Fic: The Kept Man (16/40), brown cortina, dakfinv

Feb 15, 2008 15:48

Title: The Kept Man (16/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2576 this part; [31,202 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 . 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

He wasn’t eating the food as much as he was pushing it around the plate absentmindedly and annoying the hell out of Gene.

“What? Don’t like your beans on toast?” Gene inhaled another bite of his own food.

“It’s a triumph,” Sam sighed, still not actually putting anything in his mouth, which decided was probably an odd sensation for the boy.

“You’re off with the fairies today, aren’t yeh?” Another healthy portion in the mouth and down the hatch.

“I’m just tired,” he mumbled, resting the fork on his plate.

“Cos you haven’t eaten. Fine cuisine, this. Hungry bloke like you should be wolfin’ it down.” The fork could barely hold the amount of food Gene had piled on top of it, the massive lump wobbling precariously as he lifted it to his mouth.

“Hardly Gordon Ramsey, is it?” He grumbled.

“Who?” Gene asked while he chewed.

“I don’t know,” Sam groaned, resting his elbows on the table and dropping his head in his hands. “I say these things and no none has any bloody clue what I’m talking about and neither do I.”

Gene hoped he wasn’t going to start crying in the middle of the canteen. “Well,” he said, chugging down some coffee. “Din’t know we were at a pity party.”

Sam shoved himself away from the table, nearly toppling over his chair as he stood, drawing the attention of the room’s other inhabitants.

“May I remind you, Mr. Tyler, you are still under arrest for possession so where the bloody hell d’you think you’re going? Now sit your arse down.”

Sam said nothing but reluctantly obeyed.

“Now eat.”

Again, Sam did as he was told, making a face every time he forced the food into his mouth.

“We’re goin’ to get this sorted, Sam.”

“Before or after I’m dead?” He spat.

“Got one of me DC’s lookin’ back at the duty logs. See who was patrolling the area where you crashed the day of your accident.”

“Well if he’s anything like your Sergeant I have all the confidence in the world,” he mocked.

Gene threw down his cutlery and pointed an accusing finger across the table. “Don’t you dare disregard my team like that, Tyler. Those are my men and if anyon’e goin’ to give ‘em a lashing it’ll be their Guv, not some amnesic nonce who doesn’t even know where he comes from. Now finish eating so I can tak you back to the cells.”

*

Ever since he revealed to Gene what happened, or what he thought happened, Sam couldn’t stop replaying it in his head. Each time the memory repeated another detail sprung to light but he didn’t feel like he was remembering anything at all. It was like he was recalling a film he had seen ages ago, the picture real but the experiences belonging to someone else.

It didn’t help that the more details he remembered the more confusing everything became. He knew the car he remembered driving and the car he woke up next to were completely different. He thought he’d been wearing a suit but when he woke he’d been in flared trousers and a leather jacket.

Leather jacket. A black leather jacket. Warren had given him a smaller one a month after he’d been working there but the other one, the one he’d woken up in, what had happened to that one? Edwards. He’d struggled to get away from Edwards. The jacket had come off and fallen. Fallen into the rubble. It could still be there.

The metal door opened just as Sam sat up in his bunk. A middle aged bobby with a moustache was shoved through the door. Gene strode in behind. “This him?” Hunt asked as he stared down at the PC.

Sam looked from the Constable to Gene, his own revelation momentarily forgotten by the sudden intrusion. “Uhm...”

“The plot at your accident. Is this him?”

“I...” Sam stared at the man’s face, trying to bring into focus the clouded version from his dreams. His nightmares. “Yeah. I think so. Yeah, it is.”

The officer went white as Gene focused his full attention on him. “Right then, PC Terminal. What happened to his car?”

“Wait,” Sam whispered to himself, nearly laughing at the man’s name though he couldn’t’ say why. “That can’t be right.”

“Sorry, sir,” the PC responded to Gene. “I have no idea...”

Sam was startled from his reverie as the Constable’s body was slammed against the wall, Gene keeping him pinned there. Sam shrunk back on his bunk, away from the violence. He’d heard the stories of Gene Hunt but it was different seeing the man’s fury for himself.

“You best get one then, mate, or you’ll be stripped of that uniform so fast you knackers’ll think it’s winter in April. Now, what happened to the lad’s car?”

Even with the bulk of Gene’s body smothering the PC, Sam could still see the man shaking. “Still...still at the site.”

