R&R
Submerge.
The two men crouched down behind a thin plaster wall, guns raised. The warehouse was ancient, rundown and long since abandoned. It was home to a neglected firearms manufacturer, half-burned in '71. The bandits were armed and fearless, and the two men knew they'd killed before.
The men in question were DCI Gene Hunt and DI Sam Tyler. And they were both on red alert. A gun fired in the distance, heavy footsteps echoing through the warehouse corridors. Hunt turned to Tyler and they nodded.
"All right!" Hunt roared, pointing his gun at a masked face. Sam was doing the same with a man to Hunt's left. "We are placing you under arrest for-"
Quickly the bandit sent a blow to Gene's stomach, and the other had Sam by the lapels, slamming him up against the grimy wall. The first threw a fist a Gene's face, undoubtedly causing a smart black eye. But Hunt was equally fast, grabbing the man's forearm and twisting it, hard.
"You're quick, I'll give you that," he grunted, kicking the back of the gunman's knees. Sam, on the other hand, was a lot smaller than Hunt and was struggling considerably more against the burly bandit, who had a huge hand at his throat. He felt the barrel of a heavy gun pressed into his torso.
Sam could sense the last of his breath being all too easily restricted, and thought fast. He brought his knee up sharp between the man's legs, followed by a satisfying yell. The man released Tyler's neck, but flipped the gun round in the fat fingers, swinging the clumpy handle hard into his ribs. Sam's shout masked the crack of bone.
Hunt was there, tearing the man away and grabbing Sam's elbow, painfully propelling him forwards. The two heard gun barrels click behind them, and they darted round a turning as the sound was followed by open fire.
Then they ran. They ran faster than they ever thought they could. The hail of bullets rained past them as they sprinted down the corridors, and then there was a dull thud. Hunt turned, unable to contain anger at the prospect of delay. His eyes widened, however, at the sight of crimson floods submerging the floor, and Sam Tyler scrabbling at a deep bullet hole in his side.
Sam felt the breath leave him as he hit back against the wall behind him. The second shot was the one that floored him, and he fell with a soft thump, and a choked cry of pain. Within seconds the floor was blood-soaked, and Gene was by his side.
"Bugger," he muttered, tilting Sam's chin upwards. "Tyler, Tyler, Sam! Sam, keep your eyes open."
Sam wearily obeyed. Then suddenly, he remembered the bombs.
"Go!" He mouthed, unable to remain audible.
"Utter twat," Hunt muttered. He turned his D.I over, so he could inspect the damage. Two shot wounds pierced Sam's torso; one below his cracked ribs, one to his stomach. There was blood everywhere. Gene wasn't unnerved by blood, and he wasn't a ruddy doctor, but Sam, he decided, had lost a shit-crazy amount.
"Oi, Gladys, can you walk?"
Sam frowned, as though considering the question. Hunt didn't wait for a reply, ear pricking up at the sound of gunshots further away.
"Tough," he muttered, hoisting Sam into an upright position, ignoring his groan of pain. "Come on, you bloody lump," Gene gritted his teeth, supporting ninety percent of Sam's weight down a corroding flight of steps. The bombs were set to detonate at 7:45 pm. It was 7:36.
Half way down a corridor, Hunt felt a tug on his arm. He turned to see Sam's chest heaving with the effort to breathe as he began to slip to the floor. His eyes were half-closed and a small stream of blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"Shit," Gene hissed, laying Sam down gently, pushing the knowledge of timed bombs to the back of his mind. He slapped his D.I a little less than lightly round the face, muttering "Gladys, keep your bloody peepers open." Sam whimpered, lazily opening his eyes a fraction more. Gene stole a glance at his watch. 7:40. He grumbled, and ungraciously scooped the 'ruddy invalid' up into his arms. And then he ran. Fast.
"You know for such a skinny Nancy airhead, Tyler," Sam wearily looked up at the sound of him name, "you're bloody 'eavy."
