Fic: The Kept Man (10/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (10/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2197 this part; [18,516 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 angst monkeys have completely taken control. There's nothing I can do. 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
“Guv? What’re you doin’ ‘ere this late?”
“Which cell is Kemble in?”
Phyllis shuffled through her papers.
“Which cell Desk Sergeant Dobbs!”
“Hold your horses!” She shouted back. “Who killed your dog tonight,” she grumbled. “Cell four but--”
“Thank you,” Gene replied stiffly.
“But!” She shouted after him. “Ray’s taken ‘im out for questioning. Should be in Lost and Found.”
“And you couldn’t’ve told me that?” He argued as the lift doors opened.
“You asked which cell ‘e’s in. Not where ‘e was.”
Gene’s reply was cut off by the sliding metal doors. He paced inside the tiny metal box, pushing away his thoughts, his emotions, his feeling of betrayal. No. It simply wouldn’t do. None of it. He slammed his fist against the wood-paneled wall and thundered out of the claustrophobic space, into Lost and Found.
He didn’t think it was possible for him to get any more furious than he already was but somehow he managed. “DS CARLING!”
Ray froze in his struggle to force one of the wraps of cocaine down Kemble’s throat, Chris stood to the side, slowly backing into the corner, and Gene towered over them all.
“Drop the suspect and come with me,” Gene was nearly shaking with the effort of keeping his voice contained but he didn’t wait long to express his disgust, punching Ray in the gut as soon as the Sergeant was in the hall. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
“Tryin’ to get a result, Guv. For you,” Ray wheezed, bent over with his hands on his thighs.
Gene grabbed him by the ear and twisted his head down. “By forcing our only link to these murders to ingest possibly lethal cocaine?”
“I-I heard it can make people talk,” Ray feebly defended.
“They can’t if they’re dead!” Gene roared and let go of Ray, tossing him against the wall. “I could have your badge for this, you stupid nonce! You want to know why you’re not Inspector? Shite like this is why you’re not Inspector!” Gene paced up and down the hall. “Right now I’m bloody glad we don’t have a new Inspector so he wouldn’t be ashamed of the shite team he’s landed himself with. And I’m glad we don’t have a new Inspector because I don’t think I can handle babysitting one more idiot tosspot who’s supposed to be a copper!”
“Guv I--”
“Get out of my sight.”
Ray hesitated.
“Now!”
Ray ran into the bullpen and Gene ripped back the door to Lost and Found. “Chris. Out.”
DC Skelton didn’t need telling twice. Kemble was trembling in his chair, eyes darting nervously from the drug-filled wrap to Gene, who sat across from him, leaned over the table, and folded his hands.
“Name.”
“I-I don’t know...”
“Who. Gave. You. The drugs.”
Kemble closed his eyes but Gene Hunt could never be ignored that easily. He walked round the table, grabbed Billy by the ear, and yanked him down to the floor. Kemble cried out but Gene refused to let go.
“DS Carling could have killed you. I’ll only make you wish you were dead.” Gene twisted his hand, pulling Kemble’s head with it.
“Gwen! Dennis Gwen!”
Gene immediately dropped him and left the room, ordering Chris to return Kemble to the cells before locking himself in his office. What had he been doing? He had a killer drug epidemic, multiple burglaries, assaults, and a piss poor excuse of a team to worry about and what had he been doing? Worrying over some pathetic rent boy who couldn’t handle the position he landed himself in. People made choices and they had to live with those choices and it wasn’t Gene Hunt’s job to fix their mistakes. He had enough trouble with his own.
*
Warren watched as his boy scraped himself off the desk. Sam was almost too spent and dazed from pain and exhaustion to even put himself together properly. He stumbled trying to pull up his trousers, cringing as he felt the material rub uncomfortably against his flaccid cock.
He tottered towards the door, unable to walk straight, partly because of the reaming he’d just received and partly because at least one rib was most certainly no longer in one piece. He vaguely recalled Warren saying something that resembled “good-night, pet,” but his head was doing a fine imitation of swimming pool, everything he saw or heard becoming blearily distorted.
He managed to drag his tattered excuse for a body to his room, wishing he had a lock on the door as he threw himself onto the bed and lay on his back, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over his tender ribs.
Something would have to change. It wouldn’t matter what he did from this point on, Warren was only going to get worse. Warren was only going to push him further, push his body further, until Sam was dead, no knife or gun necessary, simply pure, physical torture. Warren had been keeping him safe but if his protection was killing Sam would he be any worse without it?
