Life on Mars: Intervals of Sanity

Author's note: Well, I don't know about you, but I've been feeling very LoM deprived lately! My solution (since getting everyone from the LoM crew to make more episodes was out) was to write another story.

No spoilers for LoM and just a note: I try to keep the characters in character. I feel like I should note this because, as I look through fanfiction these days, I find that there are way too many people out there who change characters' personalities without reason or explanation. Majorly obvious things that if you watched the show at all, you'd know would never happen. There are stories that do the characters justice or at least attempt to, but there are for too many that just... mutilate them... Anyway, I didn't mean to write this as a rant, but as a place to let the readers know, that if my characters seem way out of character, there's going to be an actual reason. Keep reading to find out. ^_^ If by the end you still think I'm off, let me know! I always appreciate suggestions to help improve my writing. Ok. Rant complete. Onward!

Plot: Three people are dead and all evidence points to Sam Tyler. Gene has turned against his DI and Sam can't seem to remember enough to give Gene reason to trust him. How far will Sam go to find the truth? And will he like what he finds when he gets it?

Prologue

"Well, what's wrong with him then?"

The doctor sighed, not particularly enjoying the gruff presence of the Detective Chief Inspector. The pair stood in a long white tiled hallway that smelled strongly of cleaning materials. The doctor lifted up his clipboard bearing his most recent patient's charts and adjusted his thick glasses on his sharp nose.

"As you know, Mr. Hunt, we haven't had much time to observe him since you had him brought in, but from what we can tell, he's a very disturbed individual."

"Plenty of people are disturbed, but that don't earn 'em a ticket here," Hunt replied.

"No, but when you're a paranoid schizophrenic with a-"

"I don't speak quack," Hunt interrupted rudely. "I got the paranoid bit."

God, he hated the police. Any authority figure really. They were all arrogant and as dumb as a box of nails. But they still came to him when they needed answers.

"It means, Mr. Hunt, that your DI isn't only paranoid, but he hears voices in his head and thinks that they come from people more real than you and me. He's also convinced that everything and everyone around him, save the voices of course, are figments of his imagination."

The doctor lifted his self important gaze from the charts to gauge the DCI's reaction to the news. There wasn't much of one. The bigger man's already narrowed eyes narrowed even further and his expression became hard as he looked towards the door to their side. It was behind there that the object of their discussion was being held. Other than that there was nothing. No denial, no accusations, nor concern for his DI.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice earlier, quite honestly," the doctor replied superciliously.

Gene Hunt snorted. "Oh, we knew he was off from day one, but we just thought it had to do with the accident. Figured the department in Hyde wouldn't send him if they'd thought he was a certifiable loon. Shows what they know. But Sam Tyler was a good copper, craziness and all. At least before he snapped anyway," Hunt replied, his tone changing from half amused to angry.

"Hm," was the doctor's curt reply. There was a brief pause and then Gene gave a loud sigh.

"Well! Since you can't tell me anything useful, I'll leave Tyler to you. Make sure he gets what he deserves."

The doctor blinked. There had been something sinister in the way Hunt had said that. "Excuse me?"

Hunt leaned took a half step towards the man and drew himself to his full height which towered over the doctor. "Get him better so I can put him away forever," Hunt replied, speaking slowly as if the doctor were mentally challenged himself. "After I beat him so badly his own mother wouldn't recognize him from a dirty boxer's punching bag."

The doctor stared at him in disbelief and Hunt just looked back at him evenly.

"After what he's done?" hunt questioned. "You think he doesn't deserve it?"

The doctor just continued to gawk at the bigger man. This person was supposed to be head of the police department! It was more than a little worrisome. Hunt noted the disapproving look and gave a little chuckle as he turned away on his heel.

"Keep me posted."

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Sam groaned long and low. He was exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so lethargic. And stiff. He felt like he'd just run a marathon. But he hadn't just run a marathon. Had he? Sam groaned again as he realized he was having trouble concentrating. A look at his surroundings would clear things up.

Sam opened his heavy eyelids to a blinding white glare and he shut them immediately with a hiss of pain. Momentarily, he tried again, more slowly this time and peeking only through his fingers until his eyes were better adjusted, but what he saw was less than encouraging. Sam Tyler lay on his stomach in a small white padded room.

"What?" he questioned as he took in the small unfurnished room with growing unease. The whole room was no more than four meters by three and was completely padded in white semi-cushiony material, except for one wall where a small glass window was visible and where, Sam realized, the door must be. Sam felt his heart thumping hard in his chest and he quickly –nervously- got to his feet. It was then that he noted he was barefoot and dressed in ill fitting white hospital pants and a white t-shirt. Sam frowned.

"Hospitals don't issue gowns like this in 1973… Do they?"

Sam edged to the door, confusion growing with every ragged breath. He peeked through the window but couldn't see much of anything. "Great," he muttered. "What year is it now?"

