Taken 9/10

Taken 9/10

By: am1019 (amproof on livejournal)

This chapter rating: T (language)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, I sure wouldn't do this to them.
Characters: Gene, Sam

Stripped

Gene stood in his bedroom facing the door, loosely holding the cricket bat he and the missus kept under the bed. He didn't know how long he'd been there, having moved into position when he heard Sam walking in the hallway. Now Sam was out there, and Gene's feet were wearing an imprint in the carpeting. He'd wanted to keep his gun in the nightstand, but the Mrs. Genie hadn't allowed it, so the gun stayed in a safe in the drawing room. When he'd made it clear that he was not sleeping without something nearby, she'd suggested the bat. He'd agreed, as he felt good in his swing and he was satisfied, though he did not tell her, that no bastard would come into his sanctuary without one hell of a fight.

Not that Sam was entitled to that treatment. Not yet. Gene watched the doorknob for a sign of turning.

He thought of his father pulling him out of bed by his hair and shoving him down the stairs, slapping him about the head and shoulders all the way into the kitchen and ordering him to do a fry-up at two a.m. and be quick about it and top up the whiskey in his glass and quit looking at him like that unless he wanted another slap. He fed the bastard and emptied bottles down him until he passed out. Then he dragged him to bed, tossed him in beside his mother, went down to wash up the best he could, and tried to be out of the house before the waste of space was up because if he wasn't, he'd wake Gene, red-faced, fists flying, screaming at him for eating up all the sausage and didn't he know meat didn't grow on trees because the piece of shite never remembered anything between coming home from the pub and waking up, and the one time Gene told him, he just got hit more, so he bit his tongue and apologized for being a selfish, meat-grubbing, son of a bastard.

He'd allowed—no, forced because he wouldn't take 'no', would he, when Sam tried to excuse himself out of it—Sam to stay for a reason, but he couldn't think what it was. Wasn't the same as putting Sam in the boot for his own protection. He knew that he couldn't let Sam out of his sight now that Sam had figured out what he'd done to his guv. He figured the poofter would fall apart. Didn't know yet if he wanted to stop a breakdown or watch it.

Instinct, that's what it was making him keep Sam close. Good old Gene Genie instinct. Never questioned it, did he?

Never until Tyler.

The floorboards were creaking Sam's retreat.

Gene strode towards the door, bat in hand, and flung it open. "Tyler." Sam turned, caught halfway between Gene's room and the guestroom. It was too dark to make out his expression, but Gene saw the tentative step towards him and his abrupt stop.

"What are you...what are you doing with the bat, Gene?"

Gene hefted it, turned his wrist to rotate it, looking as he did this, and realized that he didn't know. He may have had something in mind when he charged the door, but now that he was on the other side of it…he didn't. His memories were confusing him—he was blending Sam—the Sam who attacked him, who he still could not think of as hisSam--with his father and creating someone he didn't know, someone who was not this man looking at him with wide eyes and a placating, hesitant hand hovering in the air a few safe feet away.

"Gene?"

Gene lowered the bat and squinted at Sam. He should say something, probably, about how this was his house and if Sam didn't know how to behave as a guest, meaning if was going to go psycho in the Gene Genie's home, and be hovering outside doors where people were trying to sleep and such, then Sam would have his arse kicked.

"Gene, do you want to talk about…"

He wanted Sam to stop saying his name so much.

"No."

"I think that I hurt you, Gene. And I don't remember. If I did what you say…"

Sam had started forward, reaching for him, as if he'd stopped thinking of the Genie as a man with a bat and started thinking of him as something to be petted. Gene leaned away from him. It was not a large movement, but the point was made and Sam stopped his approach.

"I haven't said what you did. You've seen me in my altogether. You want a story to go with the picture, you write it yourself." His teeth clashed, and he reminded himself that he was the one with the bat; he was the one who got to be righteous this time and he didn't owe Tyler a bloody thing.

"I've a right to know."

"Says who?"

"I've an entire night that's a blank. You could fill it in a little."

"So? You know how many nights I don't remember?"

"This wasn't from a drinking blackout, Gene." Sam's voice cracked, and so did Gene's resolve to stay angry with him. He let a sliver of pity creep into his response.

"Let it go, Sam. You don't need to know."

"Gene."

"If you knew what you did, you'd beg me to kill you. You'd throw yourself under the Cortina or make good on your threat to jump off the CID." There. Let him take that for comfort. He didn't need to be hashing through it again. Poncey bastard was probably just asking for paperwork reasons. Well, there'd be none of that.

