Sheriff

Flash of Light
by elfin

"Do you want to know something, Sam?"

He lifted his head from his arms crossed on the table in front of him, fingernails absently picking at the varnish where decades of spilt beer had lifted it, leaving areas of unprotected, cheap wood. He could smell the alcohol - ale and whiskey - on his Guv's breath, but it didn't matter because he reckoned his own smelt worse. He'd matched Gene pint for pint, chaser for chaser. He was very, very well oiled, as the saying went, but still he considered his response very, very carefully.

"I don't know."

"Well… I'm going to tell you anyway." There was a definite slur to the brash Manchester accent. He couldn't hear one in his own voice although he was sure it was there. "My life wasn'simple before you walked into it, but it was a damn lotsimpler than it is now."

Sam nodded delicately. "Thanks, Guv."

"Shuddup. I haven't finished." He leaned further forward, pushing his own arms across the tabletop until they touched Sam's. "You've blown my world apart, Sam." Straight, flat, no slur on those words. Something warm settled in Sam's stomach. "I don't know… where the 'ell you came from - I seriously doubt they've ever 'eard of you in Hyde - but I'm… I'm really… really glad you're 'ere."

Lifting his gaze, Sam met the sapphire eyes staring at him across the small gap between their heads. "I thought you hated me." Not hated exactly, but certainly nothing more positive and besides, he thought perhaps he felt like having a fight, maybe outside in the road. Something physical.

"I don'hate you. I've never 'ated you. You do drive me insane. You fight me on everything."

Sam figured he might as well try it. "Can we fight about this?"

"Huh?"

On second thoughts, he wasn't all that certain they could both stand up straight, never mind make it out of the pub, through the thrown bolts. Nelson had declared a lock-in God-only knew how long ago. The others had left in twos and threes after that. They were the only ones still sitting there, the only background sound was Nelson washing and drying the glasses. "Never mind."

"See! You never make sense to me. I'm no'saying you're not good at being a copper cos you are. You're the best - and don't you tell anyone I said that." Sam smiled to himself as Gene's head dropped slightly, eyes still holding his, and he had the strangest urge to lift his hand and touch the mane of sandy blond hair.

"You have my word."

"Um. It's true though. I feel… better… 'avin' you around. Like… a better copper. A better man, sometimes."

Sam wasn't really listening, the words were just floating through his fogged brain and what he was concentrating on was the apple scent of shampoo beneath the cigarette smoke and slightly stale smell they all picked up from the CID offices. He took a deep breath through his nose and smiled again to himself. Gene had reached for his whiskey but wasn't making any effort to actually drink it. Instead he looked as if he was studying the dull pub lights reflected in the amber liquid.

"I just can'shake this feelin' that you're not supposed to be here. Not supposed to be with us. I think - I worry - one day I'll come in and you'll be gone."

"You're right," Sam murmured softly. "One day."

Gene looked back up at him and whatever he was seeing in those sparking eyes it wasn't something he'd seen before. "You said… when you had Vic Tyler's gun in my face, I didn't want you to leave but you had to. You knew I didn't want you to leave."

Sam sniffed once. "I don't know why I said that. I wasn't… thinkin' all that straight."

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or not, the thought of you waving a gun in my face while you're thinkin' straight. But it was right, what you said. I don't want you to leave."

Raking his gaze over the pocked face, strong, stubbled jaw, to where blond hair touched the smooth skin of the throat and brushed the top of the violet collar. Gene had his purple and white wool tie loosened, top two buttons of his shirt undone, and Sam followed the gentle curve of his right clavicle across the base of his throat with his eyes.

"Sam?"

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Me? I'm… drunk. Very drunk."

Gene nodded once, slowly. "You should go 'ome."

"No." Sam had no idea what had pushed the word out of his mouth so fast. "No. I'm good 'ere." What exactly was he talking about? For the first time the mention of the word had panicked him and he knew he wasn't thinking about the pokey little flat he was living in. "How about another?"

"You don't think we've probably had enough?"

He grinned, possibly a little manically. "Never thought I'd 'ear you say that, Guv."

"And that's another thing!" Spoken suddenly, like this new thought had overwritten the one about another round. "This swapping between 'Guv' and 'Gene'."

"Ah, that is something I can explain." Not that he'd given it any real consideration, he just knew instinctively when to use which one, depending on the result he wanted. "It's 'Gene' if I'm trying to complic- no - placate you. It's 'Guv' if I'm angry, or if I want something but I don't want to beg."

Gene's gaze held steady and Sam wondered if he could look deep enough, if he'd see cogs turning. He tried, and found himself losing focus.

"Hey! Don't you pass out on me!"

"Never crossed my mind."

"Good." He apparently went back to assessing Sam's answer, and finally said, "So… you'd beg?"

Sam let a little laugh touch his throat. "Given the right circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

He laughed out loud. "I'm not telling you! You'd take advantage."

Gene's 'feigned hurt' look was almost… sweet. "When have you ever known me take advantage?"

Sam stared at him, wide-eyed expression of 'you have to be kidding me'. "All the time?"

"Of you?"

"Of everyone!"

For a second he thought Gene was going to put up some hastily constructed argument but it never came.

"They're my team, aren't they?"

"What about me?"

All the humour and put-on hurt left Gene's face as he replied levelly, "You're my deputy, Sam."

That warm something in his stomach started to glow. He was incredibly touched. Despite all the initial animosity between them, despite the flash fallouts and the admittedly increasingly rare fights, Gene respected him, liked him even.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Gene picked up his drink and Sam watched him swallow the double measure of whiskey in one gulp. His eyes lingered of their own accord and like some desperate ex-smoker he suddenly wanted to French kiss the liquor from Gene's mouth.

"What are you staring at, Sam?" The question was soft, quiet, like he really wanted to know, wasn't just throwing up barriers to protect himself from whatever the answer might turn out to be.

"Sorry." It was all Sam could say.

"Why? What for?" There was a definite hesitation. "For wanting me?"

A cold blade sliced through the warmth inside him. "Don't worry, it's a passing thing. It'll pass as soon as we leave the pub I'm sure."

