Fic: The Kept Man (8/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (8/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1672 this part; [14,069 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05, 1.07
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from
talcat given via
culf. The plot bunny got in a fight with the angst monkeys, won, and forced me to actually advanced the plot in this part. I hear the monkeys are planning a swift counter-offensive though...
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
He didn’t have a choice. If Gene’s instincts were right, which they always were, he was getting himself involved in some much bigger, much darker, much more deadly shite than he had originally intended. He hated playing games when he wasn’t the one changing the rules.
That’s why he had to do it. He didn’t want to but in the long run, this would be better for Sam. Gene propped Tyler’s unconscious body up against the wall of the alley then ran back into the Arms.
“Ray, gimme your keys.”
“ ‘M not that pissed, Guv,” Ray belched as he set down yet another empty pint glass.
“I’ll give ‘em back ‘fore you leave. Hand ‘em over.” Gene was good at concealing worry. Ray, too drunk to argue or question any further, dug in his pocket, clumsy fingers scrambling around the empty space, before Gene spotted for himself the desired items already laying on the beer splattered table. Gene swiped them up and walked calmly to the door.
“Cheers Guv!” Ray called out.
“Everything, okay, mon brave?” Nelson asked as Gene passed the bar.
“Never better, Nelson. Never better.”
Back outside, Gene pulled Ray’s car up to the alley, allowing himself some brief relief when he found Sam right where he left him. Leaving the car running, Gene leapt out and hoisted the uncooperative mass of flesh into the backseat. “Couldn’t make this easier for me, could yeh, Gladys?” Sam remained annoyingly unresponsive as Gene slammed the door, jumped back in the driver’s seat, and drove him back to The Warren.
He pulled up to the empty back entrance and arranged Tyler carefully outside the door. Though he knew it was a risk, he wasted time by sparing Sam one last glance, running a hand through his ridiculously short hair. “I’ll figure this out,” he whispered before getting back in Ray car and speeding off, trying desperately not to hate himself.
*
“This is going to look very bad on your arrest report, Colin.”
“Rest, Sam. Rest.”
Beep. Beep. He’s stabilizing. Beep. Beep.
“Also present are the suspect’s lawyer, social worker, and psychiatrist.”
“What happened?”
Beep. Beep. Temperature’s still elevated. Beep. Beep.
“I don’t know.”
“No! Maya, no! Listen, I’ll send back-up”
Beep. Beep. Stay strong, Sam. Beep. Beep.
“Don’t lie to me, Joni. Tell me what happened.”
“Did you not see the signs? Do you remember what happened, sir?”
Beep. Beep. My brave, beautiful boy. Be strong. Beep. Beep.
“...Mum?...”
“I was working, Mr. Warren. I came up during my break last night and he was passed out on the kitchen floor. That’s all I know. I swear.”
“I...what...I...”
Beep. Beep. I have to go now, Sammy. Beep. Beep.
“...Mum...”
“Sir? Wait a minute! Come back ‘ere!”
“Did he take something?”
“Sam doesn’t do drugs, far as I know.”
Beep. Beep. I’ll be back tomorrow, love. Beep. Beep.
“Don’ go, Mum...don’ go!”
“Shh, Sam. Shh.”
Beep. Beep. Good-bye sweetheart. Beep. Beep.
“Mum, no!”
“Stay with him for now. I’ll ring the doctor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please, Mum...”
“It’s alright, Sam. He’s gone. Go back to sleep.”
“Please...”
“Shh. Back to sleep. That’s it. And if you have any sense, you won’t wake up.”
*
That was a copper’s hold. There was no doubt in Gene’s mind. It most certainly was. Unless he learned it someplace else. Too young for National Service. Maybe from a copper, like his dad, like he said. Or maybe one of his old tricks showed him how, to protect himself. It had to be something of that sort because after a day of searching, Gene could find no records of any officer named ‘Sam Tyler.’