"Gene…" Sam was wavering, and Gene thought he would go against the wall and sit, but he managed to keep upright. "How'd you know about…my trying to jump?"

"What? You think Cartwright didn't tell me? I'm not going to give a bloke who's already soft in the head and prone towards overreacting a reason for cashing it in."

"Well. If this is your idea of reassurance… I still might throw myself under a bus." He had gained his stance again, and squeezed his hands against the back of his neck, but he looked anything but confident. Gene remembered how the Mrs. Genie always took an interest in Sam. Always wanted to know how he was faring. She'd offer him tea.

Gene was neither a pansy (like Sam), nor a woman, so there'd be no offer of hot beverage from him. He made due with reassurance, which, looking at Sam and his baby face, he felt obligated to provide. Tyler would probably have a fancy psychological name for what he was doing, comforting his attacker, but Gene didn't give a fairy's arse for it.

"You're a good detective, Sam. I need you on the team."

"Way to compartmentalize, Gene." The hands came down as Sam laughed softly. It barely sounded over the whir of the heating unit.

Well, if the bastard couldn't take empathy when it was staring him in the face… Gene took a breath, willed his anger down. "What do you want me to say? I feel you on me all the time, feel you inside me. I can't do my duties for the missus anymore without your smug face taking front and center in my mind. I cannot move without pain. I think the only reason I haven't killed you myself is the thought of getting near you makes me physically ill."

"I…" Sam's expression froze into one of pinched anguish. Gene wasn't used to seeing such a face on a man if he hadn't been punched.

"I were only joking, Gladys." Christ but Tyler could take things seriously, couldn't he? No—Tyler could tell when Gene was lying and when he wasn't. And he was looking at Gene now with that 'I know you' face of his, and it was Gene who had to look away.

"You got an erection from thinking of me?"

Gene shrugged. "You know it already, don't you?"

"From me or from me raping you?" They both started at the word. Rape. So they were giving it a name. Fanfuckingdandy.

Gene looked at the bat. "Do you fancy a game?" Gene didn't know why he said it, but once he did, it felt right. Felt better than having this conversation, anyway.

"What?"

"Wickets are set up in the garden. You be bowler. I'll bat."

"Gene, it's half three. And you're in pyjamas."

"If you're going to be a girl about it…"

Sam shrugged. "Alright."

Gene bounced down the stairs. He tried not to wince. Sam followed, slower. It had stopped raining, but the grass was wet, and Gene didn't have his shoes on. He grabbed the ball from a bucket near the door and tossed it to Sam.

"You got any lights? I can hardly see you."

"Just throw towards my voice." Gene took up position in front of the wickets. He could see Sam's outline with the light from the kitchen behind him. He knew by the time the ball got to him, it would be consumed by the night. They were both playing at a disadvantage. The first pitch went high. Gene went to get it and tossed it towards the light. The second pitch went wide. By the third pitch, Gene was wishing for a dog to go fetch the ball for him. On the fifth pitch, Sam accidentally hit a wicket. He did a little dance on the patio. Gene couldn't help smiling as he watched the hopping silhouette. If they could do this, and not think about anything else, just this and solve a case or two during the day, that would be fine.

"Come on, Gladys, you've got two more." He sliced the bat through the air on a few practice swings.

"Gear up, old man—now I know where you are, you're doomed," Sam said cheerily. Seconds later, the ball whizzed by Gene's ear. He smashed it with the bat, sending Sam diving for cover.

"Mind who you're calling 'old', Tyler."

Sam didn't say anything, and the ball didn't come back either. Gene stood, looking at the sky. The clouds were rolling over slowly, blocking out the three-quarter moon. He and the missus played night cricket all the time when they were young. Him pitching, her batting; the only contact in the game came not from bat and ball or ball and wicket but from him rushing her and tumbling to the ground as she scolded him, saying that he was taking his title of bowler far too literally. He didn't reckon Sam would be doing that and felt, almost, disappointed, although if it was for Sam not knowing how the game should go or for the games he and the missus no longer played, he couldn't say.

"Tyler? You still with us?" He shouted into the dark.

"What if I did something else?" Sam's voice floated towards him.

"Like what?"

"I don't remember anything from around 7pm when I was out to the waking up the next morning. What time did I…hurt you?"

"Around midnight." Gene righted the knocked over wicket. Sam would never know…

"And then I went home?"

"You were home." He tamped it down until it was standing straight.

"I was home? What were you doing there?"

"I went to check on you. Won't be doing that anymore." It was like talking to the radio, having Sam's voice come at him from the dark like this. He wondered if this was what it was like for Sam when he was babbling at his appliances. No wonder the poof was mental.

