One More Than Company Part 11
They had a tentative existence between the three of them: Gene, Sam and Peter. While the newfound team worked on cases, they maintained the unspoken pact of avoiding any personal issues; successfully burying the hurt they'd caused each other. This didn't sit well with Peter, who would have preferred another punch up with DCI Hunt instead of the strange ambiguous relationship they were forced to share now. On the surface it could have passed for friendship, but it was really just mutual tolerance for their shared interest. Peter found that rather than growing accustomed to Gene, he had in fact come to resent him. Since the fight he felt Gene had given Sam up too easily and Peter couldn't understand why. He thought less of a man who couldn't give up everything for that one special person because Peter would fight tooth and nail, would fight Gene anywhere and do anything, even if it meant going against his ethics code as a copper to be with the other detective. He told that to Sam because he told Sam everything. DI Tyler chided him giving in to the 70s and its anything-goes standards; but Peter knew even if it was 2006 he would have said the same thing to DCI Tyler.
Still, Sam was his now and Peter held him close. But then he saw - uselessly willing himself not to - a growing restlessness in Sam that the Scottish DI couldn't cure no matter how many soft words he whispered in the middle of the night. It wasn't until one of these late evenings of muttered sweet nothings, when Sam had mentioned Gene more times than Peter could politely tolerate, that he realized Sam missed what he'd once had.
DI Carlisle immediately felt betrayed by this unconscious admission, alienating himself from Sam to focus on that hate for Gene and wallowing in a kiddy pool of callous self-pity. It was only Sam's utter bafflement and concern for what seemed like a random iceberg in Peter's mood that he understood it may not be something Sam was even aware of himself, wasn't a sign of unhappiness or unrest with what they had. Sam just missed it. Peter was struck with an arrow of guilt at his overwhelming selfishness, had he really swept in and taken something precious from Sam? He had been so sure they couldn't have been serious about one another, so certain that his love would save Sam, that the empty cheapness of it all left a sour taste in his mouth. Peter was a romantic idealist and found, to his disappointment, that in this drama he may have unknowingly been a certain kind of villain.
Peter told Sam he knew what the man needed to be happy - although Peter was sure "being happy" was a foreign idea to Sam. It must be for Gene as well, to give up Sam so easily; what a ridiculous pair, those two, suffering in their silence as they fucked each other. However, they also knew how to sacrifice their desires for the greater good and were such good artisans of the trade that they reeked of misery while righting everyone else's wrongs. To DI Carlisle the practice was alien. He had a choice now. He could ignore what he saw brewing behind DI Tyler's thoughts and hold him tight, keep him forever, seeking different ways to distract him from that emptiness. The other option- even the thought of it stung- was…to let him go. Not completely, of course, that never crossed his mind, but like the 38 Special song went: "Just hold on loosely, but don't let go. If you cling too tightly, you're gonna lose control." Peter felt he had every right to act out the latter, his possessive jealousy was like an animated devil demanding that Sam was his and to hell with Gene: Sam had, after all, made his choice. However, Peter knew that if he suffocated Sam he would indeed lose him, so even though he did not want to, in a way there was no other choice.
The next evening Peter asked Sam if he missed fucking Gene.
Sure he didn't have to be so blunt about it but it was clear he was still venomous about the idea and consequently Sam was too flustered to answer, avoiding him the rest of the night. That's how the idea sprang, he guessed, from saying it so succinctly in order for it to plant itself in Sam's head and nurture itself on his buried feelings. Sam never acknowledged its veracity but Peter was sure it was out of politeness now, not ignorance. He was tempted never to let the subject rest, pointing out everything to Sam that had originally led him to this conclusion. Yet that would have charged his originally good intentions with a cruel bitterness: salt on their open wounds. Peter saw the knowledge brought no happiness to Sam and even if he couldn't admit to it, the DI was clearly racked with guilt.
Fearing he had caused more damage than good, Peter did something else for Sam. He volunteered with Annie Cartwright for an all night stake out of some perp's house with the intention of giving Gene and Sam some space. That's when he realized -somewhere between his third cup of coffee and his second donut- this one small thing he was doing for Sam, something so hard and something he thought was big of him, was exactly what Gene had been doing since the beginning. He had given Sam up to him because he wanted the detective to be happy, thinking it was for the best.
"Englishman are such idiots." Peter commented in the over-heated Ford Granada in which WPC Cartwright and him were cramped. She looked surprised, but then gave him a knowing smile.