Gene released some of the pressure on the man’s twisted arm. “Where?” He growled.

“We pushed it to the side, covered it up.”

“Who’s we?”

The PC clammed up again. Gene took him and threw him against the opposite wall, letting him crumple to the floor. Laws against police brutality, inappropriate interrogation techniques, the Scarman Report, it all flashed through Sam’s mind at once, like a hard drive on overdrive, and he had no idea what any of it meant, not even his metaphors.

“Who’s. We,” Gene demanded again, towering over the fallen PC.

“Don’t know his name, sir. Only that he works for Stephen Warren.”

“Edwards,” Sam and Gene said at the same time. Sam leapt off his bunk and headed to the still open door. Gene grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back.

“Where are you going?”

“To the construction site.”

“You’re still under arrest,” Gene reminded him.

“Great. Then you can add assaulting a police officer to my charge sheet.”

“What?”

Sam punched Gene in the face before the DCI knew what was happening. Free from Hunt’s grip, Sam jogged down the corridor.

“Oi!” Gene shouted after him and Sam heard the cell door swing shut. He hadn’t gotten far an dit didn’t take long for Hunt to catch up to him and throw him against the wall.

“You are staying put,” Gene hissed, his face dangerously close to Sam’s.

“I am this close to figuring out who I am, Gene. I am not going to let you or Warren or anyone else stop me from getting to the truth.”
If it was even possible, Gene managed to press himself closer against Sam. “An hour ago you were cryin’ over your breakie, no you’re ready to run off into the wild like John bloody Wayne?”

Sam pushed slightly away from the wall, knowing from practice exactly how to rub his leg over Gene’s quickly forming erection to get what he wanted. “Let’s just say I’ve been...invigorated,” he whispered his lips almost but not quite brushing against Gene’s cheek.

Hunt relaxed his grip but didn’t let go. Sam didn’t move his leg. “You will stay in my sight at all times,” he ordered but Sam could tell he had taken away some of Gene’s control.

“Because I’m so eager to run back to Warren for my throat slashing,” he whispered sarcastically.

They stood that way for a moment, Sam knowing he’d gotten Gene close to doing something public that he would heavily regret, but it didn’t happen. Gene dropped him then shoved him ahead of him down the hall. “My sight. All times.”

They were both silent during the drive to the site, Sam’s false confidence quickly fading as they drew closer and closer to the place of his nightmares. By the time Gene pulled the Cortina off the road an into the center of the dusty wasteland, Sam was a nervous wreck. He hoped it didn’t show.

“What’re you afraid of?”

Apparently it did show. “Nothing.”

“Right. You did tell me the truth, didn’t you?”

Sam looked over and saw Gene’s eyes searching his face the way only a copper’s could. “As much of it as I remember.”

“Then you’ve got nowt to worry about,” Gene opened his door and Sam followed suit.

“You really believe that?” He asked as they slammed their doors shut at the same time.

“You’ve got nowt to worry about from me, Sammy-boy.”

“It’s not you that concerns me,” he stood next to Gene as they scanned their eyes over the rubble.

“If you lied to me, you should be.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good.”

Sam’s eyes fell on the ridge, the one he had climbed over, the one had falled down, the one where her body was. The one where his jacket would be. He took off.

“Oi!”

“I’m just going over here,” he shouted back. He didn’t hear Gene following. His feet pounded on the dirt, covering his trousers with dust. He 
threw himself at the small hill of rubble climbing up with as much expediency as before but with more care. When he reached the top there was a moment when he thought her body was there. He closed his eyes, slowly reopened them and the ground was clear of dead flesh.

He scrambled down the other side, careful not to fall and began to search through the broken bricks and twisted steel. It was a small area, it would be here somewhere. Another minute of seaching and he saw a smooth piece of black sticking out from a cluster of red. He had to kneel down to remove it from the hole where it had fallen but seconds later the jacket was in his hands.

“Some forensic sweep they did,” Sam said, smiling, as he held up the piece of clothing.

“Tyler!” Gene’s voice echoed across the open space.

“I’m over here!” He called back, getting to his feet.

“Then get your well-oiled arse over ‘ere!”

Sam carried the jacket in his hands as he climbed up over the ridge and scooted carefully down the other side. He saw Gene on the opposite side of the wasteland and jogged over to meet him. “I found...” he started as he got close.

