Figures from the past
A/N - This is my first Life on Mars fic, and will eventually be Sam/Gene, but please bear with me – any tips you can give me on character interaction are greatly appreciated.
He was just about sick of this, thought DI Sam Tyler as he wrestled with the eternally broken front door to his tiny flat. It was rebelling – yet again – against Gene Hunt, Sam's boss's, customary method of entry; breaking it down, and was currently refusing point-blank to detach from it's frame and allow Sam into what had become his home. And it was really not the day for it. Well, night he supposed. It was really very early morning, around 3am, Friday November 3rd 1973; Sam had a splitting headache, bruises covering his back and an even coating of general cuts and scratches, all in varying degrees of severity. His pain pills, what passed for anti-septic in '73, and, most importantly, his bed were beyond this flaming door, and it chose now to get well and truly stuck. Damn Gene Hunt!
It was the Guv's fault he felt like shit too. After wrapping up their latest case the day before, Hunt had insisted the entire team head down to the Railway Arms to celebrate; and gloat about the collar to Litton's team, and any of the rest of the Manchester police force they happened upon. It had been this that had earned Sam his incredible headache. Apparently some of the other coppers in their area were none too happy about DCI Hunt and his team making the Quagmire arrest – not when some of them had been working the case for well over 6 months now. Sam didn't have any real sympathy for them though, if they had documented their evidence properly then the link between motive and suspect would have been made a lot earlier, he had wisely not mentioned this to the officers concerned however. Then Gene had opened his mouth. The ensuing brawl had been an insult to policing, at least, Sam thought, it would have been regarded as such in 2006. in reality – or what was now Sam's reality – it had not really meant anything. They had all been blowing off steam. No grudges would be held and nothing more would come of it, so surely it could not have been such a bad thing? Happiness swelled inside of Sam at the thought, despite his aching body and awkward front door. Before, when he had been in his coma, all of his comparisons between 'home' and 1973, had been very negative, and all he had wanted was to fight against the ways of his new colleagues. Now though, after making a conscious decision to stay in 73, the same stuff seemed positive. 2006 was no longer any comparison to his new home. It seemed it was just a matter of the way you thought about it.
Sam's train of thought was dramatically broken as his door finally gave up it's resistance and, under the force of his shoulder – which hurt a lot – opened wide. His musings had distracted Sam however, and only his honed reflexes stopped him falling flat on his face on his own door mat. Not that he had a door mat.
Keeping the light off to avoid any unnecessary pain in his head, Sam stumbled across the tiny, dingy room. The dim lighting kept most of the place in darkness, and the heavy blanket of night was suddenly thick upon his senses. His hearing and sense of touch were dulled, numbing some of the pain and making the idea of taking pills seem a little silly. His bed was what he really needed. Having maintained the presence of mind to lock his door again behind him, Sam fell on to his squeaky cot, feeling relatively secure and immediately lost himself to a deep, heavy sleep.
The morning dawned quickly and pleasantly enough for DCI Gene Hunt, until he made it into work.
'Where the hell is he?' he demanded of the void, as he paced his office like a caged big cat, waiting for DI to make it into the station. Not like Sammy-boy to be late though, is it? Normally the annoying prick was in before Gene was even up on a morning, sorting through paperwork, giving Gene more work to do. He flinched as he knocked his leg off the corner of his desk, remembering the deep purple bruise he had acquired the night before, and , despite his anger, grinned briefly. It had been a good night. Plenty of drink, and a good old fashioned bar fight to round up the night. Even Sam had loosened up enough to join in after a few minutes! Maybe that was why he was bloody late, he thought. Sitting in his hole of a flat licking his wounds – ponce. Suddenly decided on what to do, Gene snatched his camel hair over coat from it's hook and launched himself out of his office in the main area of CID, which was starting to fill up slowly; if the rest of them could drag their sorry arses into work after last night then so could DI Tyler. Besides, it wasn't like Sam couldn't fight God-damn-it, Gene had seen that last night too. He could be damn good if he wanted to be, he just lacked the urge to fight. Oh well, Gene'd knock that right out of him, when he got hold of the skiving bugger. He reached his car, climbed in and, after a moment's consideration, buckled up. Tyler was right – though he hated to admit it – it was the law, and he knew he would be breaking a few speed limits on the way to drag his subordinate into work by the scruff of his neck, if he wanted to get back in time for his morning bacon butty. He had important police business that Sammy boy was so keen on to discuss with him.