What a ridiculous pair.
It was lights out for CID, except for the familiar glow of Hunt's office. Gene was reclined easily in his chair, feet propped up on the desk and a whiskey filled tumbler in his hands. With the radio set to Carlisle's car he was buckled in for the night. It was usually something he would have Phyllis do, a plonk's job to babysit the detectives but lately his nights had been unkind to him and insomnia clung to the guv like foul smelling aftershave. In his office he felt more at ease, more useful even though the chances of any action on the streets tonight were slim to none. It was here in the artifice of his world that he could relax, that is until Sam Tyler decided to turn everything upside down; story of his life.
He showed up out of nowhere and acted like he belonged, poking his head through Gene's embryo of comfort and dragging on in that half familiar way. "You look ready for a kip."
The day was over and Gene would have taken a lonely sleepless night over Sam haranguing him. He sniffed bitterly and studied a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. "I'll manage."
It wasn't an invitation but Sam took it despite, the senseless git, sliding past Gene's double doors with two hands shoved in his trouser pockets and his eyes focused somewhere on that dirty floor. He was a schoolboy that anticipated a lecture, expecting Gene to start barking at him any minute, but when he didn't DI Tyler curled his shoulders and peeked his head up experimentally. "Keeping an ear on the radio?"
Gene swirled the whiskey in his tumbler and set it aside. "I've got at least one copper in there I'm responsible for."
Sam scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes, fixing them back on the floor afterwords.
"Come to keep an eye on me then?" Hunt inquired with a curl of his lips. "Don't think I can take care of your boyfriend?"
"Gene…don't."
"Wot?"
"Just don't." Realizing the only lecture was going to be Gene's bitterness, Sam sat on the settee, leaning on his thighs and twining his fingers together in the nervousness of things that haven't been said. They sat in silence; it used to be comfortable for them, just two mates spending an evening together but now it was as pleasant as listening to nails on a chalkboard and Christ on a bike somebody better say something soon.
"Well I hope the rest of the night doesn't go like this." Gene pulled out a fag and lit it, tossing the box against the tumbler on his desk, two vices that sustained him during the roughest times, during times like these. "You always were a stick in the mud."
Sam stuck out his lower lip peevishly. "Funny way to apologize though, sticking him in a car overnight."
Hunt pushed the smoke out of his nostrils like a raging bull. "Apologize for wot?"
Gene caught Sam's angry look before he muttered, "Unbelievable."
It pissed Gene off that Sam was wasting his time with this, if he wanted to talk to Carlisle he could have cramped up in the car with him and if he wanted to talk aboutCarlisle he could go shout his head off in the loo like he was prone to do, because the last stall that Gene visited after a particularly upsetting order of curry wasn't as full of shit as Sam was. "He volunteered for this so you can't piss on about it to me. Besides I've got nothing to apologize for and don't you say otherwise."
The hesitant face, the defensive flicker of his eyelashes, Gene realized Sam was really going through with it. "You brutalized another officer…"
"It was a warn-you know what Tyler you're the one who owes me the ruddy apology." If Sam had to drag his feet through the mud again then Gene wasn't going to sit by quietly. To his surprise it actually shut Sam up and the DI hung his head in shame. Bloody hell you can't get a shot in without them getting all girly can you?Gene reached for his tumbler and kept going, he probably shouldn't have, it wasn't necessary, selfish even, but it just slipped out between silences. "I mean, I knew you had todger problems but I didn't think you were gonna go run off to a different mechanic."
Sam looked up in surprise because there was less accusation than hurt there. "…I am Gene, sorry I mean." A deep breath, a stony face. "Not for what I did, but for not tellin' ya."
It was obvious he didn't like the answer so Gene fixed his steely eyes on Gary Cooper. If he had to talk it should be about their last case, about this case, hell make up a case and talk about it but not this. He was perfectly happy resenting Sam and that Scottish poof but now his detective was asking something more: closure and respect. Damn you Sam, that childish resentment was all he had left. "…So that's how it is then?"
DI Tyler answered quietly. "Yeah. That's how it is..."
Then why did it look like he'd swallowed glass? "Go on, get home Sam." That should have been it, the end, isn't that what he came here to say? That was fine, Gene could handle it, at least that's what the DCI told himself. As long as he didn't think about what he would miss then, sure, reverting to his old ways was possible. He was a survivor and though he had gotten briefly comfortable with being able to do more than survive, to be happy, he could go back if he had to. Of course he should have known it was never that simple with DI Tyler.
