Never Too Late
It was an impossible thing and only a matter of time with their profession. But hell, like the drink and the drugs and the high-speed chases the sex came with the job. It wasn't the act, it wasn't the partner, it was the gender. It was 1973 and it was no wonder, really.
Sam this, Sam that, Sam bloody Tyler. She was whirling around and gabbling and he couldn't help but think oh, not another one. But everytime she mentioned him he felt sick. He'd tried to stop thinking about Sam. So like him to annoy him even after he'd driven into a canal.
He never had got the Cortina back.
"So Sam dies and you end up here, hmm? Well, that's an interesting part of the puzzle. Typical Sam. Martyr to the end. Well, I suppose knowing him I'd construct that myself." She sighed in exasperation. "But how did he live here?" Her hands did another stupid wavy thing and he nearly did hit her then. Sam's face stopped him and he simply clenched his fists. "So he dies heroically chasing a car and you, Gene Hunt. Where were you?" He couldn't answer. "Off hunting?" She snorted once and collapsed into hysterical giggles.
"He wasn't chased."
She looked up once, eyes still shining. "What? What rubbish have you got for me now?"
"Sam wasn't chased, alright?" Gene yelled. Alex stopped giggling. "He wasn't being chased. He got into that car and drove into that river."
"But the paper – "
"Lied. He was a bloody good copper and a better mate and deserved more than just becoming a suicide statistic." Gene paused. "So much more."
"What happened?" Her voice was serious and sad and he hated her for it.
"Annie," he said simply. "Annie. She got 'erself kidnapped and it took Sam over. Never stopped till he found 'er. Then the bastards shot 'er."
"Why?" Her voice was annoyingly breathy.
"She jumped in front of 'im. Sam'd stormed in all guns blazin' because that's what Tyler does an' he got 'imself shot. But he didn't, 'cause poor Annie jumps in front and takes the bullet." He paused. "Didn't scream. Not even once. Sam was screamin' but she didn't make a sound. She smiled an' she died, but she killed Tyler too." Gene laughed bitterly. "I told 'im to wait. I told 'im to wait for me. But he never did." His voice was sad. Alex stepped forwards. "So I'm gonna make a diff'rence for him. An' I don't need you in here poncing everything up."
She held her head in her hand for a moment, frowning. "No," she said to herself. "Sam's only dead because my subconscious feels alone. It wants me to get through this on my own and Sam was a lifeline, so he was removed." She snorted. "Sam's dead! He jumped off a building! I peeled him off the pavement!"
Gene snarled and punched the wall beside her. "Sam was not a figment of your imagination. He died an' he left us here and I'll never forgive him for that, alright? Sam didn't die because of yer stupid games! He died because he was sad an' we couldn't help 'im. Now shurrup about damn bloody radios and I might not clock yer one 'cause you're a Tom, alright?" Gene finished with his hands balled beside him. They were trembling. He ignored the limp radio in her hand and strode away.
"Tyler! Just shurrup about yer damn poncy systems and sod off back to Hyde where you belong, alright?" Gene smacked him with the file and turned him away.
"I can't, Guv!" Sam yelled.
"You don't want to be here an' I sure as hell don't want you here. So get off back home to yer mam." Sam picked him up by his lapels and slammed him into the filing cabinet. Old age, he thought quietly.Haven't been this way round since Woolf had me here. Sam's face was close. Close enough for a headbutt. Or a kiss.
Gene closed his eyes. It had been a long day.
He only opened them again when the kiss was over. A slow, languid fluttering of his eyes and Tyler was still bloody staring at him. He was still angry, but the hands distorting his lapels were holding rather than pinning him. "I may not be able to stop thinking about you. I may even love you. But if you say one more word about my mother I'll fucking kill you." he shrugged Gene off and walked to the window, leaning on this sill with both hands. "I went back home," he said. "But I came back here. My mam thinks I'm dead." There was a pause. Sam was painfully aware of how close Gene was behind him. He spun round and leant against the window. His head hit with a thunk and his face stared at the ceiling. He snorted once. "I jumped off a building, Gene. I really do think I want to be here."