"So, after…I went to bed?"

"You left. I didn't stay for you to come back."

"Where did I go?"

"How should I know? You going to pitch or not?"

"I could have done something then. Or in the time between 7 and 12. We should check for witnesses—get statements from the neighbors as to my comings and goings."

Gene sighed. If Tyler was in full detective mode, there went the rest of the game. He'd have the Guv getting Chris out of bed to go through files next.

"Right. So—you want me to have Cartwright go door to door with your photo to see if your psycho self had a big night out?"

"If I did something…"

"You did do something. Me." He cringed. Unfortunate word choice, there. "We've no other crimes reported from that night. Now, if you want to get fitted up, I can tell Carling to pull a random unsolved. If not, then stop thinking so much. You're making my brain hurt."

"There's something…"

"There's nothing." Gene swung the bat against a wicket and hammered it down. Superman couldn't through hard enough to knock it over now.

"Guv…"

"Sam." Gene knew what he was doing, throwing out 'guv' like that. He was putting up a professional distance in case Gene had to arrest him. He thought it would make it easier, taking the personal out of it. Stupid git, not understanding that two men couldn't be closer than cop and cop.

"Do you honestly think you did something, or are you just scared you did? You never considered until tonight that you were responsible for me. Now you've got that figured out, you're ready to take on any crime there is, aren't you? Let me tell you something, Tyler. You are no criminal mastermind."

Gene saw the dark form coming at him and thought that maybe Sam knew the game he and missus played after all, but he was shouting, too, and it wasn't right.

"Why don't you leave me alone? You're scaring my mum!"

Gene braced himself for the impact and got an arm up. He used Sam's inertia against him and knocked him aside. Sam lay on the grass, gasping. "What'd you do that for?"

"You lunged at me."

"I did not."

"You didn't say I was scaring your mum and spring at me?" Gene's voice lifted a notch in its incredulity.

"No."

"Have it your way. You fruit bearing psychopath."

Sam pushed himself up to sitting. He was scowling like a teenager. "Whatever you say. Got any tea?"

"You want me to make you tea now?" Gene stared at him in disbelief. Portentous git.

"I can make it."

"In the kitchen, then."

They went in together, Gene carrying the bat and dropping the ball back into the bucket. He propped the bat inside the door and left Tyler in the kitchen with the instructions to 'act like a detective and find the bloody tea yourself'. He got into the shower himself and noted, with a certain amount of satisfaction, that he was not aroused in the slightest even after the tussle. He got out quickly, pulled on a pair of sweats and a vest and went back downstairs. The dawn sun was clawing at the windows, trying to illuminate the room. Sam was setting out the tea service on the table. He was using saucers and cups, which meant he truly had played detective to find those in the back cabinet. Gene sat down and watched as Sam played mother.

"The missus' card club goes into the night, doesn't it?" Sam said. He held the sugar out.

"It's in York." Gene spooned two cubes in.

"Oh."

"She's gone most nights."

"Must be hard, being on your own." Sam offered the milk. Gene declined with a motion.

"I never cheated on her."

"I didn't say you had." Sam poured milk into his own cup.

"You were implying." Nothing got his hackle up like people saying he cheated on the missus. Just because he liked his drink and he let his hand wander to a knicked prozzie's bottom on occasion, it didn't mean he was the type to cheat. Even his father hadn't cheated. He was at least as good as that bastard.

"I only meant it must be hard because you don't cook much and I know you don't like eating alone. But if your mind went to cheating…"

"I'm a man, ain't I? But I never acted on it."

"Well, bully for you." Sam adopted a false posh tone and rolled his eyes.

Despite this, Gene sensed a bit of hurt in the answer. And if someone thick as him saw it… "What? You want me to?"

"Rather have you kiss me than kill me, Gene." Sam said this while looking at his cup, but he raised his eyes and a distant cousin of a smile attempted itself for a split second.

"Never thought about cheating until you, Sam," Gene said, finally. He seemed to be having the same problem keeping eye contact. He sipped the tea for something to do and burned his tongue. When he put the cup down, Sam had reached across the table and set his hand over Gene's. Gene stared at it. So did Sam.

"I think my missus is of the Sapphic persuasion." He didn't know why he said this, but it felt o.k. telling Sam. He was just barmy enough not to judge either of them for it.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think she's at card club, Sammy."

Sam squeezed his hand, his whole expression one of patience and sympathy. It was enough to make a man ill. "How long have you thought…?"