"And leave you here to be miserable by yourself? You'd like that too much."
Yes, he would.
Gene scowled. Couldn't he just leave it alone or did Sam like picking at his scabs? "You're a picky pain, there's nothing to like."
Sam wasn't deterred, like he didn't get it, or he was so familiar with Gene's grumpiness that he knew when Hunt pushed others away it was just a test to see who would stay. "And you're bad at lying."
A dangerously intimate smirk began to tug at the DCI's lips just before he put out the light by crushing the butt of his fag into the dirty, un-emptied tray on his desk.
Wanting to make everything right might not be possible. They'd settled their business, Sam had thought, their old business; but not their new business. Sam Tyler hadn't broached those turbulent feelings he kept under safe lock and key. Although not so safe that he couldn't stop himself from seeing Gene, couldn't stop himself from staying when he knew he wasn't wanted. Would it make Hunt smile again, would he tease and berate him for being a prodigal whore and then continue for twenty minute about how no one can resist the Gene Genie? Sam couldn't say, wasn't sure what to say; Gene already seemed resigned to his lonely cowboy fate.
"Wot's this?" There was a manilla folder stuck between DCI Hunt's feet and his desk. He could just make out the word urgentstamped in bright red at the top right hand corner and knowing he hadn't personally seen any files like this in the past week (and it wouldn't end up on Hunt's desk if he hadn't) his curiosity was naturally piqued.
The guv's pupil's dilated, recognizing what DI Tyler didn't and kicking at his invasive hands to keep it that way. "S'nothing." He dismissed Sam with his irritation. "Didn't I tell you to piss off?"
"Yeah but you always say that, more or less." Sam was staring at the file, Gene's tension a red flag. "You're serious?" He was leaning on his guv's desk, head tilted in curious and playful wonder at what dirty little secret his superior officer was keeping. "Wot's in there that I can't see?"
His superior officer however, was anything but playful in return, shuffling his feet back onto the dirty floor and laying a heavy hand on the file. "Me doing your mum now let it alone."
Sam scoffed, "You're a pig." He reached for it again but Gene pulled the folder back into the safety of his personal space which DI Tyler had no problem invading, lunging for it like it was the lunch money Gene stole. Hunt jolted out of his chair, holding the file just out of reach while his DI made a stupid fool out of himself trying to jump and grab it.
"Damnit Tyler I said no, now stop jumping about like a ruddy jack rabbit. That's an order!"
The struggle stopped and Sam stepped back, a few beads of sweat clinging to his forehead while his chest pushed the fabric of his shirt in and out in a light pant. The DI looked reprimanded but not deterred, that dark and smokey glance through squinted eyes shook Gene's resolve and-god he was bloody gorgeous in that dim light. The way he stared Gene down like Sam wasn't just a scrawny little girl but he was going to take Gene and have his way- it was almost like he came down all this way to-"Oof!"
"Ha!"
Gene clutched his stomach as he felt the file slip out his hands, looking up to see Sam waving it victoriously. That little shit, he knew exactly what he was doing! Why he oughta-
"Gene…what's this?"
DCI Hunt felt his desire to make Sam Tyler pay for the punch to his gut drop like a brick. Inside the manilla folder stamped important was a transfer back to Hyde and even though he'd threatened his detective just days before, it wasn't for him. It was for DI Peter Carlisle. "Before you start accusing me I 'ad nothing to do with it."
Sam was still staring at the file. Cold, sad and distant he tried to be smart but it had none of the bite. "You're a real class act, Gene." It was pathetic really, like when an old dog starts to howl; you feel bad, but then you just want to yell at it to shut up. In Sam's case he only wanted to yell because he couldn't do anything else, not anymore.
"Christ. I was going to tell you Tyler but I swear I just read it before you pranced in like that."
Sam Tyler sat back on the settee and deflated. He stared at the file as if it were causing him pain, folded it up after a time and set it aside. "Did he…request it?"
Gene had taken Sam's break down time to count the cigarettes he had left: three. That meant he could have one now while Sam felt sorry for himself and then have another to console his very good self when his detective left, which meant he'd still have one more to go with the mass of amount of drinking he had planned after all this. "Doubt it."
It couldn't have been clean and it couldn't have been easy, Sam looked up at him with all of that hurt and confusion like he wanted, expected, Gene to do something about it. Jesus Tyler, they were passed that you'd just said it yourself! Of course it wasn't fair, it had blind-sided him as well but Sam had made his bed and he bloody well ought to be man enough to sleep in it.
