Title: Don't mess with Mister In-Between
Pairing: Hunt/Tyler
Summary: Circumstance makes strange bedfellows
Rating: MA (nudity, coarse language, sexual reference, adult themes)
Warnings: Loosely based on episodes 1-6
The door latch rattled loosely as the entire stall wall shuddered, heaving in time with Hunt's heavy thrusts. Deep animal grunts pounded through Sam's ears as he pressed his palms against the slippery and slightly scummy wall, trying not to slip or fall as his boss rode him hard.
It wouldn't have been Sam's first choice of venue, but it was convenient, and Gene was only racing hard to get it over and done with before somebody came in and sprang them, the two sets of shoes clearly visible under high stall doors. It was the danger of discovery that drove them on, that added an extra thrill to what they were doing.
It wasn't planned, this shameful and desperate rutting in the furthest toilet stall, not now, not ever. It had started, as it always had, with a difference of opinion. They'd been interviewing a suspect and barbed comments regarding differing methodologies had degenerated into insults, then actual blows as they'd tumbled out into the corridor, brawling, to the bemusement of all.
It was only the act of being a spectacle that had stopped Gene, mid punch, and he'd picked Sam up by the collar and half dragged, half thrown him into the men's room. Sam had bitterly shrugged him off, not wanting anything to do with the man, not wanting to be here, wanting this nightmare to end, and right now. But it didn't, it never did, and he'd been washing his face in the chipped basin when Hunt had grabbed him again, only the hand on his shoulder was conciliatory now. Sam had let the mad bastard cup his face roughly but tenderly, holding Sam's face to the light, making him blink, and dabbing at the blood with an old grey hanky whipped out of a pocket. And Sam let him, not saying a word, knowing this was as good as an apology as he'd get.
Then Gene had leant in and kissed Sam's bruised and bleeding mouth, and Sam had resisted, trying to turn his face away, keeping his mouth pressed tight. Well, Gene was having none of that and he'd forced another kiss on Sam, and it had started up again, another heated grappling that had ended up in the stalls, trying to take the edge of a deep gnawing hunger that neither one of them could control. It flared up between them and not even a quick hard fuck could damp it down any more.
Hunt came to a shuddering halt and pulled himself back from Sam as if burned. The next thing Sam heard, not daring to turn around, was the sound of zippers and belts being fastened, then the door being unlocked, and finally the outer door swinging shut on the sound of cheap slip-ons scuffing their way down the corridor.
Sam rested his head on the tiled wall for a moment, trying to drown out the pounding of his own heart. Not a word of endearment, a kiss, or a touch. Not that he really expected it. Gene Hunt wasn't exactly a hearts and flowers kind of man, at least, not in this case, and Hunt always seemed so shocked by his own behaviour, that any sop to Sam's own turbulent emotions was quite simply beyond him.
It wasn't exactly what Sam had planned, but none of this was. This wasn't his life, and if it was nothing but the madness of his own mind, then why in hell had he imagined wanting to be shagged hard and roughly manhandled by a big and tough dinosaur of a DCI? If DCI Hunt was his truest, deepest fantasy, then he was more confused than ever.
Sam's face contorted as he mentally pulled himself together, as much as he could, and carefully rearranged his clothing as he waited the several long minutes that had to pass before he, too, could exit the stalls.
He finally pushed the stall door open and then leant heavily on the basin again, studying his refection, looking for more obvious signs of insanity and immorality, but he could only see confusion and tiredness. He was off balance, certainly, almost always, and that's how it had happened, when Hunt had blindsided him, sending his already topsy turvy world spinning off its centre even more madly than before.
It had happened much like today, a bitter fight over procedure and ethics, and Hunt, taking the more direct route, had bypassed negotiation and had dragged Sam into the alley behind the pub, full of old bottles and cat's piss, and had punctuated his points by grabbing Sam and shoving him hard up against the wall.