"That's a shame." Gene had turned his head and his lips moved an inch from Sam's. "Because I don't think Nelson would appreciate us shagging on the tables in 'ere."

It was too much to resist. Sam closed the gap, touched his mouth to Gene's, and hummed softly when a warm, whiskey-soaked tongue slid along and then between his lips. Nelson or no, he would have jumped Gene there and then if it had lasted any longer than it did. He couldn't remember ever having been kissed like that before by anyone. His dick was rock hard in his jeans and he just wanted Gene to touch him; how, where, didn't matter.

But the kiss ended and before he could say anything he heard, murmured into his ear, "Not here."

There was so much meaning in those two simple words that he wasn't sure he could make the short distance to his pokey flat while keeping his hands off Gene. But if it meant getting what he wanted, he'd find a way.

They rose to leave, and Sam caught Nelson's dark eyes where he was watching them from behind the bar. He expected some sort of warning, but instead the man simple smiled, nodded, and went on drying the glasses.

"Night, Nelson."

"A very good night to you, Sam."

Gene threw the bolts back on the door, and they stepped out into the cold night.

The ten-minute walk was in silence, but Gene stayed close, brushing his Camel coated arm against Sam's shoulder. Sam's dick throbbed in his jeans and as much as the chilly night tried to drive some sense into him and he thought he should stop this before they started, at least analyse why he was doing it, he simply didn't want to.

His thrice-fixed door withstood the brute force of Gene opening it with his shoulder even before Sam dug his keys from his pocket, and the moment they were inside he was wrapped in strong arms, pulled against a surprisingly firm body and his mouth was ravaged by soft lips and a desperate tongue. Sam opened his mouth against Gene's, curling his arms around the man's neck, trying almost to climb him, to get somehow closer, deeper. Clothes were disposed of as quickly as they could work out how to do it without letting go of each other or breaking the mouth to mouth for more than the briefest of moments.

Arousal overrode the alcohol in his bloodstream, in Gene's too, if what was poking his denim-clothed leg through the thin material of his grey suit trousers was anything to go by. They were the last items to be removed, and for that Sam did have to let go, pull back a couple of stumbled steps and push the tight black jeans down over his narrow hips, transfixed by the sight of Gene's substantial erection standing proud from a nest of dark blond pubes. Sam reached forward, wrapped one hand around it to elicit that first long moan, and let his fingertips comb through the hair, soft rather than wiry. So soft…. Dropping to his knees he didn't hesitate in sliding his mouth along its thick length until his nose was pressed in to them.

Gene let out a sound from his throat not unlike a startled animal, and dropped back, ass hitting the hard mattress of Sam's bed, hands behind him to prevent him from falling any further. Sam went with him, shuffling forward on his knees, keeping the head of Gene's dick held at the back of his throat.

"God, Sam…." They were the first words spoken since they'd left the pub and Sam smiled, thinking that they were just about perfect. A tentative hand settled on the back of his head but didn't press him, didn't push, and he glanced up to see Gene watching him in wide-eyed amazement and breathless arousal. An evil little smile touch the corners of his mind and the corners of his mouth and he let the hard dick slip from between his lips, climbing up on the bed, straddling taut thighs to be caught and pulled down into a brutal, bruising kiss. Being able to taste himself in Sam's mouth didn't seem to bother Gene, and Sam at least spared a moment to be amazed at this new development before the sensation of another man's erection sliding against the sensitivity of his own distracted him completely.

Sam got his hands between them, brushing his thumbs over two pebbled nipples, feeling the shudder of the strong body beneath him. Gene moaned again, the sound swallowed into Sam's throat. The large hands stroking his back were proprietary, possessive, and as he drove against Gene's dick he knew he hadn't been this aroused, this unashamedly sexual, in years. Rolling the majority of his weight to one hip, Sam got his hand wrapped around them both, still thrusting as Gene mirrored his actions and they moved together, lubricated by sweat and pre-cum, the friction building into something tangible, something explosive, and his climax yanked a hard, animalistic yell from his chest which mingled with Gene's low groan of orgasm.

Suddenly unsure of his welcome, Sam collapsed on top of Gene and shifted to roll off onto the mattress, but he was trapped and held tight, knees bent, weight on Gene's chest. Not the most comfortable of positions so they manoeuvred around until Gene could lie flat on the bed with Sam lying atop the length of him, head pillowed on the crook of his shoulder.

"You never cease to amaze me," he heard Gene whisper after a long time.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Oh, that's good. That's definitely good." There seemed to be nothing but sated, happy satisfaction in Gene's tone, so Sam closed his eyes and let himself start to believe, for a short time, that there was somewhere here where he belonged.

~

Whatever awkwardness or denial he woke up expecting never materialised. Gene's bullish nature got them over the initial embarrassment of waking up wrapped in one another, and from there on in it was as if this thing between them was supposed to be. They lingered over the kiss goodbye when he left to go home to wash and change, leaving Sam to do the same in the small flat that was never going to be big enough for the both of them. He found himself whistling along with some familiar tune on the radio as he shaved. He switched on the television to BBC2 and stared at the freaky test card girl and her doll for a full ten minutes, as if challenging her - daring her - to come today of all days. But she stayed where she was. And the radio DJ didn't once try to speak to him about brain activity or diminished responsiveness.

Gene swung back to pick him up and he fiddled with the radio in the car until he found Sweet's Blockbuster playing, proceeding to sing along to it. Only once did he glance at Gene, a cheerful smile plastered stupidly to his face, and he found it mirrored back at him. He was happy. And Gene… Gene was happy too.

No way was it ever going to last, so Sam wanted to enjoy it while it did.

"Guv."

"Raymondo!" Ray almost toppled over with the force of the pat on his back. Sam didn't laugh, even managed to wipe the smile from his face, almost.

Annie was handing him a mug of coffee and even the harsh, bitter taste of the stuff couldn't dull his contentment. She looked at him funny, as if weighing up the chances that he'd started on the hard stuff early or even found an alternative recreational high.