Lying on the bed, every breath rattling his damaged chest, Sam made a choice. He was going to tell Gene. He had to. The consequences, well, there would certainly be consequences but they would be no worse than lying there so beaten, broken, and buggered he couldn’t even see properly.
He didn’t have a choice. Tomorrow he’d sneak out and tell Gene the truth. Who else could he trust?
*
“Dennis Gwen is a conniving little git, done up twice for assault and once for possession. Kemble swears on his usually exposed todger that ‘e’s the one who gave ‘im this batch.”
The detectives of CID stared through the smoky haze of the office at their Guv, who was in top form addressing his troops, hands in his pockets, back straight, voice unwavering.
“He can usually be spotted over in Ardwick. Now I want that dealing scum caught and banged up ‘fore my missus is finished cookin’ me tea. Understood?”
A chorus of ‘yes, Guvs,’ from everyone but Ray, and the team slowly went into action. Gene watched him carefully as Carling lumbered over towards Chris and started planning their search for Gwen. Ray had been avoiding eye contact all day. Gene could understand why, he was angry, but this was why he needed an Inspector. The team should fear their Guv and take their anger out on his deputy. Without said deputy, the sheriff had to bear both burdens, and it was a dangerous combination.
“Chris!” Gene called out and Ray shuffled off to another desk.
“Yes Guv?”
“Did forensics get back to us?”
“No, Guv. Said it might be another day yet ‘fore we get the results.”
“Bloody brilliant. Right, I need to go give some statements to the press hounds. I’ll be back in a few hours. Do your jobs and get me Gwen!”
*
Manchester was either a very small city or Gene Hunt was the most predictable man alive. That damn car of his was quite conspicuous as well and Sam felt it was much easier than it should have been to track him down at his back-up flat. Warren was in meetings all day and Edwards was off doing whatever it was he actually did, something probably involving his fists, Sam decided.
Slightly hobbled by a certainly broken rib, Sam scrambled towards the building, relying on memory to take him to the correct flat. Standing outside the door, he took the time to pull himself together, put on a brave face. It wouldn’t do to appear as worn down as he actually felt. He needed to be strong, show Hunt he could survive this.
He knocked tentatively, hoping the door wouldn’t be opened by some tiny grandmother by mistake. The door did open and if Gene was surprised to see him, he hid extremely well. He was a lot like Warren in that sense, terrific at concealing his emotions.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in...”
Gene wandered away from the entrance, the only sign he wanted Sam to enter being the still open door. Sam entered nervously, carefully shutting the door behind him.
“I just...” He glanced around the flat. There was a bottle of whisky and a few boxes of takeaway on the wobbly table. Gene must have been on his dinner break. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about what you said, about me having used the ‘copper’s hold,’” (Sam emphasized the words with air quotes). “as you put it and I think you might be right.”
Gene sat in his equally shoddy chair and poured himself a drink. “Really.”
“Well I’m not certain, I’m still as confused as I’ve been since I got here, but I’ve been having these flashbacks...”
“Should lay off on the LSD.”
“I don’t do drugs. I think they’re memories but it’s as if they’re someone else’s memories, even though I know they’re mine. They’re of me working a case, as a police officer. Gene, I think you might have been right.”
“Whoopee.”
“Are you alright?”
“Fine.” Gene swallowed his glass in one go and Sam knew he wasn’t fine. “What d’you want me to do about it?”
“I thought--”
“You seem to do that a lot.”
Sam ignored him. “I thought you could check the records at the station, see if--”
“Already did. Sam Tyler doesn’t exist. Not as an officer. Not round here. Not if that’s your real name.” Gene wasn’t even looking at him, staring at his cold curry and consuming more of the bottle.
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of,” Sam whispered. “There’s something else,” he said in a stronger voice. “I think there was a woman working with me. Not a WPC, she was a detective. A Detective Inspector but she could have been a Sergeant, maybe. Women detectives can’t be that common. Maybe if you--”
“Why should I do anything for you?” Gene slammed down the glass. Sam had to take a step back.
“You said you wanted--”
“Yeh seem quite happy in your current position.” There was something in the way Gene twisted the word ‘position,’ that tugged at Sam’s gut.
“How could you even think that?”
“Got yourself a nice place to live, nice clothes, and all the cock you’d ever want.”