It had been a bad day, a long day, and Sam had snapped, striking back at his superior officer and they'd fallen to the ground, wrestling angrily with each other, and then the energy had just changed, as though someone had reversed the current, and suddenly they were locked together and grappling at each other, still trying to dominate, still grabbing at clothes, but instead of anger, they were driven by lust, and Gene had pinned him down in that lane, with nothing but spit and a bit of semen to ease himself into Sam. Sam had pulled himself up onto his knees, pressing back into Gene, and he'd wanted it, he'd wanted to feel Gene's hands pressing into his skin, Gene digging away inside of him. It felt real. It was hard, raw and real and he clung to it, and he clung to Gene. Even when they'd done and Gene had tried to pull away, he'd tried to hold onto him.
Gene had kissed him, an earnest, desperate kiss, almost crushing Sam's head in his hands, and then he'd begged, or possibly demanded, Sam not to tell anyone.
"Who am I going to fucking tell? Acas ? Who the hell is there to file a complaint of sexual harassment?" Sam had answered bitterly.
"Not that, you moron. Don't tell anyone I like it up the arse."
Gene was indeed pleading, not even looking at Sam as he fumbled with shoes, belts and trousers, and Sam had suddenly smiled, an impish, wicked and flirtatious smile.
"I could fuck you, Guv. Up the arse. If you wanted it."
It had hardly been the best line Sam had ever used, and he'd been shocked to hear it coming out of his own mouth, but he'd said it warmly, and when Gene had looked at him, there had been no going back. They'd done it in the back of the Cortina, both of them terrified of being caught, but unable to stop.
They just couldn't stop. Quick filthy fucks in toilets, backseats, back alleys and Sam's tiny bedsit. Sometimes it got too much, sometimes they really came to blows, misplacing their frustration, and sometimes Gene would make a point of standing away from Sam, or putting him down, just to prove a point, just to deflect the office jokes that hit too near the truth.
Sam wanted to scream and cry that it didn't have to be like this, that where he came from, you could be gay and a cop, but he knew it wasn't true. If it had been true, then why had Sam ignored this terrible desire for so long? Why was Gene Hunt the man of his dreams? Why now?
Sam walked out into the corridor and found the man himself leaning up against the wall outside the lost property room they used as an interview room, or maybe it was the other way around, or both, Sam was really at a loss to tell most days. Gene was smoking quietly and when he saw Sam, he just held out the packet, offering him a fag.
"Still on for tonight?" Gene asked, not looking at Sam and pretending he didn't care either away.
Sam refused the cigarette with a small shake of his head and said nothing, but sharing a quiet moment was answer enough. Idly, he wondered if he could get lung cancer in whatever mad alternate reality he was stranded in, breathing in all Gene's second hand smoke.
It wasn't all bad. It wasn't all seedy fucks and self loathing. He couldn't stand it if it was.
As much as Gene rubbed him up the wrong way, and the right way, he was a friend, and that was something Sam needed so desperately right now. They might have bitter arguments, but Sam knew he could trust Gene when and where it mattered. He knew Gene would always back him in fight, if it came down to it, against anyone else, and he knew he had Gene's grudging respect, sometimes. Most of the time. He knew Gene protected him, and Sam needed protecting, because he didn't know all the rules, and he couldn't fight dirty, not like everyone else did, and maybe it was just some sort of misguided Stockholm Syndrome, but that carried a lot of weight for Sam.
And Gene was fun. Mad, bad and completely daft, but great fun, and Sam couldn't remember laughing half as much in his old life, or ever enjoying himself quite so much. As primitive as things were, there was a great freedom in not having to dot all his I's all the time. Suddenly policing was a wild adventure, just like he'd always dreamt it was, all fast cars and no committee meetings. It was almost like being a child again, Sam thought, shocked suddenly into his present.
Maybe it was a dream, but Gene was real, at least to him. He was completely mad, to Sam at least, but never dull, and constantly surprising. And he could be sweet, too. Very sweet. Like the time Sam had woken up in his flat, and found Gene, still there. Instead of having zipped up and left after doing the deed, for some reason, maybe the lateness of the hour, Gene had stayed and made Sam a simple breakfast of eggs and sausages. It was as close to hearts and flowers as he was ever likely to get.