'Tyler!' Gene bellowed through the door, 'Tyler get your arse out here in the next thirty seconds, with a damn good reason for forcing me out here, or I'm coming in there and you will bloody well wish you'd never bloody well been born my lad!'
The only answer was what could have been an attempt at speech, but came out as a low moan, and the sound of someone moving around.
'TYLER!'
The lack of response from within the flat prompted an odd feeling to settle in Gene's stomach, kinda like a tight knot of…concern? God only knew what could have happened to Sam since the last time Gene saw him, his heart rate quickened a little. Giving himself a firm mental shake, however, he pulled himself away from the thoughts now racing around his head. Sam was not hurt. He had a hangover and was being a bloody great girl about it. Besides, his DI could take care of himself, and if Sam did have a booboo, what did Gene care? No, it was not worry that had brought him over here, merely annoyance that the officers under his command were incapable of getting into work on time. With this conviction in mind, Gene resumed his hammering upon Sam's long suffering front door, untill, finally, Sam appeared in the doorway, leaning slightly on the frame, clad in only a pair of tight fitting jean, looking at Gene through sleepy, half closed brown eyes.
Gene's heart leapt at the sight, before his head firmly told it, in no uncertain terms, that he was pissed off, not worried.
'Why the hell are you not at work, we have an important case that needs our immediate attention' Hunt demanded, squaring his shoulders and shoving his way into the apartment. He stopped in the centre of the room, and looked around. The bed lay, unmade, and with the few blankets and comforter throw to the ground, there was an old shirt, with a respectable coating of dried blood laying across the single armchair, and the rest of the clothes Sam had been wearing at the pub were littered around the room. 'Maid's day off is it?' He asked, turning to face his DI.
'Guv?' Sam flinched against the light pouring in his still open front door, and for the first time the DCI noticed his subordinate's palour, and the deep purple bruising along his temple. The unfocussed eyes and dilated pupils, together with the unstable swaying as he moved away from the door frame's support told the senior police officer all he needed to know. Damn if Sammy boy wasn't concust. Doesn't excuse not at least calling in to work though did it, Gene thought.
'Work?'
Damn. It must be bad, he thought as his attention returned to the man in front of him, who had now closed the door and was standing before him, looking at his boss as if he had just appeared out of thin air.
'Yeah, work,' Hunt said, calmly, all the annoyance flowing out of him at the confused, curious look Sam has pinned him with. He was just too cute, standing there bare foot and chested, swaying slightly. Shit, swaying a lot. Gene darted forward just in time to save Sam from making contact with the old, worn carpet of his flat.
'Okay then Sammy boy, maybe work is not such a good idea,' he muttered as he helped his half awake DI toward the bed.
'Gene,' Sam stopped suddenly, looking at the man who was currently supporting most of his weight, and asking in a surprisingly clear voice, 'what are you doing here?'
' Stopping you falling flat on your face, and damaging that thick skull of yours, what does it look like, now get into bed,' Gene ordered, in his best no nonsense voice, pleased when Sam looked at him for a second then obeyed – if only partially – and sat on the edge of his bed, laying his head in his hands.
'Jesus' he murmured, as the need to just keel over attacked him once again.
'Here,' Gene answered, tossing a bottle of painkillers he had found in the bedside drawer toward Sam, and shaking his head as he fumbled the catch, and bent to retrieve the bottle, nearly toppling off the bed in the process. ' take those, sleep an get your ass into work in the morning. I can't afford for you to be a bloody nancy about a head ache,' he stood over Sam 'till he complied – at least with the first command, even fetching him a glass of water, which earned him a small grateful smile, as Sam sank in to a horizontal position.
'Stay put,' he said, 'I'm gonna go now, but I'll be back after work to check you're not dead, you hear me?'
Apparently the answer was no, as Sam murmured incoherently. Gene sighed as he bent to man handle his DI into a more comfortable sleeping position, surprising him self with his own care as he gently encourage Sam to turn over, and retrieved the comforter from the floor, placing it over his sleeping friend, before turning to head out the door, checking to make sure it was fastened securely on hid way.
So. Please let me know what you think. This is the first time I've written a life on mars fic though I love the show. All ideas and constructive criticisms are happily received, thanks a lot.
coda KAZ2Y5