Third Time Lucky
by
elfin
Gene Hunt hates being upstaged. That’s what Keats is doing.
Upstaging him, replacing him, undermining him. Slowly, day by
day, team member by team member. Time was he knew when to fight
people like Keats. Like that smug bastard, Frank Morgan, up in
Manchester back in ’73. They’d sent him packing eventually, he
and Sam, sent him back to Hyde with his tail between his legs after a
botched train robbery that had almost got all of them killed.
Thinking about Sam, thinking about that disastrous afternoon, makes his
chest ache and leads him inevitably to the leather jacket locked in
Bolly’s desk. He should grab it, burn it, along with any and
everything else she’s got squirreled away. But it’s all that’s
left of him, something he hadn’t known existed until Drake had gone
turning stones over, and he’s loathe to wipe it off the face of the
earth.
Staring out of the glass in his office door he thinks how old he’s
feeling, how tired. He came to London high on his successes in
Manchester; still the leader of the pack, the Sheriff of his town, King
of the Hill. And for a while it seemed to be going well.
But Keats stepped in and now he’s the bad cop and Keats is everyone’s
hero. Maybe he has a point. Maybe it’s time to step down,
let the future take over. Sam used to call him a troglodyte and
back then it had just been Tyler speaking. But now it’s how he
feels – trying to keep up with all these new procedures, new
guidelines, new technologies. The ones Sam warned him
about. Maybe it’s time to walk away.
Reaching into his desk drawer he pulls out the bottle of Scotch he
keeps stashed in there and stares at it. Sam used to call him a
borderline alcoholic. Perhaps he’d been right, he’s never really
thought about it, definitely hasn’t ever worried about it. And he
isn’t about to start now. Unscrewing the top he takes a
swig. It’s time to step down, time to end this farce, time to
quit. He’ll have to keep an eye on Shaz, Ray and Bolly – anyone
else who turns up – but it could be from afar. That would
work. Someone else would eventually take his place.
Taking a deep breath and with a decisive nod, he pushes his chair back
and stands up, walks around his desk, and reaches for the door handle.
Gene hates being upstaged, but even he has to acknowledge that Ray’s
beaten him in terms of sheer operatic drama this time around.
Because when he throws open his office door at the same time opening
his mouth to announce his sudden and probably unexpected intention to
quit, Ray and Chris are already standing in the middle of the room,
faces beaming like kids in a toy store. Whatever he planned to
say is wiped from his mind by Ray’s happy words, “Look what we found,”
and Gene’s astounded and angry response at being interrupted before
he’s even started melts in the moment that follows.
As if rehearsed, Chris and Ray each take a step to the side, and Gene
stares, agape, astounded, shocked, at the third man left facing him, a
man who’s grinning like the summer sun. Strangely his first
thought is that finally, here is a bloke who manages to look good in
current fashions. Then he too starts smiling. “Sam.”
Large as life, Sam Tyler is standing in front of him, smiling like a
loon, looking nothing – absolutely nothing – like a dead man.
~
Sam Tyler knows Gene hates being upstaged. He can see in it in
his eyes. And he’s sorry, but not really. There’s more
there than disappointment at not being able to announce whatever he was
about to. He can see too that Gene knows he’s about to be hugged,
but he doesn’t seem to mind so Sam strolls up and wraps his arms
purposely around his neck.
It’s good to hold him, good to press against his bulk, to feel his
strength again after so long. Gene had been his anchor, his best
friend, his lover. Then he’d gone away and now he was back, in
this strange time but one he at least remembered. Living the
1980s through again feels like a small price to pay.
Gene murmurs his name into his neck again, like it’s all he can say,
and by the tone of it, by the way Gene’s holding him, he’s certain he
can get back what he lost, what he’s been missing. He feels
Gene lift his head eventually, looks up and catches warning glances
shot over his shoulder at an undoubtedly smirking Ray and beaming
Chris. With a breath and a smile, Sam loosens his embrace and
steps back but not away. Gene won’t let him get away, hands
resting – not clutching but almost – on his shoulders.