"You look 'appy today. What happened? Have you been back to see that Doctor of yours?" He was thrown for a second before she clarified, "Doctor Who," and smiled. She got the joke, was turning it into something private between them, and he obliged, shaking his head.

"I just woke up feeling that perhaps I am supposed to be here, perhaps this is where I belong after all."

"You were always looking for a reason." Slight suspicion at his sudden change of heart.

"Maybe there isn't a reason. Or maybe it's so blindingly simple and obvious, I kept missing it before."

She would find out soon enough, especially if Gene kept up the whistling that was coming from his office. Women usually had excellent instincts when it came to disguised emotional connections, and Annie's were well trained and well honed. "So are you going to tell or do I have to find out?"

Sam shook his head, smiling again although he hadn't meant to be. He wasn't going to tell. He had no idea what the consequences of his and Gene's night together would be if the team or the powers that were around here ever found out. Frankly, he didn't care. This wasn't his time, they weren't his rules and if Gene had been willing to do it and not to deny it the very next morning, it was absolutely all right by him.

The main door banged against the filing cabinet as it was pushed open hard. Phyllis stood in all her glory, torn piece of paper in her hand, breathing like she'd run the lengths of both corridors and the stairs in her hurry to deliver whatever report she had…

"Hostage situation at the post office on the Kings Road in Old Trafford. The guy's armed and he's already shot someone. Litton's on his way."

Gene was already half-way out. "Great. We'd better get down there before the guy shoots him too." He stopped mid-stride. "On the other hand…."

Chris, Ray and Annie piled into the back of the Cortina. Gene didn't suggest two of them take another car and Sam wondered if there was some psychology going on about keeping the most important cogs in the team close to him. If there was one thing Sam could admire about his Guv over everything else, it was that he definitely wasn't autonomous. He was team player, through and through. No Lone Ranger act, no desire to claim a collar as his own. If there were more like him through the years, the force wouldn't be in the state it was in 2006, Sam had decided. Then again, he was as much to blame, as much of a loner as it was possible to be, as were other officers he knew and called friends. Gene had started to change that in him, it was just taking time.

At the end of Kings Road there was already an untidy roadblock of Allegros and Granadas. Hunt added the Cortina to the pack and Sam followed him to find Litton and his megaphone at the front of the crowd of uncertain police officers, bloodthirsty reporters and fascinated onlookers. Immediately Sam got the uniforms to start separating the press from the public. At this range, the gunman inside the post office had his pick of around forty innocent targets, as well as the people inside with him.

"He won't negotiate," he was brought up to date as soon as he reached his Guv's shoulder, "we don't know what he wants."

"Did he shoot a terrified hostage or someone being a hero?"

"Could be the same thing."

A point well made. "We need to know."

"We don't even know his name."

Rolling his eyes, Sam grabbed the megaphone from Litton's loose hands and ducked under the useless cordon.

"My name's Sam Tyler, I'm with CID. Look, we know you have a dead body in there with you," he started without flourish, "it must be upsetting your hostages, making it difficult, why don't you give us the body?"

Sam could just imagine the incredulous expression on his boss' face; he didn't need to look around to see it. This approach was definitely unconventional, but to his surprise it got a result.

A man's voice, shouting through a crack in the door of the post office. "I'll swap a live one for this dead one."

"You've already killed someone. Why would we give you another hostage?"

"You have my word. Send in a copper and he won't be hurt."

"What do you want? What's all this for?"

"Send in a copper and I give you my word he won't be hurt."

"How about you send out a hostage along with the body, and we'll consider it."

"How about I send out two dead hostages?"

"NO!" But Sam's cry was overwhelmed by a gunshot and the panicked screams of the people left inside. He could feel his heart pounding, pulse racing, felt sick at the rush of adrenaline. Gene's hand landed on his shoulder and he glanced up, knowing how he must have looked. Gene's expression was absolute reassurance.

"He's doing this, not you."

Sam nodded, collected himself, lifted the megaphone and heard another shout,

"Two bodies, for one copper. Or should I make it three?"

"No. No." Sam took a deep breath. "All right."

He turned to hand the megaphone over and as he did, he saw Gene stalking over to the shop. "No! Don't! I'll go!" The door of the post office was opening and the first thing they saw was the business end of a shotgun. "Please, Gene!"

The bodies of a man and a woman were dropped out of the door into the street, the barrel of the gun waved over them, beckoning Gene to hurry up and get inside. Sam's heart refused to slow, his arms felt heavy as he watched his Guv vanish through the gap into the dark shop and the door close, the feet of the dead kicked out of the way.

Ray, Chris and Annie appeared at his side, no blame in their faces, just concern. Four uniformed officers carried the bodies to the waiting ambulances. Sam wondered if anyone had called the Coroner but he didn't care enough to find out. He looked uselessly at the megaphone. There didn't seem to be much point in using it, he wasn't sure what else to say. He'd gone in guns blazing, metaphorically speaking, and in a matter of a minute of two he'd got another innocent person killed and made his Guv into a hostage.

"Sam…." Annie was looking at him… no, looking to him, for him to do something. He had absolutely no idea what it was he was supposed to do.

Two shots in quick succession broke the quiet, followed again by screaming. Sam had to hold himself back from running across the street, revolver in his hand, and taking out the gunman himself. "He promised," he told himself and the rest of them out loud, "he promised the Guv wouldn't be hurt. He promised."

The door opened, and another body, a man with dark hair, was dropped onto the corner of the street. Sam took a deep breath, glanced at Chris and Ray and saw the same relief on their faces.

"What the hell do we do, Superman?" Litton was standing right in front of him, so angry Sam imagined he could see steam rising from his ears.

"I don't know. We just have to hope the Guv can defuse the situation from inside."

"Oh, yes. Gene Hunt is absolutely the best man for that job." Sam didn't disagree with the sentiment behind the sarcasm but he wasn't going to give Litton the satisfaction. He tried to hand back the megaphone but Litton wasn't having it. "Oh, no, Detective Inspector. You got us into this mess, you can get us out."