"Careful," Gene had scolded, finding a naked and still sleepy Sam at his shoulder. "You'll get hot fat splattered all over your todger and I don't want to know how you'd explain that to the night nurse."
Sam had retreated behind Gene, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist and resting his head on Gene's warm shoulder, feeling the cloth of his shirt that stretched and pulled as he moved. He could hear Gene's heartbeat, and he wanted to believe that this was real.
Gene swore, burning himself on the pan handle, distracted as he was, and Sam wanted to ask if Gene would be missed, but he sadly thought that Gene wouldn't be, and he kept quiet. He knew better than to enquire as to Gene's domestic arrangements. That Gene was here, it said enough. He reminded himself that this was the way it was: men like Gene married and played harder and rougher than anyone else, just to throw off suspicion. Maybe Gene felt as trapped in this unreal life as he did. Or maybe not.
He squirmed around in front and snaked his arms around Gene, stealing a kiss.
"Your breakfast will go cold," Gene warned.
"I don't care. Fuck me."
Gene didn't need telling twice. He all but carried and dropped Sam on the bed, stripping and pushing Sam into the position where they got the most leverage and the least threat of the rickety little bed completely collapsing beneath them, or banging enough to annoy the neighbours. Bad enough Gene was seen going in and out of Sam's flat more often than he should be, they didn't need a complaint about the noise as well.
"You have to get a better bed than this," Gene complained, for the hundredth time.
"And put it where?" Sam shot back, annoyed, cut off only as Gene just pushed him down, as though trying to arrest him. Sam didn't mind. He wanted it rough, he wanted it to feel real. He wanted the scrape of Gene's beard and fingernails on his skin, he wanted to feel every inch of Gene pressing inside him, he wanted to feel his own skin, stretching and flexing as he moved. He wanted to hear the high pitched squirt of the old lube bottle, the horrid little bed shuddering on its last legs, Gene's soft grunts as he worked his way inside him.
It wasn't long, lazy cuddles on a Sunday afternoon, but this room, this life, it just wasn't built for that, and like everything so far, Sam was just going to have to take what he could get. He had half joked about going down to London for a dirty weekend, but Gene had just looked at him as though he had completely lost it, again, and so he'd given up on that idea as well. Gene would just fuck him, and then leave, no doubt hoping the smell of beer and fags would cover a multitude of sins.
Sam pushed back up against Gene as they went faster and faster, the bed now slamming against the wall as they went at it like hammer and tongs. Oh God, they were really getting there. Sam was rubbing up and down against Gene, eyes closed and head thrown back against Gene's shoulder as they half knelt, half braced themselves for the final lap. Sam was desperately jerking himself off, quicker and faster than Gene grinding away behind him. Gene held him tight, then gripped him even harder, and bit down on Sam's shoulder to stifle any cry as he unloaded forcefully. The sudden erotic pressure, just there, on his throat, was all Sam needed and he came in a sticky rush in his hand.
They slowly untangled, hair damp, still sweating slightly, and tried to tidy up with a few paper towels and the dishcloth. Sam didn't say anything. He just kissed Gene long and slow, and then watch him pull on his shoes and slip on the old camel coat before ducking out the door.
Sam sat down, gingerly, on the edge of his bed, and carefully balanced his plate of now cold and half burnt sausages on his naked thighs, nibbling at them as he watched the sky slowly lighten through his tiny box of a window. He couldn't imagine ever living like this, and maybe that was the point.
Sam was still smiling at Gene, lost in thought, lost in the past, when Gene thumped him suddenly, and snarled "Don't get cocky."
Sam blinked, jerked back into what passed for his present these days, and saw Ray trotting past his shoulder, down the corridor, shooting them both a look. A good two thirds of the station, if not more, thought Sam was a bad influence on the Guv, and looked darkly upon any time the two were seen together, as further evidence of corruption.
