the first and only question.
For a moment, Sam didn’t move.
“Boss?” Chris called and Tyler finally responded, running his hands through his hair, not caring that they were still covered in Gene’s blood or that he had now smeared the still drying substance over his face and head.
He turned to Ray and Chris, as if seeing them for the first time. His mouth was agape but no sound came out. Sam Tyler was speechless. He stood and, without answering his Sergeant or Constable, stumbled out of the room.
It was Annie who found him another half hour later, curled up in an alley beside the hospital, his knees hugged to his chest, his head buried as low as it could go. WPC Cartwright had only just heard the news and had rushed to the hospital as soon as her shift was over.
Crouching beside Sam, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “DI Tyler?”
His head snapped up and Annie winced as she saw the blood stains on his face and hands. As she focused her attention on his eyes, it became clear that Sam had been crying for some time.
“Gene was shot.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know how it was possible. Mackintosh never fired his gun.”
“Are you sure?” Annie rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him but Sam didn’t even seem to notice her concern.
“I’ve replayed it over and over in my mind. Every action, from when we parked the Cortina until I noticed him bleeding.” Sam tensed and pulled back from Annie. “I was the only one who fired my weapon.” Sam started panicking. “It was supposed to be a warning shot to subdue the suspect. It must have ricocheted off the pipes and...I did it. It was me, Annie. I shot him. Oh God, it was me.”
Annie struggled vainly to control her own shock as she pulled Sam close to her but as soon as he realized her attempts to embrace him, he shoved her away and scrambled to his feet.
“I don’t deserve it.”
She barely heard him say it but the words became clear as he repeated them over and over to himself, an unforgiving mantra, before running back in the direction of the hospital entrance.
*
The first thing Gene saw when he woke was an amply endowed nurse leaning over to check his pulse.
“Guess this getting wounded lark‘s better than I thought,” he whispered to himself, throat dry and sore from a day’s disuse.
“Guv?”
The nurse smiled and left and in the chair behind her was a plainly distressed Sam Tyler.
“Hope you brought me something to drink, Sam. Me throat’s parched.” Hunt closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, testing his growing strength. He reopened them seconds later and Sam was still sitting there with the same vacant expression. When Tyler finally rose, his jacket parted and Gene noticed his Inspector’s shirt was still stained with blood. He was so focused on that dirtied shirt that he failed to notice Sam reaching into his pocket until something was pressed into his own, tired palm.
Gene slowly held up a warrant card that didn’t belong in his hands. “Don’t think this has a very high alcohol content, Tyler.”
“It was me,” Sam revealed with pained expression.
“Yeah?”
“It was me who...who shot you,” he tried to explain.
“Course it were you, you ponce. Only one who shot off your shooter,” Gene held the badge out to Sam.
Sam didn’t try to take it. “There should be, there will be, a proper investigation into the shooting of a DCI. I should be placed on suspension, without pay, until...”
“For what? For an accident?”
“But...”
“You did what you thought you had to, to take down that haggis munching hairball, Tyler. Bullet took a bad bounce, is all. Not like you intended to batter me up this time.”
“No...”
Gene reached out and pressed the warrant card into Sam’s reluctant hand. “Now run down to the shop, an’ get the Gene Genie summit decent to drink, okay? Preferably something containing the words single and malt.”
“Orange juice would be a better idea,” Sam countered, some of the color returning to his cheeks.
“Only if it has a nice spot of vodka in it,” Gene grumbled.
“Never took you for a vodka drinker, Guv.”
“Well I’m not going to mix whisky and orange juice am I Tyler? Don’t mind a good vodka when the occasion calls for it.” Gene tried to cross his arms in defiance but the action only served to shoot pain through his injured side and he left his arms at his sides.
“How about I buy the orange juice now and the liquor after your discharged?” Sam compromised.
“Long as your still buying.”
“Well, I certainly owe it to you,” Sam smiled sadly and slowly slipped the badge back into his pocket.
“You’re goin’ out...” Gene started as Sam made for the door, “Best change your shirt, Sammy.”
Sam self-consciously started buttoning up his leather jacket. “Yes Guv,” he nodded and shuffled out of the room.
“Good lad,” Gene sighed as he drifted off to sleep. “Good lad.”
Author: dak
Word Count: 1919
Rating: Green Cortina
Warnings: angst with a side of blood
Set: Sometime between 1.08 and 2.01
Pairing: Sam/Gene if you squint, (I think I'm getting dangerously close to actually writing slash now...)
Summary: An arrest doesn't go as planned.
A/N: I was having a bit of a conversation with
dorsetgirl about writing with impersonal narration rather than from the POV of the characters, as I usually tend to do, so I was inspired to try and write in that style. I'm not sure if I totally succeeded or if I do like writing in this way, but I decided to experiment and this is what happened. Please enjoy!