Of course that might not be his real name. It could be the name Warren gave him or one he gave himself. He would have to ask, if he was ever able to get near him again. If he was still alive. Gene tossed that thought away in the bin with his empty pack of Marlboro’s.
“Guv?”
Of course he’d only checked the records for Central Manchester. He’d have to branch out to more of the Lancashire Constabulary. Whoever Sam was, there was no mistaking he was truly a Northern boy, not with an accent like that.
“Guv?”
Maybe he could get Chris to continue the search. He wouldn’t ask too many questions and it wouldn’t be hard to lie to him if he did. Chris was never one to challenge authority.
“Gene.”
“What is it, Ray?”
Hunt set down the paper he’d been pretending to read.
“You busy?”
“Do I look busy?” Gene quipped.
“Seem a bit preoccupied today, ‘s all.”
“What d’you want, Carling?”
Ray shifted nervously before fully entering the office and handing Gene a sheet of paper. “I’ve been doin’ some enquiries, on the druggies, like yeh said, think I came up with summit. Got some of their mates to talk an’ whatnot. Turns out all four usually went to the same dealer.”
“Billy Kemble,” Gene read off the paper. “The flasher?”
“ ‘Parently into some light dealin’ now. I was thinkin’, Guv. Maybe these aren’t murders. Not on purpose, like. Maybe Kemble’s jus’ sellin’ to ‘em from a bad stash.”
Gene rose from his chair, the new evidence sparking inside him, pushing him into action, away from complicated thoughts and regretted actions. “DS Carling, this is dangerously close to actual detective work.”
“Uhm, thank you, Guv.”
“Why don’t we go see what ol’ Billy has to say about this, eh?”
“Wilco, Guv.”
Gene noticed Ray wasn’t following him out the door. He turned and crossed his arms. “What is it?” He sighed. “Molly in the women’s department give yeh the brush off again? Told yeh she don’t go for hairy lips, Raymondo.”
“ ‘S not that, Guv. It’s...well, we still haven’t had time to talk about the DI post an’...”
Gene shut the door. “You’re not ready.”
“I’ve been with yeh for fifteen years, Gene, we’ve been mates--.”
“I’m your DCI first, Ray. I’ve never promoted anyone jus’ cos I like ‘em. ‘E’s got to be a good copper first.”
“An’ I’m not?” Ray snapped.
“You are.” Gene held up the paper with Kemble’s name on it. “This proves it. But you’re not ready for Inspector. Not yet.”
“I’m forty fuckin’ years old, Gene. When am I goin’ to be ready?”
“That’s up to you, Sergeant. Now, do you mind continuing this conversation later? I thought we had some scum to catch,” Gene thrust the paper into Ray’s chest and stormed out the door.
*
The sheets were sticky, not with come for once but with sweat. His sweat. He sat up too fast, his dizzy head doing cartwheels around the room, sending his stomach into its own set of somersaults.
“Careful, Sam. Why don’t you lay back down?”
“What...what happened?”
“You collapsed in the kitchen.”
Sam pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to clear his cluttered head. Funny how an amnesiac’s head could feel cluttered. “No. I was--”
“Sam.” Joni sat down on the bed. “Look at me.”
He wearily opened his eyes.
“You. Collapsed. In the kitchen. Saturday night. Alright?”
It slowly sunk in that she had already come up with cover story for him.
“Warren...”
“I told Warren how I found you on my break that night and brought you up here.”
“Thanks. For, uhm, for...”
“Heaving you down the hall and chuckin’ you into bed?” She smirked. “You can make it up to me later.”
Sam smiled back and closed his eyes. The last thing he could remember was arguing with Gene in that alley. “What day is it?”
“Monday. Late afternoon. Warren came back early this mornin’, a bit upset that you were...out of commission. Let me ring Dr. Lewiston after I told ‘im what happened.”
“What did happen? I mean, why did I...”
“Said you were...over-exerting yourself,” Joni grinned wickedly. “Especially after your unfortunate fall down the stairs.”