Gene just grabbed Sam by the shoulder and shoved him back into the interview room.
Sam had almost given up on Gene when a dull thud on his door, a policeman's knock if ever there was one, alerted him to Gene's arrival.
Sam threw open the door and stood in the doorway, face almost childishly eager, clad head to toe in tight black shirt and jeans. His collar and cuffs were hanging open loosely, and his medallion caught the light, shining almost as brightly as his eyes and smile.
"God, you're a sight for sore eyes," Gene breathed, barely stopping to kick the door shut behind him as pulled Sam in close to kiss him.
Sam's arms went around Gene, and Gene whirled him, as though dancing, turning him until Sam was pressed back against the wall, and Gene was kissing him in a never ending series of hot, hungry kisses, all the while his hand rubbing and squeezing at Sam's rapidly growing erection through his pants.
"I've got you by the balls now, Sammy Boy," Gene teased, giving him a squeeze before dropping to his knees, making his intention clear.
Sam hurriedly unbuckled his belt and unzipped and then just closed his eyes, head tilted back against the obscene wallpaper, arms hanging loosely by his side as Gene went down on him. Gene was hot and wet and he knew what he was doing and he didn't even notice when Sam called him "Guv" when he came, loudly, and in several breathless bursts.
Gene stood again, rising up over Sam, a couple of inches taller and a hell of a lot bigger, very pleased with himself that he could make a cocksure bastard like Sam Tyler swoon and cry like a girl. Just the sight of Sam like that, still pressed up against the wall, clothes askew, eyes closed, gulping air, his throat exposed, inviting, it gave Gene all kinds of ideas.
Sam felt Hunt clamp onto his throat in a long, sucking kiss and he groaned slightly, pushing off the wall to lean against Gene in a loose embrace. Gene hugged him back and Sam smiled, a happy and relieved smile. He needed this. He needed to be held. He needed a man like Gene to keep him tethered, to keep him real, because he was frightened of slipping out of this reality, too. With Gene's steady heartbeat thumping beneath his ear, at least Sam knew this was real, this was his here and now.
Gene let Sam snuggle in his arms a little more, though he was desperate for a drink. Gene could be surprisingly tender at times, even surprising himself, and there was something of a lost little boy in Sam, when he wasn't being a complete and utter twat, that got under Gene's skin and made him care, a lot. Sam needed him, and it was nice to be needed, for a change.
It was also just nice. They could be mates at work, when they weren't kicking several types of shit out of each other, but rarely did they have quiet moments like this. Sometimes Gene wanted to believe it was more than just a series of quick and convenient fucks.
The seconds began to drag on acutely and eventually Gene was forced to break the silence, grunting a little, giving Sam an amiable little pat on the backside, and wondering aloud if there was a likelihood of him dying of thirst in Sam's flat.
Sam pushed away, equal parts bemused and irritated.
"Would you like a drink, Detective Chief Inspector?"
"I thought you'd never bloody ask," Gene almost growled.
Glass of scotch finally in his hand, Hunt's next problem came in trying to find a place to sit. He'd seen stuff at tips in better condition that what Sam had in this flat. Finally choosing the arm chair in the corner that looked the least likely on the verge of collapse, he eased into it slowly, exhaling with relief as it stood, and he settled further, rearranging clothes and limbs more comfortably.
"Do you think the forensics have come back yet?" Sam asked, screwing the lid back onto the bottle of scotch. He glanced up to catch Gene making a shushing motion at him.
"No shop talk. I didn't come over here for shop talk."
"So what are we going to talk about, then?" Sam asked, perplexed.
Gene smiled wolfishly.
"I would have thought your Mam would have taught you it was rude to talk with your mouth full."
"Subtle, very subtle," Sam chided, covering the three paces it took to cross his flat to where Gene sat.
"Subtle doesn't work with you, Sam," Gene reminded, quite honestly.
