Author's Note: Well here it is! The end. Yep. The end. The Final Chapter has finally been posted. I'm sorry I got so slow towards the end and thank you to everyone who stayed with me through and through. Special thanks to CJaMes12, Zip, ItsAHydeThing, and HairMetal for their reviews! I hope everyone enjoys the final chapter. Let me know what you think! Otherwise I tend to think it didn't turn out well.
Quick Recap: After finally meeting up with Gene and crew, Sam went back into the fray. Posing as Litton's captive, Sam went into Tannon's hideout to capture the traitor, get a confession on tape, and rescue Arthur -Charles's right hand man. After revealing himself, Tannon took off and Sam followed with Gene and Litton not far behind. Arthur remains cuffed to his chair, watching helplessly as a shadow descends upon him... Charles remains in police custody and Sam still hears the voice of his Damage. Will Sam be able to overcome his insanity, or will it take over completely?
CHAPTER 10: Final Countdown
Normally Sam wouldn't have been as tired as he currently was. Normally he would've been better able to advance on the out of practice older man. As it was Sam hadn't slept in who knew how long, had barely eaten in about the same amount of time, and though the cut Tannon had given him wasn't serious, it definitely wasn't helping. Sam Tyler was working on pure adrenaline now and once that ran out there was no chance of catching his quarry. He could've sworn he'd heard Gene follow him, but considering the lack of physical fitness of his DCI, Sam knew he wouldn't be seeing him any time soon.
Sam charged stubbornly after the murderer, DSI Tannon as he made his way through the edge of the warehouse district and towards the commercial area. The tall policeman showed no signs of slowing.
'Figures,' Sam thought. 'I get stuck chasing the one other officer in Manchester that gives a damn about keeping in shape.'
Tannon glanced over his shoulder and seemed surprised to find Sam still following. Sam took little heart in that as Tannon took a quick left behind the nearest building and led him into what appeared to be an automobile graveyard. Though Sam'd only been seconds behind, by the time he turned the corner, Tannon was gone. Gasping for breath and taking a moment to press a hand to his bleeding wound, Sam looked desperately around the piles of abandoned cars. He didn't see anything.
Then suddenly the air was filled with the noise of static and the chatter of barely comprehensible voices. Sam's hands flew to his ears and he backed away until he'd pressed himself against the nearest pile of cars, yet as soon as his back touched the cold metal, the sounds silenced. Nearly overwhelmed with bewilderment and his heart pounding in his ears, Sam cautiously lowered his hands.
"You've lost him!"
Sam spun towards the voice but there was no one there. Then the voice spoke again, static breaking up the words.
"You- ooo've – losssst- 'm" This time Sam realized the voice was coming from the rusty car across from him. A rusty old car without a hood and the battery – and -entire engine block clearly missing.
Sam stood rooted in place. He needed to catch Tannon, not stand here listening to impossible radio chatter. Without the battery, the radio couldn't be on. Therefore, Sam reasoned, it was only his mind playing tricks on him again.
Only that.
"Sam, you're letting the murderer get away," said the voice on the broken radio.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Sam muttered, trying to let sarcasm overtake the fear that was seeping in from the very air around him. With a deep breath, he straightened and scanned the area. It took him a moment, but then he heard it; the sound of footsteps through the rubble. They were moving slowly, sneaking behind the junk piles in the yard. Sam followed suit, attempting to follow on tip-toe in silence, but ruining it when a large metal object that might once have been a car door slid from its precarious position and crashed into the ground.
The footsteps took off immediately and Sam followed with a curse. He caught sight of Tannon's dark uniform as he maneuvered through the wreckage of an old delivery vehicle. As he slid over the hood of a low car, Sam also noted a dock in the not-so-far distance. His mind raced. Tannon wasn't just trying to escape him, he was trying to get to a boat. Perhaps he knew he didn't have a chance in court now and was going to attempt to flee the country all together.
Static screamed from a nearby junk pile, and Sam shouted in surprise as the powerful sound almost physically shoved him to the side.
"Sam!" This time Sam realized that the voice in the static was his own. "Do you really think the word of two lunatics and some less than procedural voice recording is going to take down a Detective Superintendent?"
Sam paused his run, trying to keep track of Tannon and desperately attempting to ignore the garbled voice in the static. Never before had he thought he'd miss the little test card girl with her clown from his television, but as his own pitiless voice emerged time and again, following him from radio to radio, Sam realized he did whole-heartedly.
"Sam, this man is a murderer. He killed Eames. He killed Binder. He killed Sanderson. All good policemen, innocent men."