“Your car,” Gene finished his sentence, not using the words Sam would’ve chosen.

As he caught his breath, he noticed Gene wasn’t looking at him but at the stack of papers in his hands. “What’s that?” He asked, still panting slightly.

He watched Gene take a deep breath and raise his eyebrows, puckering his lips just before he spoke. “Your transfer papers. Inspector.” Gene handed over the top sheet. Sam was in too much shock to read it properly. “You’re my DI.”

Sam dropped the paper to the ground and hastily padded the pockets of his newly found jacket. His fingers felt out a small, square lump in the inside pocket and scrambled inside. They emerged clutching a folded piece of black leather that could almost be mistaken for a wallet. Sam didn’t notice his breaths becoming shallower as he opened up the warrant card, bypassing the badge and lifting the flap that hid his name.

“Shit,” he whispered breathlessly, holding out the badge to Gene.

“Well. Not often I get a rent boy and a DI all in one go. Must be one of them new ‘modern policing’ things, eh Sammy-boy?”

Sam didn’t hear him as he reacted in the manliest way possible and fainted.

*

“Oi!” He shouted as Sam ran off.

“I’m just going over here,” he called back and Gene decided to let him go. He knew Sam wouldn’t go far, not if the truth was as important to 
him as he said and he was smart enough to know Gene was the only thing standing between him and a quick and painful death.

Letting him search on his own, Gene walked off in the opposite direction. There wouldn’t be too many placed to hide a car here, not when it had to be done quickly. He walked slowly along the edge of the rubble. Any tyre tracks were long washed away by rain and wind. At least metal and rubber couldn’t disappear so easily.

Not spying anything out of the ordinary at first, Gene doubled back and on a second pass noticed how the sunlight was glinting suspiciously off an odd piece of metal a few meters in. Being careful not to scuff his loafers, Gene sidestepped a pile of dog shite, climbed over some rusted rebar, and tripped over an ill-placed, cracked brick. He caught himself before he fell, hands landing on glass. Smooth, unbroken glass.

“Well, hello,” he smiled to himself as he brushed away brick dust to reveal the interior view of a recently disused car. He cupped his hands over the window and took a better glance inside. On the other side, the passenger’s side, lay a stack of papers and unless Gene was mistaken, which he never was, the top folder bore the seal of the Lancashire Constabulary.

He cleared enough debris to be able to open the driver’s side door so that he could crawl inside and grab the folders. It wasn’t until he clamored back out of the car that Gene took a good look at the papers in his hand. He pulled out the top sheet of the top folder and it was not often Gene Hunt was surprised but his instant would be at the top of a very short list.

“Fuck me,” he muttered as read and reread the paper, just to make sure what he was reading was what was actually written. Finally certain that it was and finally confident he had regained the power of speech, he walked back out to the center of the wasteland.

“Tyler!” He shouted, the officer still out sight.

“I’m over here!” His voice sounded from across the site.

“Then get your well-oiled arse over ‘ere!”

Seconds later Sam was running towards him, apparently having found his own item of interest. “I found...” he panted.

“Your car,” Gene finished for him, unable to take his eyes of the words in his hands.

“What’s that?” Sam asked, out of breath.

Still in disbelief himself, Gene’s brain could only be as direct as possible. “Your transfer papers. Inspector.” He handed over the orders, knowing Sam would be unable to believe it unless he saw it for himself. “You’re my DI.” With those words, Gene Hunt’s life became considerably more complicated.

Sam dropped the paper to the ground and frantically searched the pockets of the newly found coat, pulling out a familiar fold of black leather. “Shit,” he whispered as he opened and read the warrant card, then held it out to Gene. It was for Sam Tyler who had achieved the rank of Detective Inspector.

“Well. Not often I get a rent boy and a DI in one go. Must be one of them new ‘modern’ policing things, eh Sammy-boy?”

But the next time Gene looked at Sam, the detective was passed out on the ground. Gene sighed rolled his eyes, and loaded the unconscious Inspector and their new found items into the Cortina. With Sam passed out in the back seat, there was only one thing on Gene’s mind as he drove them back to the station.

If Sam’s transfer papers were from C-Division in Hyde, why had Rathbone told him that the Hyde DCI’s officer had changed his mind, not that he was missing?
_______

Part 17

fic, pairing: sam/gene

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