Sam ignored the barb, leaning forward to take a sip of scotch from Gene's glass, and then kissing him directly on the mouth. There was nothing ambiguous or subtle about that kiss.
Gene tasted of scotch and cigarettes and chewing gum, and it had been a while since Sam had kissed a smoker, in his old life, but he was getting used to it now. It was a bitter and acrid flavour, but he pushed past it, seeking sensation, needing warm physical contact. When Gene's tongue slid against his, he could feel the desire spike through him like the stab of a knife.
Why had none of his other relationships been like this? Why hadn't they made him feel gut punched every time. Just kissing Gene like this, he felt torn open, like a wild thing trying to tear through him from the inside out. Gene aroused him so much that he was powerless to do anything but sweat and shake in his arms and beg for more. No one else had ever made him feel like this. No one had ever come close. No one had ever challenged and tested him, and made his blood pump hard. No one had ever made it so unapologetically physical like Gene had. No one had ever made themselves the very centre of Sam's world, like Gene had.
Sam slid down and settled, kneeling between Gene's thighs, helping Gene unbuckle and pull his trousers down, just enough for Sam's purposes, and there, at last, was Gene in all his glory. Gene Hunt wasn't freakishly huge, but like everything else about the man, he was large enough to be confronting.
Even to Sam. He'd learnt to handle Gene in his many moods, but Gene still managed to surprise him, catch him off guard or unsettle him. Even now, the expectation prickled at Sam.
Gene groaned out another long exhalation and sank back in the chair, eyes closed, head tilted back, nearly empty glass dangling in his fingers as he enjoyed the ride.
Gene had been surprised himself to learn that Sam Tyler was not, in fact, the enormous cocksucker he had taken him for. Sam had always been on the receiving end, but he'd never actually given one before he'd met Gene. It was at least one field Sam couldn't claim superior expertise. Gene had surmised, out loud, that either they didn't go in for that sort of thing in Hyde, or, far more likely, that Sam had been just far too prissy and precious to get down on his knees for anyone.
That had soon changed, and Sam wondered again that if this was all a dream, then why was he dreaming he was stuck in 1973, and gay, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand, as Gene had given an annoyed grunt when he'd slowed. Gene felt real, tasted real, he smelt real.
Gene groaned again, free hand clutching at Sam's bobbing head, failing to get a purchase on Sam's short hair. Gene had offered Sam a fiver to go and get a decent haircut when it had grown back, but as yet, it hadn't. It made Sam look like he'd been ill, so Gene said, and there was always an implication, an unasked question, but Sam couldn't answer it.
Gene shifted and grunted, and then grunted again, and he was done. Sam sat back, wiping his mouth on the back o his hand, eyes shining, watching Gene with curious, smouldering eyes.
"I wish I knew what went on in that head of yours, Sam," Gene spoke softly, wondering again where Sam went when he looked at him like that.
"No, you really don't," Sam warned, and it was a warning.
"I wish I could get you to suck my cock at the station, then, at my desk."
"You'll need to get better blinds," Sam grinned, not entirely dismissing the idea. "I'd let you do me, on your desk, long, hard strokes, making me come hard..."
"You'll ruin the varnish," Gene teased softly, his eyes still darkened and half closed.
Sam, still kneeling on the floor, began unbuttoning Gene's shirt slowly, from the bottom to the top, pausing to lick at the pale and flickering flesh at each button.
"Give us a moment, eh, Sam?" Gene pleaded, needing to catch his breath, and finish his scotch, in no particular order. He took another small sip, to prove his point.
Sam prowled slowly up Gene until he was level with him, hands on the armrests, trapping him. He took Gene's glass and swallowed it on one gulp, setting it aside on top of the television set. The he kissed him, insistent this time. Nuzzling and chiding and licking and lapping and almost straddling him.
Gene caught his wrists, hard, stopping him, mid kiss.
"I wish I knew where you were rushing to, Sam, and whether you'll ever get there. It's not a race. I'm not going anywhere, at least not for another couple of hours. Slow down. You'll run yourself ragged, the way you carry on."