Sam picked a direction towards the docks and charged for it. His strength was waning faster now as the voice of his dark subconscious articulated his fears.
"Shut up," he whispered. The evidence would hold. The police had plenty now. Justice, real justice, lawful justice would prevail.
"Will it?" the telepathic voice asked, emerging from the radio of a discarded car stereo.
Just then, Sam spotted Tannon. The tall man was only a couple hundred yards away and he was watching Sam. In the DSI's dark eyes, Sam saw human exhaustion, but he also saw hatred and malevolence and racism. This man was a symbol of everything that Sam hated in a police officer. He was corrupt and self important, a liar and a murderer, and he abused the power that his position allotted him. Sam's anger began to burn anew and somewhere inside him he sensed an instability that his mind refused to fully grasp.
Then Sam saw Tannon's eyes widen even as his own dipped into an angry frown. With his final burst of adrenaline, Sam charged once more after Tannon. Tannon stood still in surprise for a moment, then stood his ground and whipped out his knife.
"Don't be a fool, Tyler!" Tannon shouted.
But Sam didn't stop. Tannon prepared to stab at him, but as Sam got close enough, red eyes blazing, Sam reached into a nearby pile of discarded car pieces, ripped up a random piece of garbage and threw it at the man. Although surprised, Tannon blocked it with ease, slapping it aside with this knife hand. That movement was all Sam had wanted however and as Tannon slapped the garbage away, Sam pulled up a hub cap from the pile and slammed the metal into Tannon's face. The tall man shouted in surprise and pain and staggered back a step. Knowing that the man was hardly out of the game yet, Sam swung the hub cap hard into Tannon's knife arm causing him to drop the weapon. Another scream erupted from the man and Sam felt a sense of pleasure sweep quickly through him. Unlike when he'd attacked Charles in the asylum and in his basement, the feeling felt far away. It was as if it was a part of something or someone else. Unfortunately it wasn't far enough away for him to be unaffected and Sam felt a small smile pull at his lips even as a voice of static reminded him from afar exactly why he shouldn't feel guilty.
"This man killed three men," came the wispy sound of his own voice.
Sam smashed the hub cap into Tannon's other arm which was swinging towards him offensively. Again Tannon cried out, stumbling back to gain some space. Sam kept on him, but wasn't quite quick enough.
Tannon, not blinded enough by pain to have lost his senses managed to lash out with a snap kick that sent Sam doubling over and lined him up for an upper cut to the midsection, knocking the wind right out of Sam. The hub cap fell from Sam's fingers and he tried to force enough oxygen into his lungs to make his body move, but for a moment he could only gasp in raggedly. In that instant Tannon slid an arm around Sam's neck and squeezed. Air or no air, Sam felt desperate instinct kick in and he found the energy to send a strike into the DSI's groin. Tannon grunted and fell away giving Sam a moment to take in a few hoarse gasps.
"He won't ever stop either. You saw what he did to that Arthur kid. If you let him get away with this, he'll just find someone else to destroy." The voice of static bore down on him again, the malice and hatred infectious in its tone.
As soon as the cool stinking air of the water front junkyard reached Sam's lungs, he turned on the DSI again. In his increasingly confusing anger, Sam wasn't sure what he meant to do exactly, but Tannon made the decision for him. Sam got his hands up just in time to deflect the man's sloppy haymaker and with an angry cry Sam found himself swinging one of his own.
"Dead men aside, it's his fault we got stuck in that drug induced therapy," the static crackled.
Sam threw a punch to Tannon's abdomen. Then another, this one going unblocked. Encouraged, Sam threw another punch to the man's face, stunning his opponent.
"Sam… It's his fault we're crazy," the voice hissed seriously.
Tannon still struggled, trying to grab at Sam's shirt even as Sam slid in close and knocked the taller man's legs out from under him with a leg sweep. Tannon did manage to get a hold of Sam's collar as he went down, but Sam just followed him, his eyes ablaze once again with hatred. He landed atop the man with a grunt, but Tannon got the worse of it. With the wind knocked out of him, the DSI was gasping for air himself now as Sam hesitated in his next move. At their side the radio crackled to life and the wispy, grainy version of Sam's voice came out in a conspiratorial whisper.
"We should just kill him right here."
Tannon had stopped squirming. One eye was swollen half closed from Sam's assault. Blood poured from his nose and a gash on his lip. His hands were held up in a feeble attempt to ward off any more blows, the hand cuffs still jingling from one wrist. It took Sam a moment to realize that the man had been talking, begging for Sam to stop, but he just hadn't heard him.