Sam stepped back again. “You think I actually want this? Want Warren? All I want is to get away from him. Get my life back!” The shouting was hurting his ribs but he couldn’t help himself.
Gene rose from the chair and closed in on Sam. “With all your thinking, maybe you should have thought of that before you spread your legs for ‘im.”
Sam punched him. He hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t meant to but that’s what happens when a mind snaps. He punched Gene in the face. “You bastard!” He punched him in the chest but Gene grabbed his fist. He wasn’t fighting back, Gene, and that only made Sam angrier, as if he wasn’t even worthy enough to be fought. “You know nothing about me! You don’t know what happened. You don’t know what I did! I didn’t have choice, not then. I didn’t have a choice!”
Gene finally shoved him away and Sam stumbled backwards until he collided with the door. “There’s always a choice and you decided it would be easier to get down on your knees like the fairy-boy queer you are ‘stead of facing whatever it was you were scared of. I don’t have energy to waste on useless poofs like you. So what if you were a copper? I don’t give a shite.”
“I risked my life coming here,” Sam was shaking with rage.
“Better go run back to your master like a good doggie then, ‘fore he notices his favorite bitch as gone missing.”
The last trace of light in Sam’s life disappeared as he turned his back on Gene, opened the door, and walked out. How could he have been so stupid? Letting some copper use him as free piece of arse. Letting some homophobic closeted homosexual copper take what he wanted before tossing him back on the street like the filth he was. He’d been so blinded by the prospect of hope that he’d forgotten what this world was really like, how dark and miserable and pathetic it really was.
He did get down on his knees that night, eagerly, licking and sucking with pride and swallowing down Warren’s come as if his life depended on it, because it did. He lay back and let Warren jerk him off, trying to lose himself in the pleasurable feeling of release, moaning when he was supposed to, begging when he needed to, following the script to a ‘T’.
Because Warren may have been scum but he was honest scum. Sam would always know where he stood with him and maybe one of these days, one day soon, if he behaved like a good boy, Warren would decide Sam had had enough and Sam would be able to leave. Because Sam didn’t want to die, not yet, and if he wanted to live, well, he didn’t have a choice.
_______
Part 11
Author: dak
Word Count: 2197 this part; [18,516 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 angst monkeys have completely taken control. There's nothing I can do. 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
“Guv? What’re you doin’ ‘ere this late?”
“Which cell is Kemble in?”
Phyllis shuffled through her papers.
“Which cell Desk Sergeant Dobbs!”
“Hold your horses!” She shouted back. “Who killed your dog tonight,” she grumbled. “Cell four but--”
“Thank you,” Gene replied stiffly.
“But!” She shouted after him. “Ray’s taken ‘im out for questioning. Should be in Lost and Found.”
“And you couldn’t’ve told me that?” He argued as the lift doors opened.
“You asked which cell ‘e’s in. Not where ‘e was.”
Gene’s reply was cut off by the sliding metal doors. He paced inside the tiny metal box, pushing away his thoughts, his emotions, his feeling of betrayal. No. It simply wouldn’t do. None of it. He slammed his fist against the wood-paneled wall and thundered out of the claustrophobic space, into Lost and Found.
He didn’t think it was possible for him to get any more furious than he already was but somehow he managed. “DS CARLING!”
Ray froze in his struggle to force one of the wraps of cocaine down Kemble’s throat, Chris stood to the side, slowly backing into the corner, and Gene towered over them all.
“Drop the suspect and come with me,” Gene was nearly shaking with the effort of keeping his voice contained but he didn’t wait long to express his disgust, punching Ray in the gut as soon as the Sergeant was in the hall. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
“Tryin’ to get a result, Guv. For you,” Ray wheezed, bent over with his hands on his thighs.
Gene grabbed him by the ear and twisted his head down. “By forcing our only link to these murders to ingest possibly lethal cocaine?”
“I-I heard it can make people talk,” Ray feebly defended.
“They can’t if they’re dead!” Gene roared and let go of Ray, tossing him against the wall. “I could have your badge for this, you stupid nonce! You want to know why you’re not Inspector? Shite like this is why you’re not Inspector!” Gene paced up and down the hall. “Right now I’m bloody glad we don’t have a new Inspector so he wouldn’t be ashamed of the shite team he’s landed himself with. And I’m glad we don’t have a new Inspector because I don’t think I can handle babysitting one more idiot tosspot who’s supposed to be a copper!”
