"… Stupid bloody bastard! Poncey, know-it-all git!"

Sam groaned. "Christ Gene, give it a rest. I've just woke up."

Gene glared at him and hunched forward in the plastic hospital chair. "Do I look like I give two shits, Dorothy?" He took a gulp from his flask. "Only you'd be stupid enough to get yourself nabbed by gun runners."

"Oh, so now it's my fault." Sam kneaded the bridge of his nose, acutely aware of the IV tugging at the stretch of his arm.

"Of course it was your fault!" Gene roared. "You don't go off to investigate a potential suspect on your own, you stupid bugger!" The half-empty glass on the nightstand rattled as he slammed his fist down. "You're supposed to be the smart one, why the Hell didn't you bring someone with you?"

"None of you even believed that Gregson was the smuggler! I was on my own, I'm always on my own!"

"Don't pull that. You could've got Chris or Cartwright to tag along. God knows she follows you around like a dog with a dead squirrel anyway."

"I can't deal with this." Sam squeezed his eyes shut. His head felt like it had been split in half and the only thing keeping his brains from falling out was a thick marshmallow paste. Whatever they had running through his IV, it had made him hyper-sensitive: the lights were too bright, the machines were too loud, and it felt like there were fire ants running around under his skin. The painkiller wasn't even worth the miserable side effects; his whole body ached dully and the cuts on his face and torso stung under layers of antiseptic. He felt himself starting to tear up, over-stimulated, and tried to convince himself it was from the dry hospital air.

He heard Gene curse. "Shit. Don't, Sam, I didn't-" He swore again, and Sam felt a hand pat his leg clumsily. "I'm sorry, Sam. You just…" His eyes roamed around the room before settling on the blankets, avoiding eye contact. "You gave us a scare, you daft Nancy."

"That's as comforting as you're going to get, huh?"

"I'm not good at all this poof stuff." Gene grumbled. "You and your girly psychology. Why should we have t' talk about our feelings? Seems like a load of shit to me."

"Mmm. Thanks. I feel so loved." Sam leaned back against the pillows, pale and exhausted. "When can I get out of here? I bloody hate hospitals." He wrinkled his nose. "Smells like piss and death."

"I'm hoping you dunno that from personal experience, Samantha."

"Very funny."

A fluorescent light flickered over Gene and Sam twitched, his neck jittering forward like a bobble head on the dashboard of a braking car. He held out a trembling hand as Gene clattered to his feet, overturning the chair.

"I'm fine." Sam's bandaged fingers shook, the metal splints clinking against each other. "I'm fine, sit down."

Gene snorted. "Yeah, and I'm giving Ursula Andress one from behind on me Wednesday's off. Tell me another, I'm in the mood for a laugh."

When Sam was upset, he usually scowled and raved. Now he just looked tried, shaking and pale with his forehead glistening with sweat and two black eyes that would have kept him blind for a week were it not for the cortisone pumping through his system. He scratched at the inside of his arm weakly, being careful not to dislodge the drip.

"Why are you here, anyway? D'you miss your favorite punching bag or has the wife just kicked you out again?"

"Don't be an idiot." He reached out a hand to Sam's face, but the bedridden man turned his head to avoid it. "Seriously, I'm not above punching a cripple. Don't push your luck, Mr. I'm-Feeling-So-Sorry-For-Myself."

"Some days I don't even know why I came back." Sam muttered. Gene cupped a hand at the nape of his neck; this time, he didn't resist.

"We need you, Sam. I need you." He kissed the bandaged forehead. "And if you ever try anymore of this death-seeker bullshit, ever, I'll ram a nightstick so far up your arse it'll come out your nose the next time you sneeze."

"Sounds like fun."

"You'd know."

Sam closed his eyes as Gene leaned back in his now-upright chair. They sat in silence, Sam's chest rising and falling beneath the bandages, the blankets pooled around his waist.

"Gene?"

"Mmhm?" He mumbled around a cigarette.

"Why are you here?"

"'Cause you're my DI, you bloody ponce. Where else could I be?"