The former police officer, this murderer of men had been reduced to a quivering mess. It was a pathetic scene and Sam felt shame and disgust not just at Tannon but at himself creep into him again.
"Please," Tannon begged. "I'll give you anything you want, do anything. Just stop."
"Don't stop! End him!" the static shouted. "He's the source of this!"
"He's not the source!" Sam shouted back. Beneath him, Sam felt Tannon go rigidly still. Sam didn't care. "Killing him won't bring those men back."
"You want the truth, Sam Tyler? Those men weren't real! Tannon's not real either! This isn't a question of morals; this is whether or not you want to wake up," the static exclaimed. "You are lying in a hospital bed in 2006, in case you've forgotten. Everything here is a representation. Destroy the representation and you'll regain control."
Sam turned from the old broken car he'd been staring at from which the voice had been coming from, and looked down to the man beneath him. Tannon watched Sam with wide frightened eyes. Sam frowned. He didn't know whether it was fatigue or his own mental instability, but he was finding it very hard to think straight. What the voice said did seem to make sense…
But at the same time he was filled with self-doubt. Was killing a man in cold blood, whether he was an illusion or not, really the way back to sanity? If this was a representation, something that was taking place all in his head… then shouldn't he be holding true to his own beliefs? What would he become in the real world if in his mind he solved his problems by breaking his moral code?
And then… what if this was real?
There had always been that question. That nagging question. Ever since he'd woken up in that lot in a leather jacket and bell bottoms. Ever since he'd taken Annie's hand on that rooftop and felt the subtle detail of sand on her skin. If this place was real and he killed this man…
"What the hell are you waiting for?" the static voice growled. "You could set us free!"
"No! Killing never sets you free!' Sam exclaimed, standing up and shouting at the car radio, at the sky, at whoever or whatever was out there, and at his own madness. "And there is no 'us'! You are what doesn't exist, what I need to overcome. I thought you'd disappeared back in Charles's cell, then again in the park, but nothing's ever that easy, is it."
The voice was silent for a moment. Then it spoke again. "So you won't kill him?"
Sam clenched his hands into determined fists. "No. I've been sayin' it all along: I'm not a killer."
Another pause and a thought passed through his mind that he might actually be able to reason his way back to sanity. The thought was only fleeting.
"Then if you will not kill him, Sam Tyler," the static voice crackled. "I will kill you."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
It was times like these that Chris found himself wishing policemen could always carry guns on them. Having a weapon on your hip definitely added to your sense of courage. And, Chris noted, your sense of righteousness. After having placed the two men who had been guarding the old warehouse for Tannon under arrest, Chris watched Ray order two PCs to take the traitors (perhaps unknowing traitors) down to the squad car with a gusto and confidence he didn't usually see. Chris pouted and turned his attention back to the warehouse. That wasn't to say that Ray wasn't brave without a gun. Ray and the Guv were two of the bravest people he'd ever known, with or without weapons. It was just something he noted now and as he did, the young officer realized the wisdom in not carrying guns all the time. It made sure that the police took the extra effort to end things peacefully.
Now though, facing down a crooked officer who had killed three officers and done who knew what else, Chris was glad for the extra dose of courage that the gun provided. With DSI Tannon's accomplices sent away, it was time to enter the warehouse where one of Charles Dominic's partners in crime was being held. The Guv and DCI Litton had gone in before them to sort the situation only a minute earlier and now it was up to Chris and Ray to bring up the rear. Carefully, and with his safety off, Chris followed Ray's lead as he stepped up to the doors. All sounded quiet inside.
"Too quiet," whispered Chris.
Ray was scowling. "I knew we shouldn't have hung back."
"It was the Guv's orders."
"Yeah an' before that it was Sam Tyler's idea. He an' the guv mighta been in on this whole undercover thing together, but somethin' aint right with him. I don't trust him."
Chris shrugged and tried to glance in through the milky window above him. "The boss usually knows what he's doin'."
"Don't get me started on that, Chris," Ray scolded, using his gun as a pointer finger. It made Chris nervous. "Ok, that's more than enough time for me. Let's get in there."
And before Chris could finish nodding his agreement, Ray was kicking open the doors and stepping inside. Chris followed quickly, the hairs on the back of his neck rising and adrenaline pumping through his veins. At first he couldn't see anything, but as they moved forward past a row of metal shelves, Chris was able to make out a large room, open except for the metal shelves that acted as minor blockades. His unease with the still silent room growing, Chris followed Ray past the shelves where the room opened up into a wide empty circle. Well, mostly empty. In its center there was a metal table with wires, a small black box, books, and an assortment of small metal instruments. Next to that was a chair in which sat a man in black slacks and a white colored shirt that was now stained with red. The figure faced away from them and Chris could see from there that he'd been cuffed to the chair, blood dripped from the fingers. Chris looked up to Ray who was motioning for Chris to circle around to the right and attend to the hostage.