"Yeah, well, you could bloody show it," he muttered.
Sam snorted. "Is that what you really think? Are you really that thick?" He walked across and grabbed him again. "You have no fucking idea, Gene. None." He had to hurt him to prove it, so when they 'kissed' (it was always such a poncy word that neither of them liked using it) they bit and tore and scratched. It came with the territory. "You are Gene fucking Hunt and you hate me and you hate anyone who gives a fuck about you because you think it makes you weak. You're a figment of my imagination and this is the most screwed-up sort of mind-fuck there can be but I can feel your heartbeat under my fingers and sure as hell I'd come screaming your name. So don't you ever say I don't show it again."
Gene felt himself screaming with anger and frustration but he gripped onto Sam all the same when he came. He leant heavily on his side and Sam pulled him up, and he snorted that he didn't need his help. "Yes you do," he'd replied. "Everyone does." It had seemed hilarious to repeat this to Drake five years later and even funnier when Chris said it. But the words were Sam's and he'd sure as hell never forget him saying them.
Sam's back was to his, his head on his shoulder. Paperwork fluttered around them; Sam's idea of snow. They slumped against the desk and Gene handed him the whisky. Sam's head flopped back against him again and turned towards him, lips whispering across his neck. He sighed and Gene felt himself shudder. "I'm going to escape, Gene," he said.
Gene laughed. "You've got nowhere to run, Sammy boy, and I ain't gonna hold your leash."
Sam smiled. "I can't get back. But I'm going to escape from my own head, someday."
Gene frowned. "Yer head? No wonder. I wouldn't like to be stuck up there with it. Never knows when to shut up, yer head."
"No, that's me mouth. And that you don't seem to mind."
"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty," Gene grunted, swigging away.
Sam laughed. "You're a good mate, I'll give you that, Gene. I'll give you that."
"I should bloody well think so," he muttered, and Sam smiled and kissed his neck again.
(Phyllis runs in. Accident. Annie taken hostage. Well… you know the story from then.)
Drake's eyes were boring into him. Her hands were clasped together on the rail as they leant across London. Sam used to stand like that, he thought quietly to himself. "So exactly who are you to DI Tyler?" he muttered.
"I'm his psychologist."
Gene actually started laughing. "Wonder you can ever sleep at night," he snorted. "Always thought he was loopy, an' you just prove it. Guessing you're from the future too, eh?"
The question seemed to startle her. "What did he tell you?"
"Some bollocks about 2006. Accordin' to everyone nowadays we're all goin' to get blown to bits by Commies in 5 years time, so how can there be a future?" Gene snorted. "I'm not in it, accordin' to him anyways."
"He said that to you?" she asked quietly.
"Well, what's the chances of me bein' remembered? I'm an ex-bent copper from Manchester. He don't remember me, so what's the chances anyone else will?"
"He didn't know you in 2006. He remembered you after he knew you."
Gene frowned. "I'm sure that sentence was supposed to make sense," he snapped. "An' how do you know so much about 'im anyways?"
"He wrote you all down. In a book. And I read it."
Gene snorted. "Wow. People must read anythin' nowadays."
Drake smiled. "He made sure that you wouldn't be forgotten," she said quietly.
Gene rolled his eyes. "Well. He forgot me when he drove me bloody car into a canal, eh?" he snapped, and turned around, leaning heavily backwards onto the railing and staring at the sky. "The bastard didn't even leave me his sodding body to bury. He didn't even let me hold his hand when he died," he added quietly. "Selfish little prick," he said with a smile, but his voice was hollow.
"How do you cope?" she whispered.
"Well. We've got a druggie bastard to lock up, an' havin' a chick-flick moment ain't gonna help." He began to stride away.
"'Chick-flick'?" Drake asked, frowning. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Something Tyler used to say," Gene muttered.
"Gene." He turned around and looked at her coolly. "Do you ever wonder… whether he might still be alive?"
He turned away, walked a few steps, and turned around. And just for a moment let the mask slip and shatter on the floor. "Every day," he said quietly. "Every fucking day."