He looks his old Guv up and down and has to admit , “You look...
good. Great, actually.” He does. And Sam’s
surprised. He still smells like the inside of a pub – cigarette
smoke and alcohol – and Sam knows he’s going to spend the next twenty
years yearning for the smoking ban. But he’s slimmer now,
although whether that’s down to dieting or stress, Sam doesn’t want to
speculate. Chris and Ray look tired. Chris’ hair looks
ridiculous.
“You look exactly the same,” Gene tells him, still staring, apparently
lost for any more words. But he looks up when the main door opens
and a woman pauses in mid-stride, half-in, half-out. Sam
recognises her immediately – Alex Drake, the officer who was shot a few
months back. He doesn’t know if he’s surprised to see her or not
but he sees triumph giving way to shock on Gene’s face and the next
thing he knows those strong hands on his shoulders are turning him to
face her and he relaxes and goes with it. Sam’s pretty sure Drake
recognises him too, and she looks more surprised to see him than he is
to see her.
“DI Drake, meet DCI Sam Tyler.” Gene makes the introductions as
his hands slide down Sam’s arms, stopping at his wrists, fingers
resting against the backs of his hands. It’s a strangely intimate
position and Sam’s pulse quickens. He imagines he can hear a soft
bleeping noise, electronic, medical – but only for a moment. He
leans back just slightly against Gene, possessive, proprietary, as Gene
adds, “I told you I didn’t kill him.”
Wait. What?
~
Sitting at the corner of Gene’s desk, close enough that their shoulders
are touching, Sam watches Gene pour two large Scotches. He stares
at the glasses and as he’s handed one, he asks, “Are these the same
ones from...?” Gene nods and Sam chuckles. “Sentimental
bastard.”
Gene shrugs, like he knows it’s going to be like this again and he
doesn’t care. “How did you...?”
Sam held up his hand. “I did it properly this time. Saved
up, did my research, followed your instructions. I’m safe,
there’s money in a bank account. There’s a date and a time, but I
don’t know how that translates.” He shrugs, he doesn’t know when
he’s going to die in the future. Chances are he’ll live long
enough to visit himself, but that doesn’t bare thinking about and makes
his brain ache. “No one ever knows how much time they have left,
do they?”
Gene nods his approval and it surprises him like it always used to how
much Gene’s approval means to him. “Good boy. Nothing I can
do about the numpties on the other side, but you can give yourself a
fighting chance. Listen, Sam... don’t think I don’t appreciate
your timing or anything, but... why now?”
Wondering why his timing is important, he says, “It felt right.
Mum died two months ago... there was nothing left for me.
Besides, two years was enough, Guv,” he emphasises the word just to put
that smile on Gene’s face, “all the iPods, PCs and mobile phones in the
world couldn’t make up for how much I missed you.”
Gene shakes his head, empties his glass. “I’d forgotten how much
of a poof you are.”
Sam thinks of the New Romantics and has a sudden urge to take Gene
clubbing in West London. “Speaking of, Gene... why the big city?”
His expression looks bleak for a moment and Sam shifts in his seat and
knows the answer before he hears it. “Manchester wasn’t the same
without you.”
He tries to make light of it, “Now who’s being a poof?” but it doesn’t
quite come out right and he too empties his glass with one
swallow. “What about Ray?” Before he’d gone away for the
second time, Gene had told him about Ray, about where he came from, who
he really was. Surprise hadn’t come close to describing how Sam
had reacted that morning, the ensuing fight had left both of them
needing stitches.
“He’s no idea. Still. Shaz out there too. Alex
knows. She was like you, from your time, a pain in the ass,
banging on about procedure.”
Sam nods. “I recognise Alex. She was shot in the
head. Why does she think you killed me?”
Gene explains about Drake and Keats, although Sam thinks he’s holding
something back, and thinks it’s probably something important, the way
he’s avoiding saying it. “Felt like the walls were closing in,
but I couldn’t exactly say you vanished before the car went in the
canal, could I? Didn’t know if you were alive or dead.
Couldn’t tell anyone anything so I kept my mouth shut. When she
got here, when she stopped fighting it, she got hold of your file and
started asking questions.”