“My what?”
Joni nodded towards his chest. “Where you got all those bruises?”
“Oh,” Sam blushed. “Yeah, almost forgot.”
“S’posed to take it easy for a few days, ‘fore you ‘engage in any strenuous activity,’” she quoted, nearly laughing.
“Fantastic. I was wondering when I’d get a holiday,” he forced himself to keep smiling.
“Well, I better get going. Rehearsal starts in a few minutes and with you finally up and at ‘em, no excuse for me to be up here playing Florence Nightingale, is there?” Joni pat him gently on the knee and rose from the bed.
“Joni. Really. Thank you. For--”
“For doing what I said I did, Sam,” she warned him seriously. “I’ll come up tonight before me shift. Fix you some soup. How does that sound?”
“Brilliant.”
She smiled sadly and disappeared out the door. Sam collapsed his head back on the pillows and remembered what Gene had told him. He’d used a copper’s hold.
“Interview commenced at 11.19am. The suspect will state his name.”
The image flashed through his head. An interview room. A disturbed looking man with ginger hair surrounded by men and women in suits.
“Look at this j-peg. The ID picture Bettina gave us.”
Sliding photographs across a slick, metal table. Upsetting the witness. What was a j-peg?
“From the diary: ‘I killed her. She’s been killed. I’m a killer. An ace killer.”
“That particular entry is not awash with ambiguity,” Sam blurted out before he even knew what he was saying. He stopped himself. Stopped the memory. If it even was a memory. It felt more like a dream, a distant, repeated dream. The kind you woke from suddenly. The kind you had tell yourself over and over again wasn’t real because it had felt so real. So detailed.
No, it couldn’t have been real because Sam could remember it so specifically. Everything blue and gray, the one-way mirror, the ginger-haired suspect and his multiple guardians. No, it couldn’t be real because Sam could picture everyone in that room and what sort of police station would have a female Detective Inspector here in 1973?
______
Part 9
Author: dak
Word Count: 1672 this part; [14,069 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05, 1.07
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from
talcat given via
culf. The plot bunny got in a fight with the angst monkeys, won, and forced me to actually advanced the plot in this part. I hear the monkeys are planning a swift counter-offensive though...
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
He didn’t have a choice. If Gene’s instincts were right, which they always were, he was getting himself involved in some much bigger, much darker, much more deadly shite than he had originally intended. He hated playing games when he wasn’t the one changing the rules.
That’s why he had to do it. He didn’t want to but in the long run, this would be better for Sam. Gene propped Tyler’s unconscious body up against the wall of the alley then ran back into the Arms.
“Ray, gimme your keys.”
“ ‘M not that pissed, Guv,” Ray belched as he set down yet another empty pint glass.
“I’ll give ‘em back ‘fore you leave. Hand ‘em over.” Gene was good at concealing worry. Ray, too drunk to argue or question any further, dug in his pocket, clumsy fingers scrambling around the empty space, before Gene spotted for himself the desired items already laying on the beer splattered table. Gene swiped them up and walked calmly to the door.
“Cheers Guv!” Ray called out.
“Everything, okay, mon brave?” Nelson asked as Gene passed the bar.
“Never better, Nelson. Never better.”
Back outside, Gene pulled Ray’s car up to the alley, allowing himself some brief relief when he found Sam right where he left him. Leaving the car running, Gene leapt out and hoisted the uncooperative mass of flesh into the backseat. “Couldn’t make this easier for me, could yeh, Gladys?” Sam remained annoyingly unresponsive as Gene slammed the door, jumped back in the driver’s seat, and drove him back to The Warren.
He pulled up to the empty back entrance and arranged Tyler carefully outside the door. Though he knew it was a risk, he wasted time by sparing Sam one last glance, running a hand through his ridiculously short hair. “I’ll figure this out,” he whispered before getting back in Ray car and speeding off, trying desperately not to hate himself.