They waited. It felt like an eternity and when he looked at his watch to see that only twenty minutes had passed, Sam checked it to see if it had stopped. As he raised his wrist to his ear, another gunshot tore apart the tense silence, screams, shouts, and two men tumbled together out of the shop's narrow door, shotgun between them. One was slim with dark hair and dark clothes. The other was Gene Hunt.

Sam yelled at them, telling them that they were surrounded by armed officers, that they both needed to let go of the gun, get on their knees and put their hands on their heads. Neither complied. Gene got a right hook seemingly into the gunman's stomach, or maybe his crotch the way he tried to double over - impossible with a man's bulk lying on top of him - but the gun slid down further between them. Sam yelled his instructions over again, the final words drowned in gunfire.

Gene let out a pained cry and rolled off, blood already blossoming through his shirt at his left shoulder. The other man grabbed the gun, got it into position and aimed at Gene's head. But as soon as they'd been left a clear shot, those officers with firearms had taken aim, and before the gunman could murder their Guv, Sam put a bullet through his brain.

He yelled for the ambulance men as he ran to crouch down at Gene's side, stripped off his jacket and wadded it up, covering the wound and applying his weight to it to get the pressure he needed to stem the blood flow. Gene called him a few choice names through gritted teeth, tried to roll onto this side and Sam stopped him.

"It's all right, just stay still."

Tears made his eyes glassy, and he looked at Sam with a mixture of agitation and relief. When the ambulance men got to them with the stretcher, apparently glad to be moving a living person this time, Sam went with Gene, rode with him in the ambulance and made sure the 1970s version of emergency treatment didn't kill him. Litton was left to clear up the mess, no doubt landing Ray with the burden of the press. Ray would handle it. Sam could apologise later.

~

"You've been shot!"

"I'm aware of that, Sam. The bullet scratched me, it didn't penetrate."

"I was a bloody big scratch! You should be in hospital."

"I've been in hospital. They've stitched everything back together! They've even lent me this nice white sling."

Sitting in the Cortina that Chris had dropped off at the hospital, it had been a hard enough task to convince Gene he wasn't fit to drive, never mind fit enough to go back to work, not that it was where he wanted to go. Whatever they'd filled Gene full of, before and after putting twelve stitches in his shoulder where the bullet had sliced through cotton and sky in its hurry to leave the gun, he was practically flying. Once the stuff wore off, Sam doubted that the prescription drugs Gene was clutching were going to make much of a dent in the pain.

"What happened in there, Gene?"

Glassy blue eyes stared at him, and this time the blurring wasn't down to tears. "They put my arm to sleep and fixed the big hole…"

"Not in the hospital, in the post office."

"Oh. He shot someone. He was going to shoot me so I jumped him."

"Bastard! He promised you'd be safe."

"Yeah, well. I might have said some things to wind 'im up." Sam closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. "Look, I'm a hero! I want a drink. And a shag."

"I don't think you should be drinking after the drugs they've given you." It was pointless saying it, he just felt he had to. "And I don't think your wife's going to…"

"I wasn't talking about her!" Oh. "As if she would bullet hole or no bullet hole…." He was getting maudlin at quite a speed and Sam couldn't stop himself from giving in.

"Okay. One drink."

"What about the shag?"

"I'll make you a deal. If you're still standing after a pint, I'll give you the best blow job you've ever had."

The druggy, beaming smile that returned to Gene's face was worth it.

There was the traditional round of applause as Gene stepped into the pub, stumbled over his own feet and Sam caught him around the waist before he went face-first into some bloke's drink. The words, 'you should be in bed,' stopped in his throat and instead he went against his own judgement and every instinct and helped Gene over to the bar.

"I think he's on morphine," Sam at least warned Nelson. "So make it one, but no more."

Nelson nodded with a glint in his eyes as he looked from Sam to his ward and back again. "Coming up."

Chris and Ray and the rest of the team surrounded him to boost his ego sufficiently, and Sam took a couple of steps back from it, not taking his eyes from the blond head just in case it started to topple out of sight. A concussion on top of the gunshot wound was the last thing they needed. Annie joined him.

"Is he okay?"

"At the moment. He's high as a kite. When he comes down it'll be with a God Almighty bang."

"What happened in there?"

"According to the Guv, the guy shot another hostage, Gene shot his mouth off, so the guy threatened to shoot him too. Gene jumped him and we caught the end of the fight."

"I thought he promised the Guv would be safe."

"Yeah, well. There are times I want to shoot him even when he isn't trying. So I can understand the urge."

"Sam." He raised his head at the sound of his name, looking for Gene in the crowd. "Sam!" The voice sounded shaky at best. Pushing his way through, Sam met him as he'd taken three steps away from the bar and the half-empty whiskey glass. "I'm going to be sick."

Surprise, surprise.

They made it to the gents just in time. Gene threw up in the first urinal and Sam apologised to a man using the next one along, before Sam getting him into the only cubicle. He dropped to his knees hard, bringing up nothing but stomach acid and whiskey.

"Boss?" Sam looked up, saw Chris staring at them and told him to fetch a clean pint glass filled with water and nothing but water. Gene's right arm was supporting him on the bowl, and as the retching eased, he let himself lean sideways against the cold, tiled wall. Sam swept one hand over his head.

"Are you okay?"

"No," it was a miserable answer. "I feel like dog shit on a shoe."

Interesting analogy. Chris returned with the water and Sam handed it to Gene with instructions to sip. Like every single vomiting man Sam had been with, he took two large gulps and seconds later his stomach expelled it.

"Ready to do as I say now?" Gene nodded once. "Sip, wash your mouth out, spit."

They sat there for a couple of minutes, Sam having shooed Chris back to the bar. "I'll take you home," he said once he was as certain as he could be that it was over. Gene looked at him, expression communicating that he hadn't completely given up hope for the blowjob. Sam rolled his eyes. "When you wake up. I promise." Satisfied that they were, therefore, going back to Sam's place, Gene allowed himself to be helped up and removed from the pub to a second standing ovation.