“You could you have told her, like you told me.”
Shaking his head, Gene lifts his chin, takes a deep breath and for a
moment Sam feels uncomfortable. “Rules, Sam. I broke them
for you. You’re the only one I’ve ever told. And that were
under extenuating circumstances.”
The moment fades and Sam grins. “I had my mouth around your dick.”
He loves making Gene blush. “Sommat like that, yes.”
“You loved it.” That’s something he can’t deny, and as he opens
his mouth to retort, Sam leans across the short distance and kisses
him. Gene opens his mouth, strokes his tongue over Sam’s and hums
softly. It makes his heart beat too fast, all his blood floods
south and he gets that light feeling in his stomach, the same one he
always gets, every time he thinks about this. All the time he put
into his recent suicide attempt, it’s been worth every second and every
penny to have this again.
And it is of course the moment Drake chooses to come bursting in, as
put off by closed doors and shuttered blinds as Sam remembers never
being. The expression of surprise on her face is almost comical
as they break apart like naughty school kids. Sam glances at Gene
but he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic or ashamed. He’s
scowling at her, as if he’s decided that this is as good a day as any
to come out to his team.
“What do you want, Bolly?”
Bolly? Sam frowns until he sees what she’s holding in her hands,
then he’s out of his chair and around Gene’s desk in a second, taking
what she’s offering. His old leather jacket.
“Is that mine?” He shrugs it on over his black shirt and it still
fits. He holds out his arms and looks from her to Gene as if he’s
waiting for one of them to tell him he looks good. Or more likely
that he looks like a throwback from the 1970s. “Thanks,” he tells
her with a smile, and she smiles right back although it’s hardly full
of happiness.
“I think there's a lot round here that's yours,” she says before she
closes the door and when Sam looks back at Gene he asks,
“Is there something between you two?”
Gene shrugs. “There might have been, could have been.”
“If not for....
He rolls his eyes. “If not for you, Dorothy!” It feels good
to be loved.
~
Luigi’s isn’t what he was expecting after the Railway Arms. It
surprises him that Gene’s swapped a pub for an Italian Restaurant that
is obviously devoid of other customers, and Luigi himself is as far
from Nelson as it’s possible to get. But Gene doesn’t offer an
explanation and Sam doesn’t ask for one. As he and Gene lean on
the bar, shoulder to shoulder, crowding in on each other like they
always did, he hears Alex ask, “Were they always like this?” and Chris
respond, “Ever since the boss, I mean, DI Tyler, turned up in
Manchester - they were sort of inseparable.”
He smiles to himself, glances at Gene and when green eyes meet his own
he smiles at Gene too. They take a table close to the bar, Chris
and Ray sitting on either side of him before Gene can get in with the
drinks. The expression on Gene’s face is one of disappointment,
frustration and flash-point anger, but he doesn’t say anything, just
sits down and picks up his pint, looking pointedly at Sam over it.
“Where have yer been?” Ray asks, “we thought you were dead.”
And Chris joins in, “We missed you, Boss. We thought you must have been
swept out by the tide.”
Gene’s eyebrows rise as if daring him to answer that question even as
he snaps, “It was a canal, Chris, there isn’t a tide!”
But Sam’s planned this as well as he planned getting here.
“I had to disappear. That investigation – I’d gone in too deep, I
was in trouble and I had to vanish. Gene knew, but he couldn’t
say anything for all your sakes. So he did what he had to do and
I went abroad for a while, to Spain. Ended up staying longer than
I’d intended.”
“And you’re safe now, yeah?” Gene rolls his eyes but Sam nods
patiently, touched by their concern.
“Yes, Chris, I’m safe now.”
Happily, Chris settles into the task of drinking his beer. And
although Ray obviously isn’t completely buying it, at least he’s
noticed the expression on Gene’s face and has the brains to keep
quiet. Drake stays away which surprises him - she must be
bursting with questions - but she sits close to the back of the
restaurant with Shaz and just watches them. Every time he looks
up she’s looking over at them. No, not at them, at Gene. But
Gene’s back is to her and Sam can’t help smiling, feeling just that
little bit jealous and a lot possessive.