Peter Mackintosh was battled to the ground as Sam was able to wrap his wiry body around the hefty man’s legs, pushing him off balance and sending them both crashing to the floor. Mackintosh lost his grip on the pistol he had been waving around carelessly just a few minutes before.
Using his knees and the strength in his legs to keep the suspect pinned, DI Tyler wrenched the man’s thick, hairy arms roughly around and handcuffed them securely behind his equally hairy back. Too out of breath and too pissed off to bother reading him his rights, Sam waited for the middle-aged man to stop struggling before climbing off him and disgustedly wiping his wet hands on his black cords.
His pinched face and tightened shoulders clearly indicated to Chris and Ray that wrestling down shirtless, overweight, and unnaturally sweaty Scotsmen was not how their Inspector had imagined spending his day. They replaced their own shooters with cigarettes and stood back, waiting with anticipation for the impending verbal battle between Tyler and their DCI, who was standing silently a few steps away.
It didn’t take Tyler long to spin round and channel his rapidly multiplying frustration at the stoic Hunt.
“Did I or did I not say that we should wait and draw Mackintosh out instead of wasting our time and resources chasing an armed man through the endless maze that is this bloody factory?”
Gene wasn’t retaliating, possibly letting his DI vent his anger, but it only increased Sam’s indignation.
“Is it even possible for you to listen to anyone’s advice other than your own or do you get some sick satisfaction out of being such a stubborn bastard?”
It was an argument they’d all heard a thousand times before, Tyler was just changing the words for this occasion. Hunt was certainly unimpressed as he reached a hand into his inner coat pocket.
“Of course now’s the perfect time for a drink, Guv,” Sam spat the word out in distaste. “I think it’s nearly noon after all,” he continued to mock but Gene didn’t pull out a flask. He didn’t pull out anything except a weathered hand covered in blood.
“Weren’t expecting that,” Gene stated calmly, his voice already thinner than it should be.
“Guv?” Sam asked in a voice almost as quiet as Gene’s.
Ray and Chris, deep in their own conversation over their preferred Bond Girls and preferred Bond Girl fantasies, failed to realize anything was wrong until Gene fell back against the gritty, factory wall and Tyler cried out sharp and worried, “Gene!”
Sam leapt over Mackintosh’s legs and grabbed Gene by the shoulders, helping him slide slowly to the floor. The Guv now in a sitting position, Sam pushed back the heavy, tan coat to see a wet patch of red slowly spreading out over his neatly pressed green shirt.
“Well then...” Gene remarked as his deputy hurried to apply pressure to the wound.
“Call an ambulance,” Sam ordered, unable to tear his eyes from the warm blood that was now spreading over his own skin. When he didn’t receive a response he spun his head angrily to where Chris and Ray were standing, pale and open-mouthed, already in their own state of shock. “DS Carling! Radio for an ambulance now,” he barked in his best authoritative voice, remembering that he did use to be a DCI himself.
Ray immediately went into action and Sam turned his attention back to Gene, whose eyelids were now half shut. Tyler slapped him in the face but took no pleasure in taking a free shot at his DCI. “Gene?”
Gene stirred and took a deep breath. “Never actually been shot before, Sammy-boy. ‘S not all it’s cracked up to be.” His words were already slurring together. Sam pressed his hands down tighter.
“Ambulance is almost here Guv. We’ll get you to hospital and have you patched up in no time. Bet you won’t even spend more than one night. I think the hardest part will be avoiding alcohol the next few days. You know it most likely won’t mix with whatever medication they’re going to put you on but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take it just so you can down a few pints at the Arms Friday night. Soon as you’re all healed up I’m sure people will be lining up to buy you a drink.”
“Tyler...” Gene sighed, trying without success to adjust himself into a more comfortable position. “You are a rambling bastard when you’re worried.”
“I’m not worried,” Sam lied horribly.
“You, Gladys, are more nervous than...” Gene winced, squeezing his eyes tight. Sam didn’t know what to do other than continue to hang onto him. “Than...” Hunt continued, his breath weaker than before. “A virgin undressing on her wedding night.”
“Oh real original, that one,” Sam bantered, twisting his head back and forth, checking continuously for the ambulance drivers who had yet to arrive.
“Well, pardon me if my usual boundless energy is focused on not bleeding to death, Dorothy. For Christ’s sake...” He jerked again and Sam noticed his hand’s were shaking. Gene’s were starting to tremble, too.
“You’re not dying,” Sam grumbled, his voice sounding more like a whiny teenager than a Detective Inspector.
“Always have to disagree with me, don’t you?” Gene’s eyes were closed now.
“Not always. But on this particular occasion, Guv, I refuse to alter my position.” Finally, several sets of footsteps could be heard running up the corridor.
Gene’s lips formed the ghost of a smile. “Good lad,” he whispered and placed his hand on Sam’s arm before slipping into unconsciousness.