*
“This is going to look very bad on your arrest report, Colin.”
“Rest, Sam. Rest.”
Beep. Beep. He’s stabilizing. Beep. Beep.
“Also present are the suspect’s lawyer, social worker, and psychiatrist.”
“What happened?”
Beep. Beep. Temperature’s still elevated. Beep. Beep.
“I don’t know.”
“No! Maya, no! Listen, I’ll send back-up”
Beep. Beep. Stay strong, Sam. Beep. Beep.
“Don’t lie to me, Joni. Tell me what happened.”
“Did you not see the signs? Do you remember what happened, sir?”
Beep. Beep. My brave, beautiful boy. Be strong. Beep. Beep.
“...Mum?...”
“I was working, Mr. Warren. I came up during my break last night and he was passed out on the kitchen floor. That’s all I know. I swear.”
“I...what...I...”
Beep. Beep. I have to go now, Sammy. Beep. Beep.
“...Mum...”
“Sir? Wait a minute! Come back ‘ere!”
“Did he take something?”
“Sam doesn’t do drugs, far as I know.”
Beep. Beep. I’ll be back tomorrow, love. Beep. Beep.
“Don’ go, Mum...don’ go!”
“Shh, Sam. Shh.”
Beep. Beep. Good-bye sweetheart. Beep. Beep.
“Mum, no!”
“Stay with him for now. I’ll ring the doctor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please, Mum...”
“It’s alright, Sam. He’s gone. Go back to sleep.”
“Please...”
“Shh. Back to sleep. That’s it. And if you have any sense, you won’t wake up.”
*
That was a copper’s hold. There was no doubt in Gene’s mind. It most certainly was. Unless he learned it someplace else. Too young for National Service. Maybe from a copper, like his dad, like he said. Or maybe one of his old tricks showed him how, to protect himself. It had to be something of that sort because after a day of searching, Gene could find no records of any officer named ‘Sam Tyler.’
Of course that might not be his real name. It could be the name Warren gave him or one he gave himself. He would have to ask, if he was ever able to get near him again. If he was still alive. Gene tossed that thought away in the bin with his empty pack of Marlboro’s.
“Guv?”
Of course he’d only checked the records for Central Manchester. He’d have to branch out to more of the Lancashire Constabulary. Whoever Sam was, there was no mistaking he was truly a Northern boy, not with an accent like that.
“Guv?”
Maybe he could get Chris to continue the search. He wouldn’t ask too many questions and it wouldn’t be hard to lie to him if he did. Chris was never one to challenge authority.
“Gene.”
“What is it, Ray?”
Hunt set down the paper he’d been pretending to read.
“You busy?”
“Do I look busy?” Gene quipped.
“Seem a bit preoccupied today, ‘s all.”
“What d’you want, Carling?”
Ray shifted nervously before fully entering the office and handing Gene a sheet of paper. “I’ve been doin’ some enquiries, on the druggies, like yeh said, think I came up with summit. Got some of their mates to talk an’ whatnot. Turns out all four usually went to the same dealer.”
“Billy Kemble,” Gene read off the paper. “The flasher?”
“ ‘Parently into some light dealin’ now. I was thinkin’, Guv. Maybe these aren’t murders. Not on purpose, like. Maybe Kemble’s jus’ sellin’ to ‘em from a bad stash.”
Gene rose from his chair, the new evidence sparking inside him, pushing him into action, away from complicated thoughts and regretted actions. “DS Carling, this is dangerously close to actual detective work.”
“Uhm, thank you, Guv.”
“Why don’t we go see what ol’ Billy has to say about this, eh?”
“Wilco, Guv.”
Gene noticed Ray wasn’t following him out the door. He turned and crossed his arms. “What is it?” He sighed. “Molly in the women’s department give yeh the brush off again? Told yeh she don’t go for hairy lips, Raymondo.”
“ ‘S not that, Guv. It’s...well, we still haven’t had time to talk about the DI post an’...”