It seems overly generous of Gene when he orders a second round, seeing
as he paid for the first one, but half way into his second pint Ray
gets up to take a leak and Gene moves swiftly into his chair.
Sam drops a slightly shy smile his way and leans forward, elbows on the
table, so that when Gene does too, their shoulders press together,
knees too, under the table. It’s a thrill, one he’s missed, one
that sets his pulse racing again and his dick hardening. Gene’s
being more obvious this time around. Back in the seventies he
knew there was always a feeling for Gene of it being wrong, being dirty
even though he knew in his heart that it wasn’t. Society hasn’t
changed that much but Gene apparently has. And Sam’s going to
take everything he can get.
If Ray notices his Guv’s musical chair when he gets back to the table
he doesn’t say anything, just sits down and picks up his pint.
It’s almost like old times, just the music’s different.
#
Gene glances up and rolls his eyes, seeing Sam still standing in the
doorway of his flat like suddenly after all the kissing in his office
and the touching at Luigi’s, he’s gone all shy. “Get in, you
nonce.” When Sam still hesitates, he sighs softly. “You’re
still – always – welcome.” As if he hasn’t spent the last three
hours making that abundantly clear.
He steps over the threshold and closes the door behind him.
Finally! “It’s been a long time.”
“Well, I’ve had a couple of one night stands, couple of over-priced
prozzies when I got desperate. People like you don’t come along
very often. I don’t fancy men as a general rule...” He
stops, catching the raised eyebrows and half-smiling mouth.
“That’s not what you meant, is it?”
“Not quite.” He’s relieved when Sam goes off snooping
around. “It’s not what I’d have expected, Guv.”
“What did you expect?” In Manchester it had been a semi, in
London he can’t afford a semi. “It’s a flat. I’ll give you
the tour.” It isn’t large, but he’s hardly ever here.
Lounge with a brown leather suite that came with the flat, kitchen with
original fittings, bathroom in blue and white, bedroom with mirrored
wardrobes and a large double bed. Best investment he ever
made. Not that it’s seen much action, like he said.
Sam looks at the bed for a long time. “I didn’t know if you’d
still be... I mean, I know we said.... But it has been a long
time for you and if you don’t....” It’s time to shut him up, so
Gene grabs him by the shoulders, manhandles him into the room, turns
him on the spot and pushes him back to the unmade sheets.
“Nothing’s changed.” Gene states as he starts to take off his
tie, putting his right knee on the mattress to one side of Sam’s
legs. Shaking his head slowly, Sam reaches for him, fist in his
shirt, and Gene lets himself fall as he’s pulled down.
Twenty minutes later he’s yelling into the phone. “This had
better be life or death!”
Sam’s face is against his chest, the huff of his breath tickling the
little hairs there as he laughs. Git. They’re lying half
naked, shirts off, flies undone, dicks out, more randy than Hugh
Heffner on party night and Sam’s laughing. The man has no sense
of occasion whatsoever.
“It’s a stabbing, Guv,” Drake’s telling him unapologetically over the
phone, and Gene doesn’t care, isn’t impressed, because Sam is so
fucking distracting.
“Deal with it!”
“It’s a bad one, Guv.”
“I don’t care, Bolly! Are you a DI or not? Earn yer
stripes, woman.” Sam’s stopped laughing and is sucking on a
nipple and it’s getting impossible to concentrate on anything else.
“And what’s so important that you can’t get out of bed?” she asks,
voice thick with sarcasm and Gene loses the last thread of control over
his temper.
“I’m getting my duck sicked – I mean, dick sucked. That’s what’s
so important!” The call ends abruptly from her side and Gene
drops the receiver over the side of the bed, ignoring the faint beeping
sound, threading his fingers back into Sam’s hair and moaning his
appreciation as he dismisses all other thought. What does he care
if he doesn’t have a job in the morning because Drake’s shot her mouth
off?
He’s got Sam back, and Sam is – as he has been for so long – Gene’s
very reason for breathing.
FIN
Instant Feedback! (No Flames Please)