"Can't," Sam, struggling, feeling trapped. He tried to pull away from Gene, but Gene held him tight.
Sam struggled again, more sharply this time, but Gene still held tight. Sam's eyes narrowed and darkened and he shot forward, attacking Gene with a savage kiss.
Too late, Gene realised, he'd hit Sam's button, the kinky little bastard.
Sam was tied to the bed, his wrists lashed to the rail with Gene's tie. Gene was leaning above him, kneeling between him, deep inside him. Sam's heart was pounding in his ears, pounding louder than the radio he'd put on to mask the noise, pounding louder and faster and deafening him and he couldn't cover his ears and he couldn't hear anything but the white roar of his own ragged breath and a voice, calling him.
"Sam? Sam? Stay with me, Sam."
It was Gene's voice, and he slowly focused on the voice, slowly seeping out of the blinding whiteness.
"Sam, Sam, stay with me Sam. Just hold on and stay with me. I won't let you go. Hold on, Sam."
Gene slowly swam back into focus, hovering above him, concerned, but unable to stop.
"Stay with me Sam," Gene pleaded, and Sam felt his heartbeat spike and race forward and nearly burst and then Gene was untying him and kissing him and holding him tight and saying something jumbled about losing Sam for a moment or two.
Sam wanted to say something like he wasn't going anywhere, that he was here, now, with Gene. But he wasn't really sure where he was, or how long he would stay, and he couldn't find his breath, anyway.
Slowly, everything swam back into focus and his room was the same as it had always been, and Gene was there, stroking his face, and Sam knew he was back. He didn't know how or why, he just knew he felt safer here. He'd never felt more alive than being here, with Gene, every day. He knew that Gene was right, deep down, he was loving this. This was who he was. This was where he wanted to be, and who he wanted to be with.
But admitting that, and letting his old life just fade away, that was harder. He couldn't let go, not yet. Not until he was sure. Not until he knew why.
His eyes flickered back into focus as Gene's thumb softly rubbed his cheek.
"You with me, Sam? It's like you keep fading in and out," Gene asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice.
Sam managed a smile. "Just floating on an orgasmic high," he lied, just a little bit.
Gene shook his head and sat up. It always made him squirm slightly when Sam started to talk about their sex life. A simple handshake would have done it for Gene. He really didn't need his performance picked apart like the last play in a nil all game.
"Hungry?" Gene asked hopefully, changing the subject.
"The cupboard's bare," Sam announced, not the slightest bit ashamed.
Gene was sure that Sam would starve in this horrid little flat if he didn't drag him out to dinner occasionally. Dear God, since when did he turn into such a mother hen? Since this strange little man had wandered into his patch, that's when.
"Bit late," Sam was still frowning, chewing over the idea. Sam chewed over everything. He was an overthinker, but it was an asset in a squad more used to going by the numbers.
The bed creaked alarmingly and rattled as Gene shifted off it, and Sam sat up, slowly returning to the world, more and more, when he heard it again, the hiss and the beeps and the dull, voices, as though he were underwater.
He suddenly swung around, staring hard at the radio.
"Mum?"
"What?" Gene had to ask.
"My Mum. Can't you hear her? I can hear her, talking to me."
"It's just an ad on the radio, yer daft poof." Gene marched over and snapped it off, but when he looked back, Sam was still as white as a sheet.
"I think we should stay in," he decided.
"Yeah, " Sam agreed, not really focused. "Phone up for some Thai. "
"You what?" Gene exclaimed, perplexed, and his tone was enough to shake Sam out of it.
"Sorry," Sam apologised, stumbling from the bed, wrapping a sheet around his waist, trailing it like a bride's veil across the carpet as he went to the tiny sink and stove that made up his kitchen. "There must be something," he muttered, opening the cupboard and peering inside it.
"I thought you were quite a dab hand at the kitchen," Gene complained, realising with dismay that he probably wasn't going to get a decent supper.