~

With Gene sleeping soundly in his bed, Sam pottered. He walked to the Co-Op and bought some supplies, including the ingredients for a light supper. He caught himself thinking that Gene shouldn't be taking strong painkillers on an empty, acidic stomach, and berated himself for being so excruciatingly domesticated. Back at the flat he cleaned and tidied a bit, making sure he didn't wake his guest, although he doubted an earthquake right outside the window would do that.

He finally sat back on the sofa and decided that if he was staying he needed to find a new place, or at least get some paint on the walls of this one. It wouldn't look so bad in magnolia. A spot of rearranging and he could get a double bed in here. They'd need one, if whatever this thing was between he and Gene was going to continue.

His gaze settled on his sleeping Guv, head at the foot of the bed, feet at the bottom, still wearing his shirt and underwear, the blanket Sam had covered him with twisted around his legs and barely covering him up to his waist. Still, it was always warm in the room, no matter what the weather was like. It was one of those small things he had to be grateful for.

"Why you?" he murmured, so softly he could barely hear himself. "Why am I attracted to you? I don’t know why I'm here but I'm even more clueless about why you're here. Of all the people… why not Annie? Why do I look at her and see my sister? Yet I look at you and feel… everything. Stuff I've never felt before."

With a sigh, he shook his head, got to his feet and stuck the kettle on. First sign of madness, talking to yourself. And he wasn't mad. He was many things, but not mad.

"Fuck!" Sam turned to see Gene flat on his back, right hand hovering about his left shoulder. Moving to stand next to the bed, Sam put himself in his Guv's line of sight.

"Want some pain killers?" It had been almost seven hours since the morphine shot at the hospital. Gene nodded and by the time Sam had brought them with a glass of water, he'd managed to sit himself up on the mattress. Sam sat on the bed with him. "How do you feel?"

"Like some mad bastard's attacked me with a shotgun."

Sam smiled. "Strange that. Mind you, I think you're the one who attacked the mad bastard with the shotgun and not than the other way around." He saw the pain in Gene's eyes. "You didn't have to do that. I was going to volunteer. I'm trained… in negotiation."

"And I've been trained in hand to hand combat. Don't worry, Sam, I don't have a death wish. You're the one who was sliding under cars last week defusing bombs."

"Still… you know… I've only just found you. It would be good if some madman didn't blow your head off."

Instead of shrugging off the sentiment, Gene looked at him, reached for his hand with his right one and threaded their fingers together. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. And it was a couple of minutes before he said, "Now stop being sappy and tell me what we're doing about supper. I'm starving."

Sam cooked and they ate in relative silence. After they'd finished and he'd cleared the plates away, they sat and talked about nothing for a little while but it was obvious that the painkillers were actually having an effect and half an hour after Sam had washed up, Gene was asleep again. There was a small pile of paperbacks Annie had brought for him when he'd first… arrived here. He grabbed the top one, Michael Crichton's 'The Terminal Man', and opened it.

"Sam?" He was seventy pages in, and quite involved with the plot of a controversial brain operation gone wrong when heard his name and for a moment the voice was female and the red of the test card girl's dress caught out of the corner of his eye. He pushed back into the sofa, already on the edge of panic. "Sam." Male. Definitely male. Gene.

"Sorry. I was… involved." Turning down the page corner, he chucked the paperback to the sofa cushion and leaned forward. "Are you okay?"

"My arm feels like someone's come at me with power tools but yeah, I'm okay." He turned his head to look at Sam. "You're over there."

"Want me closer?"

"I remember something about a blowjob…"

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "You're doped to the eyeballs. You wouldn't be able to feel it!"

Gene wiggled his eyebrows. "Try me."

He moved to sit on the mattress. "Answer a question first."

Instant suspicion. "What question?"

"I thought you were homophobic."

"You were wrong."

"Am I your first?"

"That's two questions." Sam held out, and got his quiet answer. "No."

There was so much more he wanted to ask, but it all seemed too personal, too serious for them. Up until now kissing Gene in the pub last night had felt like the most natural thing in the world. But right then he thought it was so complicated, so complex, it was impossible.

"Stop those cogs, Sam, I can hear them. You don't have to analyse everything. The wife and I haven't slept in the same bed for eighteen months. You're the only man I've been with in two years."

He got what Gene was saying to him, and as he threw off the blanket, slid Gene's underwear over his hips, and wrapped his mouth around the hardening cock, everything became simple again.

"You need a bigger bed." Lying on his side, one ankle hooked over Gene's, Sam ghosted his fingers over the edges of the for once sterile bandage covering the wound. "I'm fine, you sentimental bugger." Gene's right arm snaked around his shoulders and pulled him down until his head rested against his right shoulder.

Sam skimmed his hand over Gene's smooth stomach. He wasn't exactly Mr Universe, but he was slimmer than his usual three-layer outward appearance suggested. Besides, what he felt wasn't based on looks. It was based on what Gene meant to him; safety, belonging, a friendship that was starting to run deeper than anything else he'd ever had.

"When you first got 'ere, you kept saying you wanted to go home. That still how you feel?"

Sam's first and instinctive reaction was a great, resounding 'Yes!', and to ask if his Guv could help, knew how to get him back there. But he bit back that now natural response and thought about it. What waited for him in 2006? Maya? Was she alive? Dead? Holding all-night vigils at his bedside or sleeping with one of their mates? How did he even feel about her now? Of course there was his Mum, friends and colleagues, colour television, central heating, a modern apartment, decent car, good music…. No. Not good music. The music here was infinitely better than in his time. 2006 was where he belonged, wasn't it? So why did he feel such contentment now? Why did he feel like a part of him at least was meant to be here?

"I don't know," he replied finally, honestly. "At this moment I don't want to be anywhere else. But I can't let go, not yet, I'm not ready to."

"Not ready to let go of what, Sam?"

He hesitated. "Hope."

"Hope for what?"