Hunt made it from the warehouse mere seconds before the rigged explosions detonated. He placed Sam on the grit of the unused car park outside, demanding that he stay conscious. Gene stuck two fingers in his mouth and released a piercing whistle. Chris and Ray (and Annie, who insisted on coming, lest anything should happen to her Romeo), emerged from their positions and rushed over to their D.C.I. Cartwright's eyes widened, and she was by Sam's side in an instant.
"Guv," Chris started. "What 'appened?"
Gene grimaced. "Sammy's run into a spot of bother; got 'imself shot. Twice."
Annie was stroking Sam's hair, tugging off his leather jacket. His shirt was covered in blood.
"Will he be okay, Guv?" she asked anxiously. Hunt looked up.
"Is that 'will he be okay' or 'will he live'?" he asked sardonically. Annie didn't reply. "Yes," Gene said plainly after a moment's pause. Annie knew which question he was answering.
Sam coughed violently, drops of blood splattering down his chin. He groaned, eyes firmly closing.
"It's not good when you start coughing up blood, is it?" Ray asked, with no underlining tones of sympathy. Cartwright glared at him.
"You needn't be so nonchalant," she muttered. Carling frowned.
"So what?"
"So careless!" Annie cried.
"Oi, oi, schoolchildren!" Hunt roared, making them start. "Cartwright, go radio Phyllis, tell 'er to tell the station what's 'appened. Raymondo, clear this up-" he waved his arm suggestively at the pool of red as he lifted Sam once more. "Chris," he turned to the spaced-out D.C. "Help me lug this lazy bugger into that ambulance." He pointed a thumb behind him at the oncoming emergency vehicle. Ray was looking defiant.
"Why me?"
"Because you 'avn't said anything productive."
"Neither has Chris!" Ray protested vehemently. Hunt cast an eye over Chris, who was opening the ambulance doors.
"He hasn't said anything at all," Hunt muttered, shifting Sam in his arms and walking quickly forwards. He glanced back at Ray, who was still gawking. "Quicksmart, lad, we need to get this all done an' dusted, this blood'll stain if I don't get it of me tie A.S.A.P."
Tyler was completely out of it by now. Gene swore, if he stayed like that, someone would pay.
He woke in a hospital bed. It was dark. 2:47, according to the clock on the wall. Nobody would be there at this time. Nobody…
"Hello Sam."
He turned and yelled, jerking back in the bed, immediately regretting the movement. Sam groaned, his bandaged torso aching like hell-fire.
The girl stood by the heart monitor, her face eerily lit up by the flashing lights. She was small, in a paint-box-red dress and long blonde hair. In her arms was a floppy toy clown. Sam hated that clown.
"S-stay away from me," he warned, arms stretched out in front of him defensively. The bravado was flawed by the fact his hands were shaking.
"Silly Sam," the Test Card girl smiled. "What a clot; he went and got himself shot."
"Go away, just go away," Sam whined. The girl stepped forwards.
"Where is your home, where are you friends?"
"You're not real. You're not!" Sam shut his eyes, covering his face with those shaking hands.
"Bleeding, alone, until your end?"
And suddenly he was sitting on a ledge, legs dangling above a motor-way in Manchester, 2006. It took him a moment to realise what he was looking down on. There he was, on the road, lying in front of a car. Unconscious. Bleeding. He couldn't get his head around it. Then he turned, and there she was. Sitting serenely next to him.
"Hello Sam."
Sam's eyes flew open. His vision focused and his breathing was as steady as it was going to get. His eyes darted frantically around the hospital room. Nobody. He was alone.
Sam closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
"Shit," he breathed.
Two Weeks Later
The two men flashed police badges in the third man's face. Hunt had the man's arms painfully twisted behind his back. Tyler had a gun to the man's head.
"Martin Greyley, I'm placing you under arrest for attempted murder and arson, acted through your two bandits Jack Drawes and Ed Switch, who died in your planned explosion. You have the right to-"
Gene rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap, Tyler," he turned back to Greyley and snarled.
"You're nicked."
Hope you liked tbh, this was mainly for *Ferntree on DeviantArt , because I wasn't planning to go anywhere with this fic. Please check out her amazing art, she's currently my #1 inspiration. Finally someone who likes to beat up Sammy as much as I do XD