Sam curled up in bed, reached for the tissues and looked at the television. Why, whenever, he was in bed nursing a heavy cold and feeling totally unwell (or as Annie had called it, feeling sorry for himself), was there nothing to watch but John Wayne? It had been the same in 2006, he'd phone in, croak his apologies and settle down to spend the day watching the television from under the duvet, only to find that all 99 channels were in the middle of a John Wayne season.
Nevertheless, he pulled the blankets up to his chin, arranged the pillows to get as comfortable as possible and settled down to watch Rio Bravo. He woke up an hour later, and hearing the closing music, looked towards the television to discover a familiar figure sitting on his bed. For a second he had the horrifying thought that John Wayne had taken up residence in the room, but realised that it was in fact Gene Hunt, who had for once used the spare key.
"Good film that. Not as good as High Noon, of course, but still good."
"How long have you been here?"
"'Bout half an hour. Didn't want to disturb your beauty sleep, so I watched the film."
"See you started on the whisky as well."
"Thought you might benefit from a hot toddy, but as you didn't wake up I drank it. I'll make us both another one in a minute."
"And then what"
"You, my little deputy dawg, go back to sleep, whilst I sit here and watch The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, which will be on in fifteen minutes."
So Sam, having had a small hot toddy (for some reason Gene's seemed to be twice the size, despite the fact that he, Sam, was the one with the cold) settled back under the blankets and as he dozed off, reflected sleepily that he was very happy that his sheriff had come riding in.