Sam couldn't answer that. He'd tried to tell them many times who he really was, where he was from, and each time it had been brushed aside, laughed away. Only once did he think maybe… but he'd turned their suspicions to his own advantage and used the truth Tony Crane was spouting to put him away for good. Still… to this day he wasn't certain Gene just hadn't gone along with it simply because he'd wanted to put Crane away as much as Sam had, and he didn't want to believe his star DI was clinically insane. That Sam Tyler was from the future was something Gene Hunt would never, ever wrap his mind around.

"Amnesty."

"Sorry, what?"

"Tonight is truth amnesty. You tell me where you believe you're from… and when, and I won't hold it against you. I won't have you committed. I promise."

Sam shook his head. "No. No deal. You don't want to hear it. You don't… need to hear it."

"I do. Because over the last four months you've said some balmy things. You've had ideas, sparks, that'll have you climbing the promotion ladder way over my head. If you carry on like this, I'll be calling you 'Guv' sooner or later. I want to hear the truth from you, whatever you think it is, however… crazy it sounds."

"We'll never be the same again."

He felt a kiss pressed to his hair. "See, Sam, I believe in you, I have faith in you and God alone knows what that's based on. I just want you to have the same faith in me. I already think you're barking mad. Nothing you tell me is going to change the way I feel about you."

"Are you sure about that?"

"No. But like I said, you need to believe in me."

Sam took a deep breath. Every time he told the story it sounded a little more unreal even to his ears. "It's going to sound crazy."

"Ninety percent of everything you say sounds crazy." The drugs in his system were starting to kick in again, it was in the slight slur of his voice.

"Gene…."

"Please, Sam. I want to hear it, just once, from the top as you say."

"All right. But you asked." He settled, reaching up to thread his fingers through Gene's hand at his shoulder. "I was born in 1969. In 1973, I was four years old. I lived here in Manchester with my Mum, Ruth, and my Dad, Vic; the man we arrested in the Morton Brothers case, the man I released after… waving a gun in your face. In 2006 I'm a DCI in Manchester CID. During a murder case my girlfriend, Maya, another detective, was abducted. On my way back from the crime scene, I was upset. I stopped the car on a slip road, got out and something hit me. Next thing I remember is waking up here, in a wasteland in 1973 that in 2006 will be the Manchester ring road."

There was silence for a minute. Sam didn't raise his head. Gene hadn't tried to pull his hand free so there was still hope that he wasn't about to get up and leave.

"So… let me get this clear. You think you're from the future. 2006. And that you're… what? A time traveller?"

"I don't know. I think… I'm a coma, lying in hospital somewhere. But that doesn't explain you, or the team or Annie or… any of this."

"Unless we're in your imagination."

Hadn't that been his belief for so long? But, "No. There's too much detail." Gene's fingers slipped from Sam's and he sighed softly, preparing himself to be abandoned. But Gene simply turned on to his side to face him, right arm still between Sam's head and shoulder, left cradled against his chest. An intense feeling in his stomach, Sam touched Gene's stubbled cheek, "And you…. Believe me, if this is just my imagination, you're right out of left field."

Brows furrowed. "Huh?"

"It means… you wouldn't be my usual type."

"Too fat?"

"Too male. You're not my first but I've never felt anything for another man before you. It's always been… casual. Very casual. Too ambitious. Too ashamed. Strange, isn't it? In my time, it's normal, accepted. Gay men can get married. There was a television show called 'Queer As Folk', all about the culture and the lifestyle. There are gay television presenters. One of the actors on Doctor Who is gay. Here, now, homosexuality is like a disability. In my time I daren't even hint at it. In this time I don't care. I can't just… be myself. You're always yourself."

"Not always." Gene's voice gentled as he rested his forehead against Sam's. "I take your point though. As for all this… I don't know what to think. I mean, I should think you're insane. I should think you never recovered from the RTA you had on your first day here and this is the result of some prolonged concussion. But you know… I don't. Somehow, and I sound as balmy as you do admitting this, I actually think I believe you. All this stuff, all these ideas you have. They're beyond us. And I can't believe Hyde is that far advanced. I don't know about you being from the future, that's just too insane, but… you're definitely not from around here."

It felt as if a massive weight had been lifted and he was just waiting for it to drop on him from a great height. But Gene didn't move, didn't pull away, didn't knee him in the groin to bring him around. He just said, "How long have I got with you, Sam?"

"I don't know. I've… tried to leave, tried to get back and I can't. So… maybe this is permanent."

"And if it is?"

Sam smiled, shrugged slightly. "I'm getting used to it. And it's not all bad."

"Would you have shot me?"

"No. Not in a million years. You… mean more, are more to me than anyone's ever been. For you I've… lied, to everyone, to myself, about everything. I've changed so much I don't even know if I could go back. I'm a child of this time."

"You're mad." But his arm tightened across Sam's back.

"Going to have me committed?"

"No. I said you had amnesty. I meant it. Apart from… checking over my shoulder now and again to make sure you're still with us, there's nothing more I can do. I'm not giving you up."

Closing his eyes, Sam waited for Gene to drop on to his back and wrapped himself over him again. He listened to his breathing evening out and fell asleep himself to a muddle of reasons why he was so comfortable here, so contented. Like everything finally falling into place.

~

"Shots fired." Phyllis' voice came over the radio and Sam grabbed it up, trying to stay in his seat and not end up in his Guv's lap as Gene threw the Cortina around another tight left-hander. "We're two streets away, is anyone hurt?"

"Not that I know of."

The siege came into view as they screeched to a halt at the bottom of Queen Street. Two armed men in a tiny terrace house with a family held hostage, according to the eye-witnesses - an elderly man walking his dog and a youth in a hoody. There was something wrong with that, but Sam couldn't put his finger on it. His stomach was reeling, probably from the curry he'd shared with Gene the night before, and his throat hurt. He'd been starting to wonder if he'd ever get ill in this place. The answer, apparently, was yes.

Climbing out of the car, they met Chris and Ray already on the scene. "What's the situation?"

"They're in the house. A woman made a run for it through the front door and two shots were fired." Sam blanched. "Not at her, into the air. We don't think anyone's actually been hurt."

"So they're a bunch of jesses. They're wasting our time if they're not going to kill anyone."