"A few years, maybe. I don't know, really." He extracted his hand. "I'm not… I won't cheat on her, Sam. I took my marriage vows seriously. I won't leave her. I won't hurt her."

"And if she's hurting you?"

"Won't be on purpose. She wouldn't do that. But she's put up with enough from me that I guess I can't play high and mighty about it, can I?"

"Gene…" Sam looked like he was going to touch him again or, worse, get up and hug him, so Gene plastered a glare on and Sam slumped in the chair.

He was relieved when someone knocked on the kitchen door. Gene opened it to find two plod on his step. He didn't recognize them.

"You hear of using the phone?"

"Sorry, sir. We're not from CID. I'm Officer Silver; this is Officer Carew. We're from Hyde PD."

"And of course, you know me." A third man pushed his way through the officers into the house. He stopped at the table, one hand on his hip and surveyed the layout. Sam sat up as if he had been silently reprimanded for bad posture, Gene noticed with a smidgen of annoyance.

"Don't recall inviting you in, Morgan," Gene said. He had a hand on the man's elbow and was ready to boot him out.

"Don't need an invite. Got a warrant." He produced it with flair from his inside jacket pocket. Gene snatched it and started reading. Utter gobshite with an official stamp.

"You are fucking kidding me." He crumpled it in Morgan's face. Morgan extracted it with his thumb and forefinger as if Gene's touch had infected it. He gestured the officers forward.

"They trying to fit you up again, Guv?" Sam said. This time, Gene knew that Sam was using the title to prove to this interloper where his loyalty was now. Right here where it belonged, with the Gene Genie. He protected his men, the Gene Genie did. He protected his…

The officers had converged on Sam, each taking an arm and raising him up. Silver produced a pair of cuffs and pulled Sam's arms behind his back. The double click as they caught his wrists was the loudest sound in the room. Sam looked from one to the other, then at Gene, his eyes growing ever wider.

"Samuel Williams," Morgan said, "You are under arrest for the suspicion of the murder of Victor Tyler and the blowing up of Hyde PD…"

"Hold on, his name's Tyler, not Williams," Gene said, but Morgan ignored him. "You're knicking the wrong man." Gene got in Morgan's face, but he might have been invisible for the effect it had.

The reading of the rights continued, but Gene didn't hear them, as he had turned from Morgan and was occupied in watching the color drain from Sam's face and watching his knees buckle until Officers Silver and Carew weren't just forcing Sam to his feet, but were actually serving as crutches to keep him upright.

Morgan nodded towards the door.

"Where are you taking him? You don't have a station anymore." Gene asked, stepping between the officers and the door before they could drag Sam out.

"We're using an interim police station. I'm sure he'll find it quite cozy. You'll be notified in the morning…" Morgan said.

"What evidence do you have?"

"Plenty." Morgan pushed against Gene's chest, and Gene told himself that he stepped backwards because Morgan hit a bruise. He recovered quickly enough to grab his shoes and coat and follow after them.

"I'm afraid you can't come with him. Someone will contact you in the morning," Morgan said.

Gene's hand fell on the bat. He picked it up and swung. It cracked against Morgan's knees, and the bastard fell onto the linoleum floor. Gene tossed the bat. It clattered as it landed. Carew and Silver froze, waiting for orders from their fallen DCI.

"What about now, you smug piece of shite?" Gene stood grand, looking down at Morgan.

"Arrest him."

Carew put the cuffs on as Morgan dragged himself to his feet. Gene grinned at him and got a fist in his stomach in return. He coughed and kept smiling.

"Don't forget my shoes and coat, son," Gene said to Carew. He trotted out the door, leading the parade to the car. He noticed that no one had bothered to read him his rights.

He crowded into the backseat, taking the middle with Sam on one side and Silver on the other. Sam was shaking. Gene leaned in to whisper that he would take care of everything, but found that Sam was already talking.

"Silver and Carew, they're from Robert Louis Stevenson's stories, too. Just like Hyde." His voice disappeared into a sick laugh, which further deteriorated into a cough.

"Would you put my coat over his legs?" Gene asked Silver. "He's not well." Silver, whether from fear of the Gene Genie's reputation, or because deep down he was a decent guy, tucked the coat around Sam's legs.

"Thank you," Gene said. His bare feet vibrated with the floor as the car gained speed.

With a bit of stretching and a lot of fidgeting, he wedged his hand behind Sam's back and squeezed one of Sam's hands. It hung limply in Gene's grip.

"Don't worry, Sammy. We'll get it sorted."

Sam didn't say anything, just kept cough-laughing until even Morgan turned around from the front passenger seat to stare at him.