Gene shut the door. “You’re not ready.”
“I’ve been with yeh for fifteen years, Gene, we’ve been mates--.”
“I’m your DCI first, Ray. I’ve never promoted anyone jus’ cos I like ‘em. ‘E’s got to be a good copper first.”
“An’ I’m not?” Ray snapped.
“You are.” Gene held up the paper with Kemble’s name on it. “This proves it. But you’re not ready for Inspector. Not yet.”
“I’m forty fuckin’ years old, Gene. When am I goin’ to be ready?”
“That’s up to you, Sergeant. Now, do you mind continuing this conversation later? I thought we had some scum to catch,” Gene thrust the paper into Ray’s chest and stormed out the door.
*
The sheets were sticky, not with come for once but with sweat. His sweat. He sat up too fast, his dizzy head doing cartwheels around the room, sending his stomach into its own set of somersaults.
“Careful, Sam. Why don’t you lay back down?”
“What...what happened?”
“You collapsed in the kitchen.”
Sam pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to clear his cluttered head. Funny how an amnesiac’s head could feel cluttered. “No. I was--”
“Sam.” Joni sat down on the bed. “Look at me.”
He wearily opened his eyes.
“You. Collapsed. In the kitchen. Saturday night. Alright?”
It slowly sunk in that she had already come up with cover story for him.
“Warren...”
“I told Warren how I found you on my break that night and brought you up here.”
“Thanks. For, uhm, for...”
“Heaving you down the hall and chuckin’ you into bed?” She smirked. “You can make it up to me later.”
Sam smiled back and closed his eyes. The last thing he could remember was arguing with Gene in that alley. “What day is it?”
“Monday. Late afternoon. Warren came back early this mornin’, a bit upset that you were...out of commission. Let me ring Dr. Lewiston after I told ‘im what happened.”
“What did happen? I mean, why did I...”
“Said you were...over-exerting yourself,” Joni grinned wickedly. “Especially after your unfortunate fall down the stairs.”
“My what?”
Joni nodded towards his chest. “Where you got all those bruises?”
“Oh,” Sam blushed. “Yeah, almost forgot.”
“S’posed to take it easy for a few days, ‘fore you ‘engage in any strenuous activity,’” she quoted, nearly laughing.
“Fantastic. I was wondering when I’d get a holiday,” he forced himself to keep smiling.
“Well, I better get going. Rehearsal starts in a few minutes and with you finally up and at ‘em, no excuse for me to be up here playing Florence Nightingale, is there?” Joni pat him gently on the knee and rose from the bed.
“Joni. Really. Thank you. For--”
“For doing what I said I did, Sam,” she warned him seriously. “I’ll come up tonight before me shift. Fix you some soup. How does that sound?”
“Brilliant.”
She smiled sadly and disappeared out the door. Sam collapsed his head back on the pillows and remembered what Gene had told him. He’d used a copper’s hold.
“Interview commenced at 11.19am. The suspect will state his name.”
The image flashed through his head. An interview room. A disturbed looking man with ginger hair surrounded by men and women in suits.
“Look at this j-peg. The ID picture Bettina gave us.”
Sliding photographs across a slick, metal table. Upsetting the witness. What was a j-peg?
“From the diary: ‘I killed her. She’s been killed. I’m a killer. An ace killer.”
“That particular entry is not awash with ambiguity,” Sam blurted out before he even knew what he was saying. He stopped himself. Stopped the memory. If it even was a memory. It felt more like a dream, a distant, repeated dream. The kind you woke from suddenly. The kind you had tell yourself over and over again wasn’t real because it had felt so real. So detailed.
No, it couldn’t have been real because Sam could remember it so specifically. Everything blue and gray, the one-way mirror, the ginger-haired suspect and his multiple guardians. No, it couldn’t be real because Sam could picture everyone in that room and what sort of police station would have a female Detective Inspector here in 1973?
______
Part 9