"We think they're responsible for a bank job at the local building society. That was about an hour ago. The car there," Chris pointed to a dark blue Granada parked at a careless angle up on the pavement across from the house, "is thought to be the get-away car from that robbery. It's out of petrol."

Sam crossed over to it, cautiously eyeing the house that was surrounded by armed officers. At least it was faster to get armed response out these days. In 2006 there was a tonne of paperwork attached to the authorisation of weapons in the field. Here, now, Gene alone usually carried at least two pistols.

"Guv!"

He turned at the sound of Ray's slightly panicked call, to see the man in question strolling carelessly up to the front door in question.

"Guv! No!"

They were both ignored as Gene hammered his fist on the green painted wood and yelled at the occupants to come out with their hands up. At first there was nothing to break the stunned silence. Then the door was yanked open, Gene was kicked back and two men ran for it, up the street, with every officer there following. Sam stopped at Gene's side, where he was bent double fighting to breathe.

"They winded you, just stay calm, breathe slowly and you'll find you can."

He thought for a second Gene was going to panic, but instead he did as he was told, and within thirty seconds he was standing straight again. "Bloody hell that 'urt."

Sam just stared at him. "What did you think you were doing? They could have killed you!"

"They didn't. Come on! Let's get after them." He was off and running, and shaking his head, Sam followed. For no more than three or four strides. Something hit him, something hard and sharp and excruciatingly painful. He folded in half, unable even to cry out, unable to find the breath to do so. It felt like a blade slicing through his stomach, slowly tearing through flesh, organs and even bone. Nothing in his life had felt like it.

He barely felt the scraping of his knees as he dropped to the hard road, curling up on to his side. He gasped for each breath, hands clutched to his stomach as if to stop his insides falling out, rolling onto his back. He heard his name, hands grasped at his, trying to pull them away, and terrified he held on to himself.

"Sam? Sam, what's wrong?" Gene. It was Gene. "Did they shoot you?"

Maybe. He didn't know. But he forced himself to let his hands be lifted from his stomach. He couldn't feel any blood.

"Sam…."

He could hear… beeps. The constant, quick beeping of an ECG, the hiss of an oxygen pump, other voices calling to him. And he knew he was waking up. He forced his eyes open, the sunlight too bright for him, and reached for Gene's hands. He could hear his voice clearly over the others, calling his name.

"I'm waking up," he ground out the words through a throat that was on fire. "Gene! Don't let me wake up."

One hand was on his shoulder how, the other wrapped over both of his which were back to gripping his stomach through his shirt. "Sam! Don't go. Stay with me." He could hear the desperation and wondered if he was missing seeing the great Gene Hunt cry. He didn't want to wake up! He didn't want to leave! "NO! Gene!" He clutched at the warm fingers threaded through his own, a lifeline, something real he refused to let go of.

The sunlight became too much, too bright, he screwed his eyes shut against it, seeing only the orange glare through inadequate lids.

"Sam…. Come on, Sam." They were Gene's pleading words but he couldn't answer them, couldn't talk any more. The light was getting stronger, the cold, hard surface of the road fading away from his awareness, leaving just discomfort, an aching soreness. The machines got stronger, closer, as his grip was torn from the past. The sounds slowly became real, outside his head rather than just in his mind. He heard someone say, 'he's waking up' like it was some sort of miracle and through his tightly closed eyes he felt tears break free to run over his face.

With his dry, cracked lips he formed the word, 'no', over and over, but there was no sound. The chill of the Manchester morning back in 1973 had become the air-conditioned warmth of a modern hospital. He knew he was back. He felt his heart break along with everything else that was undoubtedly broken or damaged. Someone was holding his hand. His Mum. Or Maya even.

"Sam?"

He tried to open his eyes. Tears, drops, whatever else they'd used as he'd lain there for however long, first glued them together then as he fought to blink they blurred his vision. Someone leaned over him, wiped them so gently he barely felt it.

"Gene?" It hurt to speak, and his voice was as cracked as his mouth felt, but the smile on the oh-so familiar face was worth the effort. Gene Hunt was sitting at his bedside, grasping his hand. Pale like he hadn't slept in a month, white shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up, blond hair a mess. But he hadn't aged a day since 1973. If anything, he looked younger. "How…?"

"It's okay, Sam. You've been in a coma for… for a few weeks." Tears fell from his eyes and Sam wanted to reach up, to wipe them away. Those blue eyes weren't for crying. "But you're all right."

He couldn't stop staring. As nurses and doctors fussed around him, doing things he was barely aware of, he curled his fingers around Gene's hand and just stared at him, scared he would disappear at any moment. The doctors worked around him, as if he wasn't there, and for a few long minutes Sam was sure he was just another figment of his frighteningly overactive imagination. But then one of the nurses put a hand on Gene's shoulder, squeezed gently, and told him everything would be all right now. Gene thanked her without taking his gaze from Sam's unwavering eyes, without relaxing his grip on Sam's hand. He smiled, and Sam smiled back.

"He just needs to take it easy now. He'll come around fully in his own time. The good news is that he's breathing on his own and his brain activity is strong and stable."

The doctor was talking to Gene, Sam realised belatedly. He opened his mouth and had to concentrate on forming the words he needed. "What are…?"

"Take it easy, Sam. You've had a breathing tube down your throat until about fifteen minutes ago. It'll be sore for a while they say."

Sam wasn't giving up. "…you doing here?"

A flash of hurt crossed Gene's face. "How could I be anywhere else?"

"I mean… now. In… two thousand… and six."

Hurt turned to confusion and concern. "Sam, you do know who I am?"

"Gene Hunt."

"Okay. Good." Relief. Don't worry, he wanted to reassure, all my faculties are still in tact. At least, I think they are. But it was too many words. He was already exhausted.

"My… DCI." His eyes closed and as much as he fought it, he couldn't keep them open.

"Your Chief Superintendent I think you mean." He could hear the smile in the soft Manchester accent. "Go back to sleep, Sam. You need to heal."

"Stay." It was all he had the strength for.