"What year do you think it is, Sam?"

Because Sam was sure he'd been alone when he'd woken, the sound of another voice startled him greatly. He whirled around, hands flying up to protect him from whatever threat was forthcoming and stumbled back into the padded door. It had been quite an overreaction, Sam knew even as his back hit the cushiony barrier, but he was feeling unusually jumpy.

'I really am out of it…' Sam thought. Not far from where he'd woken sat a man Sam had never seen before. From the white coat he wore and the clipboard in his hands, Sam could guess the stranger was a doctor. 'How did I not see him when I woke up? Didn't I look behind me?"

"I'm sorry," the white coated man said softly. "I didn't mean to surprise you."

"Who are you?" Sam questioned. He had to admit, he had no idea what to make of the situation.

"You don't recognize me?" the stranger asked. Again his tone was filled with an excessive amount of gentleness that had Sam frowning in annoyance.

"No. I don't. Now can you please tell me what the bloody hell is goin' on?" Sam exclaimed.

The white coated man blinked at Sam judgingly then proceeded to scribble down some note on his clipboard. The DI felt his eye twitch. He was more than a little frustrated that this guy was taking his jolly time to explain himself and was more than just a little frightened that he couldn't remember through the fog in his mind to explain how he'd ended up in this situation. It reminded him of how he'd felt the day he'd been hit by a car and woken up in 1973; confused, angry, and afraid. After a long moment, the white coated man looked up, setting down his board over his crossed legs.

"Please remain calm, Mr. Tyler."

"That's DI Tyler to you. Now identify yourself!" Sam demanded.

The white coated man gave an infuriatingly curious little frown. " 'DI' Tyler, you say?"

The way the stranger had emphasized 'DI', as if there was some doubt, put Sam aback. Why would there be any doubt of his rank as Detective Inspector? There wouldn't! Unless it wasn't 1973… And if it wasn't 1973, maybe it was 2006. If it was 2006, then his rank would be DCI. 2006 and in a padded room… That was not a pleasant idea.

The sound of a pen scribbling furiously on paper brought Sam out of his thoughts. The white coated man was writing again.

"Look," Sam said assertively. "I would really like to know what's going on."

"Sam," the white coated man said with a sigh. "You're in a mental institution."

"Well, I guessed that much," Sam muttered.

"My name is Dr. Loytta. I've been treating you for the last couple days."

"Days?" Sam exclaimed.

"You were brought in the night before last, to be more precise," the Doctor elaborated in that condescending tone of his. "It's still morning on your second day with us."

Sam strained his mind, trying to recall anything that would confirm this. He shook his head. "I don't remember any of that. I don't remember getting here at all!" The idea came to him then. "What have you been giving me?"

The doctor was not put off by Sam's raised voice. "Are you feeling any pain?"

"I am stiff and groggy and it is very hard to think straight," Sam snapped. "You can't just drug me and keep me in the dark, doctor. I have rights. What did you give me? Sedatives? Something to keep me from concentrating? Why? How did I get here?"

The doctor watched him carefully as he slowly go to his feet, clipboard at the ready.

"It was necessary to medicate you, considering your unstable condition when you came in. You really don't remember what you've done?"

Sam scoffed. "I haven't done anything."

That's when the realization finally hit him and he gave a relieved little laugh. "Oh, I get it. Gene Hunt put you up to this, didn't he."

It was the only explanation really. Of course, that meant he was still trapped in 1973, but that was better than 2006 and in an asylum with no answers.

"Yeah, very funny. I'm crazy. Ha. Ha," Sam replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone while he took a few paces in the doctor's direction while the doctor began to circle around towards the door. "You're probably not even a real doctor, right? And what's this then?"

Sam tapped on the padded wall then squeezed the material experimentally. "Is this some new soundproofing material or…"

Sam found himself fading off as he looked back to Loytta. The supposedly fake doctor's features were stern. Either Gene had found a very good actor or…

"You're not serious, right?" the DI questioned, his new found humor now shriveling away to leave a despair more intense than before. "Tell me you are not serious."

The doctor stuck his pen into the breast pocket of his white coat with a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid this is very serious, Sam."

Sam stood mutely as Loytta gave a rap on the glass and suddenly a section wall swung outward to a semi-lit hallway where an orderly stood in nondescript attire. Loytta gave another long sigh as he stepped out to the hall.

"We've pulled back on your meds to see how you handle it. The stiffness will fade. As for your mind, well," Loytta paused, almost as if for purely dramatic effect. "That's what we're here to study, isn't it?"

With hardly a creak, the padded door swung shut leaving a disbelieving Sam Tyler to stand in silent bewilderment.

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A/N: Let me know what you think! Critiques are welcome, but kindly no flames. We (authors) all say it, but it's true: reviews make me write faster. ^_^