"I am, but I thought we were eating out. Ah, here," Sam sounded happily, as he pulled half a bag of rice from the back of his cupboard.
Gene's face fell. Foreign food again, but he did his best to smile as Sam beamed at him.
"Go on, amaze me," he challenged. He knew Sam loved a challenge, and saw the light fire in his eyes. That was the Sam he loved.
It was late morning when Gene Hunt dragged himself in. Sam and the plonk were huddled over some desk, like a couple of canoodling kids. He felt a slice of jealousy and he couldn't help himself.
Annie was letting Sam smile and flirt with her and he leant closer over the map they were studying until they were almost touching, and she could smell him, the shampoo in his hair, and she could see right into his eyes, and watch the way his medallion caught the light as it swung and dangled from his throat like a pendulum.
Sam suddenly shot up with a jerk and a gasp, startling Annie, and Gene just kept on walking, smirking. Sam's mouth simply opened and closed like a goldfish. Gene Hunt had actually pinched him on the bum, in the middle of the room, like he was any old piece of skirt.
"He must like ya," Annie teased, very amused, until she saw the flash of something in Sam's eyes.
"Not likely," Sam excused Hunt's behaviour, leaning over the map again, this time far less close to Annie. "He's just winding me up."
Annie saw it again in his eyes, and she suddenly knew he was lying to her. For all the crazy things he'd done and said, she realised now that he'd never lied to her, not once, until now.
She glanced at the Guv in his office, and then studied Sam again, who almost seemed to flinch under her scrutiny, all nervous and twitchy, like a guilty suspect.
"Well, he's probably jealous," she explained tartly, flicking back the collar of Sam's shirt, and this time he did flinch.
"Who was she, the bird who gave you that?" Annie asked, indicating the large love bite she'd uncovered, that she'd seen peeping out of his shirt as he'd leant over, before letting Sam's collar fall again.
"No one," Sam answered dully, desperately wanting out of this conversation.
"I'll bet," Annie remarked tartly, now drawn away and closed to him. She didn't walk away, because she'd promised to be a friend to him, but this was the hardest blow yet. She glanced to the Guv's office again, and caught him watching her, very intensely. She backed off even further.
Annie wasn't happy when DCI Hunt bailed her up deep in the dusty records stacks in the collator's room, nor was she happy when he immediately launched into talking about Sam. Gene Hunt was the last person she wanted to talk to, and Sam was the last person she wanted to talk about.
She glanced him up and down, sizing him up in a new light, wondering what on earth he and Sam could possibly have in common, and then remembering all the times she'd seen the two of them, as thick as thieves. She knew must be something going on, they way they were always winding each other up, but she'd just never imagined the Guv saw Sam as anything more than his cross to bear.
There must be something, though, because there was no disguising the softening in his voice when he spoke the name 'Sam', or the anxiety she saw in his eyes.
"What about Sam?" she asked, feeling obstinate and unwilling to hide the fact. Did everything have to revolve around Sam?
"Do you think he's a bit, you know, odd?"
"I don't know," she tried to brush him off. "How do you mean?"
"You know, all that nonsense he babbles about, saying he knows the future and the like. I know he likes to think I'm not paying attention to his nonsense, but I am. I have to. "
"Are you saying you believe him, Guv?" She had to ask, astonished.
"No," Gene scowled. "I'm saying I'm worried about him, and I know you're a friend of his and I know you've got a psychology degree..."
"Are you asking my opinion?"
"Your advice." His words came out clipped. This was obviously not a conversation he wanted to be having.
"Why?"
"He's getting worse, not better."
"I know."
"I don't know what to do. He's always been an odd duck, babbling nonsense, but now he's started hearing voices. I was willing to put up with an awful lot of crap, but now he's really starting to worry me. I think there might be something seriously wrong. "
"You should make him go see somebody. He needs help."
Gene gave a little snort, then looked genuinely afraid, the first time Annie had ever seen real fear in his eyes.