"I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

His hand was cold. "Gene?" Sam opened his eyes, panic setting straight in.

"Sam? It's okay, Sweetheart." His mother was sitting on the other side of his bed. She was older, but still just as beautiful a sight.

"Mum…." She leaned over, hands on his arm, bright smile on her face.

"Gene's just gone to the toilet, Love."

"He… was here."

"Of course. He's been here the whole time. He's barely left your side. You've got a good one there, Sam."

He didn't understand. Why was Gene here, and in 1973? How was that even possible? But as he looked around he had to wonder… had he even been in 1973? It was strange, because the memories were so fresh, so clear and vivid. Not like dreams scattering.

"How long have I…?"

"Sixteen weeks and three days."

"Am I all right?"

"Physically, the broken bones have healed. You'll be weak, though, Love. You'll need physio but… you're going to be just fine."

The door was pushed open and Sam knew his face had lit up at seeing Gene. He looked… different, but at the same time, just the same. White shirt hanging over black jeans. Sam couldn't remember seeing him in anything but a suit, shirt and tie. Either that or nothing at all. He lifted his hand from the bed and with an incredible smile, Gene took it, sat back down in a position he looked exceedingly used to. Then he seemed to change his mind, stood back up and leaned over, planting a gentle but meaningful kiss on Sam's mouth. He didn't let surprise, or even embarrassment stop him from returning it as best he could.

"Welcome back."

Sam gazed into sharp blue eyes and smiled, feeling like the sun was about to burst out of him. He was aware of his mum leaving, giving them some time alone. "We're together." It wasn't a question, he just needed confirmation.

"You don't remember?"

"I don't know." He made sure he had the tightest grip possible on Gene's hand, which to be fair was probably as weak as a baby's. "I know you."

"Well, that's a relief." Same sarcasm, same mannerisms. No doubt this was his Gene from 1973.

"Tell me… about Tony Crane."

Eyes widened. "You… were aware of that?"

"What did he do?"

"I had to leave for a couple of hours. When I came back, the doctors had found Crane in here. He was switching your life support off and on. We took him straight back to the nuthouse and made sure he was banged up tight this time."

"Nuthouse?"

"The asylum, for the criminal crazies."

Sam tried to compare what he'd known to be true and what was apparently true now. "Didn't he… rape and murder his wife?"

"Wife? Crane isn't married. He's been in the nuthouse since the early seventies. You're scaring me, Sam."

Sam moved his head, side-to-side, smiling. "Is Maya all right?"

"Maya?"

"DC Maya Roy."

Gene shrugged. "She's fine as far as I know. Why shouldn't she be?"

Either everything he'd believed was real before the accident hadn't been, and the accident had flipped his brain inside out, or he'd changed things. He'd stopped a killer from abducting Maya. He'd put Crane in a mental institution. So… had he somehow made Gene real? How was that possible?

"Sam?" He opened his eyes, hadn't even realised he'd been dozing again. "Don't go overtaxing that brain of yours. Sounds like it's already doing 'oops."

He couldn't help but smile. "Could you… do me a favour?"

"Another one? I've already spent best part of four months doing you favours!" But the expression on his face belied his words. "Anything, Sam."

"Find out… if a DC Cartwright, a DC Skelton and a DS Carling ever worked…."

He was hushed. "They'll be here later, Sam. They didn't want to overcrowd you when you'd just woken up, but I called Ray and they'll come by this evening."

This wasn't possible. He hadn't woken up, that must be it. He'd been shot in Queen Road and he was in some hospital in 1973. All this was his imagination.

But it felt so real. The pain in his throat, the raw place on the inside of his arm where an IV had been and the sharp stab of the line in the back of his hand, the strange, unpleasant sensation of the catheter and the aching weakness throughout his entire body. His imagination was a sick thing, but it made more sense to him that he'd imagined himself fighting crime in the past rather than just lie here bored for sixteen weeks.

That was such a long time.

He could feel Gene's hand in his own, thought about what his Mum had said. "Thanks for being here," he murmured gently.

"I couldn't have been anywhere else. There were times… we didn't think you'd make it. But I knew you were strong enough."

"How long have we… been together?"

"You really don't remember?"

Shaking his head slightly. "I remember you. I know… I love you. But the details are sketchy."

"Well, I suppose you remember the important stuff." He smiled, and Sam tried to wrap his mind around the idea of Gene Hunt telling him he loved him, in a roundabout way. "Just over three years. We got together on the night of your promotion celebrations. You and I were the last two in the pub and the barman wasn't in any hurry to throw us out. We were drunk, horny… I suggested it, you didn't say no. Shouldn't have done it really, a man in my position, but I fancied you and I wasn’t going to let an opportunity like that pass me by."

"You should never, ever, let opportunity pass you by." He squeezed Gene's hand. "I dreamt about you, when I was in the coma. It was… 1973, I was a DI and you were my DCI…. A real dinosaur."

Gene leaned forward on the mattress, over Sam's arm, lacing his fingers through Sam's, other hand rested at his elbow. "I don't know whether to be chuffed or insulted."

"You were still a good man. I was teaching you everything I knew and you were coming round slowly. We even slept together a couple of times. It was so real… when I woke up… I didn't want to leave you there."

"I'm glad you did, Sam. Because the me here needs you more than the me in 1973. Loves you more too, I bet." Such gentle, tender words. They sounded odd in the brash accent but at the same time, they sounded right.

Sam shut up for a while, enjoyed the closeness of his… lover, he supposed. Three years. Partner was probably more like it. There was so much hard work, so much pain and frustration to come, he knew. But it didn't seem to matter. He'd get through it. He'd live, for Gene, for a man he was certain was once the product of his own imagination. But that had been enough in 1973. It was more than enough now. He could feel the heavy pressure of sleep weigh down on him again and hoped the drugs would start to wear off soon.

"Sam?"

He was half-asleep already. "Um?"

"Don't ever do that to me again."

"I'll try not to, Guv."

"'Guv'? Haven't been called 'Guv' since the seventies." Sam barely heard him.

Fin

Instant Feedback! (No Flames Please)