Still, Gene Hunt offered the best explanation for those prying eyes that he could. "One, I would have known about it an' two, he wouldn't go unless you were comin'. Sort of a big thing for him." He shrugged and lit another fag, resting against the edge of his desk. "Probably doesn't even know about it."
Sam seemed to consider this. "Then why can't I leave?"
That was too much for Gene and he stood to turn his back to Sam but the sad little bugger was still there when he finally came round, patient, waiting, almost helpless. Shit. "I can get rid of it."
That was like a defibrillator between them, shocking Sam back into the here and now with furrowed brows and careful distrust to replace the hurt. "What are you saying?"
Gene's own pulse raced as his frustration overwhelmed him, tightening his jaw and grinding his teeth. It was a hell of a lot for Sam because unlike the straightlaced DI, Gene didn't waste time with things that never needed to be said or were better left unsaid. When he bought him a beer it meant "I trust you, Sam", when he bothered to listen to his ramblings and they worked together it meant "I know you Sam", and when he offers to be bent, to dirty his hands for his clean and proper detective on the off chance that seeing him happy will lessen his own miserable jealousy just a little it meant "I still love you Sam."
"I'm saying that your boy in blue has a lot of problems. He's got zero accountability, running about doing as he pleases. But he's never been more on the straight and narrow since he met you. We've got that in common…So. If you want me to lose it, he can stay."
It was strange, Gene expected the git to be grateful and maybe he was for a brief second but then there was a cloud that passed over Sam's face and it looked as if he was more hurt than helped by the offer. "But it's not really up to me is it? Or you?"
Gene had to bitterly admit his revered title of DCI lacked the power for that. "Yeah well…thought it would make you feel better at any rate."
"So that's it? He's gone and I'm stuck here."
Gene nodded solemnly, barely through his fag but already mentally done with it and looking forward to the next nicotine kick, looking forward to anything more than this. "You'll manage."
After a moment Sam smiled sadly. "It's too bad eh?"
"Wot is?" Gene looked defensively over the wall of smoke he was creating.
"That he's leaving. You two might have even got along."
The DCI scoffed, rolling his eyes "Bout as well as I'd get along with the clap." It looked like Sam was only half listening to him, staring at the floor again and lost in thought so he ventured to mutter: "Turned out to be less of a prick at the end."
But Sam still caught it, jerking his head up. "So you were wrong about him?"
"I didn't say that. Less of a prick maybe but still a prick all the same."
"Can't imagine wot you thought about me then. At first."
"Same thing I think now." Gene tried to sound serious and gruff, anything other than the sentimental dribble that was coming out of him now while his DI stared insistently. "Well I'm not gonna tell ya."
"Dark and mysterious doesn't suit you Gene."
"Good. I'll stick with gorgeous bastard then shall I?"
Sam cracked a smile. "Please."
Gene let his fag rest momentarily between two fingers, picking the tumbler off his desk and churning its contents with the flick of his wrist. "Which do you prefer?"
He wasn't looking at Sam, couldn't really, but he heard the glint of mischief in his voice doing his best Gene Hunt impression. "I'm not gonna tell ya."
It was terrible, for the record, and Gene drowned his disdain with a drink, mouthing into the glass "bloody tease."
"Well…guess I'll head back. I leave them in your hands, Hunt." Sam stood and lingered.
Gene dropped the tumbler on his desk, right next to the radio. "You sure about that?"
"You want me here all night?"
Gene scowled. "Get the hell out."
They both smirked and stood there, swaying in their separate fears and regrets.
Then Sam suddenly blurted out, "…You owe me you know. For being a bastard to him."
Gene shook his head but he didn't know at what. He just wanted Sam to do like he said he would and leave because then the whiskey would taste better and the fag would be stronger and he could start to forget. "No can do Sammy boy."
Sam looked annoyed, turned to leave, and then turned back. Gene watched as he picked up the file and set it on his desk, leaning over him to pick up the tumbler. "Might find out which I prefer." Knocking back the rest of his booze, Sam Tyler grimaced and finally left.
Gene was left wondering, while knowing full well, what his detective meant. He could come swaggering in saying it's the end and it must 'ave felt great for his bastard of a conscience but then he goes and pulls a 360, rolling up those trousers and showing a little leg. He cursed Tyler. It would have been easier if he were a girl then Gene could have called him a whore and blamed it on gender. Now the guv would just call him a whore.