“Guv I--”
“Get out of my sight.”
Ray hesitated.
“Now!”
Ray ran into the bullpen and Gene ripped back the door to Lost and Found. “Chris. Out.”
DC Skelton didn’t need telling twice. Kemble was trembling in his chair, eyes darting nervously from the drug-filled wrap to Gene, who sat across from him, leaned over the table, and folded his hands.
“Name.”
“I-I don’t know...”
“Who. Gave. You. The drugs.”
Kemble closed his eyes but Gene Hunt could never be ignored that easily. He walked round the table, grabbed Billy by the ear, and yanked him down to the floor. Kemble cried out but Gene refused to let go.
“DS Carling could have killed you. I’ll only make you wish you were dead.” Gene twisted his hand, pulling Kemble’s head with it.
“Gwen! Dennis Gwen!”
Gene immediately dropped him and left the room, ordering Chris to return Kemble to the cells before locking himself in his office. What had he been doing? He had a killer drug epidemic, multiple burglaries, assaults, and a piss poor excuse of a team to worry about and what had he been doing? Worrying over some pathetic rent boy who couldn’t handle the position he landed himself in. People made choices and they had to live with those choices and it wasn’t Gene Hunt’s job to fix their mistakes. He had enough trouble with his own.
*
Warren watched as his boy scraped himself off the desk. Sam was almost too spent and dazed from pain and exhaustion to even put himself together properly. He stumbled trying to pull up his trousers, cringing as he felt the material rub uncomfortably against his flaccid cock.
He tottered towards the door, unable to walk straight, partly because of the reaming he’d just received and partly because at least one rib was most certainly no longer in one piece. He vaguely recalled Warren saying something that resembled “good-night, pet,” but his head was doing a fine imitation of swimming pool, everything he saw or heard becoming blearily distorted.
He managed to drag his tattered excuse for a body to his room, wishing he had a lock on the door as he threw himself onto the bed and lay on his back, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over his tender ribs.
Something would have to change. It wouldn’t matter what he did from this point on, Warren was only going to get worse. Warren was only going to push him further, push his body further, until Sam was dead, no knife or gun necessary, simply pure, physical torture. Warren had been keeping him safe but if his protection was killing Sam would he be any worse without it?
Lying on the bed, every breath rattling his damaged chest, Sam made a choice. He was going to tell Gene. He had to. The consequences, well, there would certainly be consequences but they would be no worse than lying there so beaten, broken, and buggered he couldn’t even see properly.
He didn’t have a choice. Tomorrow he’d sneak out and tell Gene the truth. Who else could he trust?
*
“Dennis Gwen is a conniving little git, done up twice for assault and once for possession. Kemble swears on his usually exposed todger that ‘e’s the one who gave ‘im this batch.”
The detectives of CID stared through the smoky haze of the office at their Guv, who was in top form addressing his troops, hands in his pockets, back straight, voice unwavering.
“He can usually be spotted over in Ardwick. Now I want that dealing scum caught and banged up ‘fore my missus is finished cookin’ me tea. Understood?”
A chorus of ‘yes, Guvs,’ from everyone but Ray, and the team slowly went into action. Gene watched him carefully as Carling lumbered over towards Chris and started planning their search for Gwen. Ray had been avoiding eye contact all day. Gene could understand why, he was angry, but this was why he needed an Inspector. The team should fear their Guv and take their anger out on his deputy. Without said deputy, the sheriff had to bear both burdens, and it was a dangerous combination.
“Chris!” Gene called out and Ray shuffled off to another desk.
“Yes Guv?”
“Did forensics get back to us?”
“No, Guv. Said it might be another day yet ‘fore we get the results.”
“Bloody brilliant. Right, I need to go give some statements to the press hounds. I’ll be back in a few hours. Do your jobs and get me Gwen!”
*
Manchester was either a very small city or Gene Hunt was the most predictable man alive. That damn car of his was quite conspicuous as well and Sam felt it was much easier than it should have been to track him down at his back-up flat. Warren was in meetings all day and Edwards was off doing whatever it was he actually did, something probably involving his fists, Sam decided.
Slightly hobbled by a certainly broken rib, Sam scrambled towards the building, relying on memory to take him to the correct flat. Standing outside the door, he took the time to pull himself together, put on a brave face. It wouldn’t do to appear as worn down as he actually felt. He needed to be strong, show Hunt he could survive this.