The next half hour passed by in a blur for the Inspector. Threats involving castration and disappearing whisky bottles did as little to stir the DCI as did promises of a naked Britt Ecklund and the burning of gay-boy science procedural manuals. It didn’t stop Sam from trying.
He rode in the ambulance, not caring how Dorothy it was of him to be holding Gene’s hand. Sheriff and deputy were finally separated when the Guv was rushed into the operating theatre. Carling and Skelton, after securing Mackintosh at the station, caught up with their DI in the waiting room. Sam sat there silently leaning forward, arms on his knees, head held up, and eyes lost in space.
“Boss, how is ‘e?” Ray ventured the first and only question.
For a moment, Sam didn’t move.
“Boss?” Chris called and Tyler finally responded, running his hands through his hair, not caring that they were still covered in Gene’s blood or that he had now smeared the still drying substance over his face and head.
He turned to Ray and Chris, as if seeing them for the first time. His mouth was agape but no sound came out. Sam Tyler was speechless. He stood and, without answering his Sergeant or Constable, stumbled out of the room.
It was Annie who found him another half hour later, curled up in an alley beside the hospital, his knees hugged to his chest, his head buried as low as it could go. WPC Cartwright had only just heard the news and had rushed to the hospital as soon as her shift was over.
Crouching beside Sam, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “DI Tyler?”
His head snapped up and Annie winced as she saw the blood stains on his face and hands. As she focused her attention on his eyes, it became clear that Sam had been crying for some time.
“Gene was shot.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know how it was possible. Mackintosh never fired his gun.”
“Are you sure?” Annie rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him but Sam didn’t even seem to notice her concern.
“I’ve replayed it over and over in my mind. Every action, from when we parked the Cortina until I noticed him bleeding.” Sam tensed and pulled back from Annie. “I was the only one who fired my weapon.” Sam started panicking. “It was supposed to be a warning shot to subdue the suspect. It must have ricocheted off the pipes and...I did it. It was me, Annie. I shot him. Oh God, it was me.”
Annie struggled vainly to control her own shock as she pulled Sam close to her but as soon as he realized her attempts to embrace him, he shoved her away and scrambled to his feet.
“I don’t deserve it.”
She barely heard him say it but the words became clear as he repeated them over and over to himself, an unforgiving mantra, before running back in the direction of the hospital entrance.
*
The first thing Gene saw when he woke was an amply endowed nurse leaning over to check his pulse.
“Guess this getting wounded lark‘s better than I thought,” he whispered to himself, throat dry and sore from a day’s disuse.
“Guv?”
The nurse smiled and left and in the chair behind her was a plainly distressed Sam Tyler.
“Hope you brought me something to drink, Sam. Me throat’s parched.” Hunt closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, testing his growing strength. He reopened them seconds later and Sam was still sitting there with the same vacant expression. When Tyler finally rose, his jacket parted and Gene noticed his Inspector’s shirt was still stained with blood. He was so focused on that dirtied shirt that he failed to notice Sam reaching into his pocket until something was pressed into his own, tired palm.
Gene slowly held up a warrant card that didn’t belong in his hands. “Don’t think this has a very high alcohol content, Tyler.”
“It was me,” Sam revealed with pained expression.
“Yeah?”
“It was me who...who shot you,” he tried to explain.
“Course it were you, you ponce. Only one who shot off your shooter,” Gene held the badge out to Sam.
Sam didn’t try to take it. “There should be, there will be, a proper investigation into the shooting of a DCI. I should be placed on suspension, without pay, until...”
“For what? For an accident?”
“But...”
“You did what you thought you had to, to take down that haggis munching hairball, Tyler. Bullet took a bad bounce, is all. Not like you intended to batter me up this time.”
“No...”
Gene reached out and pressed the warrant card into Sam’s reluctant hand. “Now run down to the shop, an’ get the Gene Genie summit decent to drink, okay? Preferably something containing the words single and malt.”
“Orange juice would be a better idea,” Sam countered, some of the color returning to his cheeks.
“Only if it has a nice spot of vodka in it,” Gene grumbled.
“Never took you for a vodka drinker, Guv.”
“Well I’m not going to mix whisky and orange juice am I Tyler? Don’t mind a good vodka when the occasion calls for it.” Gene tried to cross his arms in defiance but the action only served to shoot pain through his injured side and he left his arms at his sides.
“How about I buy the orange juice now and the liquor after your discharged?” Sam compromised.
“Long as your still buying.”
“Well, I certainly owe it to you,” Sam smiled sadly and slowly slipped the badge back into his pocket.
“You’re goin’ out...” Gene started as Sam made for the door, “Best change your shirt, Sammy.”
Sam self-consciously started buttoning up his leather jacket. “Yes Guv,” he nodded and shuffled out of the room.
“Good lad,” Gene sighed as he drifted off to sleep. “Good lad.”