"I'm frightened I'll lose him. That they'll lock him up and throw away the key. I couldn't bear that. He's a sensitive lad, our Sam. It'd destroy him. And he's a good copper. Mad as a hatter, but a good copper. Best I've ever seen."
"You're worried though, that he'll get himself or someone else hurt."
Gene couldn't answer that, but his eyes said yes.
"I need you to watch over him. Let me know if you think he's going over the edge."
"I will, Guv," she promised.
"Cheers," was all he said. What else could he say. It wasn't at all what he wanted, but it was another pair of eyes, at least. Sam needed minders, it was as simple as that.
"If you're that worried about him," she had to add, as he started to turn away. "Then why don't you take him off duty? Put him on leave."
Gene snorted again. "What, take off our best player? He's a complete loon but he's my loon, and he gets the job done. I don't want him off the team, I want him out there, getting results, and I just want to keep an eye on him, that's all. Keep him out of trouble."
"Alright, Guv, if that's what you want."
"It is," he told her, in no uncertain terms. Then he flashed a grin at her. "Christ, how boring it must have been before Sam showed up?"
"Pretty dull, Sir," Annie agreed, smiling at him despite herself.
Sitting on an upturned crate, two rows down, Sam was doubled over, holding his head in his hands, biting back the tears and trying very hard not to make a sound. So that was settled at least. They all thought he was a nutter. He couldn't blame them, he wasn't entirely sure himself, and that was the problem, wasn't it? He couldn't ask them to believe what he believed, because it was insane, but the sense of betrayal, the utter humiliation that the saw him that way, it struck him deep.
He sat there for a long while, not sure what to do, and then he just picked up another folder, having nothing else to do. He flicked through the tissue thin and smudgy carbons and paused when he came to an old, or rather, recent Gestetner stencil sheet, just like he remembered from his earliest school days. Unable to help himself, he bent to sniff at the purplish text. Oh, that took him back, to old classrooms and the smell of his old school bag.
Slowly coming out of his Proustian moment, he glanced up to find Gene Hunt himself, as large as life, leaning against the untidy and overfilled metal shelves, watching him.
"Sniffing out crime?" Gene had to ask.
Sam waved the sheet of paper at him. "It's been ages since I've seen an old stencil like this."
"Oh, and what do they use in Hyde, then?" Gene asked, sarcastically, knowing whatever answer Sam gave him, it wasn't going to make any sense.
Sam wanted to tell him, about colour laserjet printers and cds and the internet, which was only just taking its first baby steps, over in America , but he just kept his mouth shut.
"I heard you," Sam sulked. "You all think I'm a nutter."
"Well, you are a nutter. As mad as a March hare, but you're my nutter and you are a bloody good copper, in your own way, and the best man on my team. You worry me at times, Sam, make no mistake, but you get results and that's all that matters."
"All?"
Gene shrugged. "Well, that and you're me best mate and a great shag."
Sam's face perked up into a grin.
"A great shag?"
Gene fidgeted. "Well, you know, better than average. Or maybe I'm just saying that not to hurt your feelings?"
Sam had stood up, still holding the dog eared manila folder, and walked over to where Gene was leaning.
"Shut up. You said it. I'm a great shag."
Gene leant close, eyes dancing with Sam's.
"How am I suppose to be able to think when you have me rock hard all day long? I've got a city to protect, but I just want to –"
Sam kissed him. Just a light kiss, to shut him up before Gene tried to cover up with smacks and insults. He expected Gene to back off, but Gene grabbed him and kissed him fiercely. And, God, he was hard. Sam dropped the file and wrapped his arms around Gene, returning the kiss.
Detective Constable Chris Skelton popped around the corner, looking for Sam, and stopped dead. Bloody hell, it was true what Ray said, Sam was giving the Guv head. Backing up rapidly and as quietly as he could, Chris walked quickly out of there, shaken, unable to erase that image from his mind.
"Did you hear anything," Sam asked, suddenly stopping for a second.
"No. Now shut up and kiss me," Gene growled, and Sam did as he was told, for once.