He knocked tentatively, hoping the door wouldn’t be opened by some tiny grandmother by mistake. The door did open and if Gene was surprised to see him, he hid extremely well. He was a lot like Warren in that sense, terrific at concealing his emotions.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in...”
Gene wandered away from the entrance, the only sign he wanted Sam to enter being the still open door. Sam entered nervously, carefully shutting the door behind him.
“I just...” He glanced around the flat. There was a bottle of whisky and a few boxes of takeaway on the wobbly table. Gene must have been on his dinner break. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about what you said, about me having used the ‘copper’s hold,’” (Sam emphasized the words with air quotes). “as you put it and I think you might be right.”
Gene sat in his equally shoddy chair and poured himself a drink. “Really.”
“Well I’m not certain, I’m still as confused as I’ve been since I got here, but I’ve been having these flashbacks...”
“Should lay off on the LSD.”
“I don’t do drugs. I think they’re memories but it’s as if they’re someone else’s memories, even though I know they’re mine. They’re of me working a case, as a police officer. Gene, I think you might have been right.”
“Whoopee.”
“Are you alright?”
“Fine.” Gene swallowed his glass in one go and Sam knew he wasn’t fine. “What d’you want me to do about it?”
“I thought--”
“You seem to do that a lot.”
Sam ignored him. “I thought you could check the records at the station, see if--”
“Already did. Sam Tyler doesn’t exist. Not as an officer. Not round here. Not if that’s your real name.” Gene wasn’t even looking at him, staring at his cold curry and consuming more of the bottle.
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of,” Sam whispered. “There’s something else,” he said in a stronger voice. “I think there was a woman working with me. Not a WPC, she was a detective. A Detective Inspector but she could have been a Sergeant, maybe. Women detectives can’t be that common. Maybe if you--”
“Why should I do anything for you?” Gene slammed down the glass. Sam had to take a step back.
“You said you wanted--”
“Yeh seem quite happy in your current position.” There was something in the way Gene twisted the word ‘position,’ that tugged at Sam’s gut.
“How could you even think that?”
“Got yourself a nice place to live, nice clothes, and all the cock you’d ever want.”
Sam stepped back again. “You think I actually want this? Want Warren? All I want is to get away from him. Get my life back!” The shouting was hurting his ribs but he couldn’t help himself.
Gene rose from the chair and closed in on Sam. “With all your thinking, maybe you should have thought of that before you spread your legs for ‘im.”
Sam punched him. He hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t meant to but that’s what happens when a mind snaps. He punched Gene in the face. “You bastard!” He punched him in the chest but Gene grabbed his fist. He wasn’t fighting back, Gene, and that only made Sam angrier, as if he wasn’t even worthy enough to be fought. “You know nothing about me! You don’t know what happened. You don’t know what I did! I didn’t have choice, not then. I didn’t have a choice!”
Gene finally shoved him away and Sam stumbled backwards until he collided with the door. “There’s always a choice and you decided it would be easier to get down on your knees like the fairy-boy queer you are ‘stead of facing whatever it was you were scared of. I don’t have energy to waste on useless poofs like you. So what if you were a copper? I don’t give a shite.”
“I risked my life coming here,” Sam was shaking with rage.
“Better go run back to your master like a good doggie then, ‘fore he notices his favorite bitch as gone missing.”
The last trace of light in Sam’s life disappeared as he turned his back on Gene, opened the door, and walked out. How could he have been so stupid? Letting some copper use him as free piece of arse. Letting some homophobic closeted homosexual copper take what he wanted before tossing him back on the street like the filth he was. He’d been so blinded by the prospect of hope that he’d forgotten what this world was really like, how dark and miserable and pathetic it really was.
He did get down on his knees that night, eagerly, licking and sucking with pride and swallowing down Warren’s come as if his life depended on it, because it did. He lay back and let Warren jerk him off, trying to lose himself in the pleasurable feeling of release, moaning when he was supposed to, begging when he needed to, following the script to a ‘T’.
Because Warren may have been scum but he was honest scum. Sam would always know where he stood with him and maybe one of these days, one day soon, if he behaved like a good boy, Warren would decide Sam had had enough and Sam would be able to leave. Because Sam didn’t want to die, not yet, and if he wanted to live, well, he didn’t have a choice.
_______
Part 11