Swallowing heavily, Chris did. His eyes darted around the warehouse over and over as he made his approach to the slumped figure, but besides the three of them, it seemed empty. After what seemed like an eternity, and from the frown on Ray's face it actually might have been, Chris made it to the hostage. The form didn't move. Chris lowered his gun as he got a look at the hostage's face more clearly. It was just a kid, no older than he was. The hostage, likely Dominic's friend Arthur, looked awful. Blood was everywhere and a bruise had swollen the left side of his face. As Chris stood there looking Arthur over, he couldn't help but put himself in this young man's shoes. What if a crooked cop had kidnapped him? Tortured him? Would he have held up? Would he have died?
With a shaking hand, Chris reached out to shake the man. Just before Chris touched him, Arthur blinked and straightened in his chair. The action was so unexpected that Chris stumbled backward over his feet to land in a heap on the cement floor with a yelp of surprise. Arthur, despite his injuries seemed amused by Chris's reaction and gave a tired and weary smirk.
"There you guys are. Took ya' long enough," Arthur replied. He jingled his cuffs. "Hows about getting' me out of these, eh?"
Ray scowled and Chris endeavored to get back some of his lost dignity as he stood up.
"Where's DSI Tannon an' the Guv?" Ray asked as he approached them.
Arthur took a deep breath and looked towards the back of the warehouse. "That Tyler bloke left his recorder on the table an' booked it after the tall guy. The other two went after him. All by meself now."
Ray moved to the table where he spotted the recorder and its protruding wires. He picked it up with a smile and looked to Chris. "We've got the bastard now, Chris."
Chris nodded with a smile of his own. Ray tossed Chris the tape then headed for the back. "You take this bugger back to the car an' keep him there. I'm goin' after the Guv. Make sure you keep your radio on this time, all right?"
Chris pouted. "I only left it off one time…" But Ray was already gone. Chris frowned, pocketed the recorder, and turned his attention back to Arthur, who'd been glancing off into one of the shadowy recess of the room. "All right. Let's get you out of here. You, um, you are under arrest though. You know… for, um… weapons trafficking and robbery an' harborin' a fugitive an' all."
Arthur sighed. "Yeah. I know…"
Chris pulled out his cuff key and unlocked Arthur from the chair. Arthur straightened and stretched. He didn't get too far before he pulled a muscle made tender from his torture session and wrapped his arms around his midsection in pain. Chris wisely kept his distance.
"You all right?" he asked.
Arthur nodded. "Yeah. Wonderful."
"Right… Well... I'm gonna have to put the handcuffs back on you to take you to the car," Chris said apologetically.
Arthur looked quickly at Chris, unease clear in his face. Chris could only shrug. "I can't just walk you out there without 'em," he said. "Somethin' might happen."
Arthur looked about to say something when suddenly a shadow emerged from the corners and stepped up behind Chris. "Somethin' like this?"
And before Chris could even start to spin around, the tall burly form of Fischer was swinging a fist into the side of Chris's face. The young officer went sprawling, eyes wide with shock and the gun he'd tried to pull flying across the floor out of everybody's immediate reach. Chris barely saw it go, so surprised was he that this figure had managed to come out of nowhere and get the drop on him. Fischer moved to attack Chris again, but Arthur grabbed his arm.
"That's enough, mate. He's one of the good ones," Arthur replied. "Nice timing by the way. I thought you were just gonna let him walk off with me! And after yer daring rescue and everything."
"He'll come after us," the Northman warned, not taking his eyes off of Chris who stayed right where he had fallen.
"Well, we'd better get goin' then, eh?" Arthur said, a small smile pulling at his bruised face. Fischer glanced at him, then rolled his eyes.
"Fine," Fischer sighed. He motioned Arthur to the back door then darted for the gun, hard eyes not leaving Chris's shocked ones even as he picked it up and slid it into his belt. Then with a tip of his fedora to Chris in mocking goodbye, Fischer turned and ran after the quickly departing Arthur.
It took another moment for Chris to come to his senses, his face throbbing where he'd been hit. He stood, staring at the door and it slowly dawned on him that he'd just let his prisoner escape. He reached quickly down for the radio that Ray told him to keep on only to realize that he'd left it out in front of the building when they'd cuffed the two men guarding the entrance. With a muttered self reprimand, he hurried out the door to give Ray the bad news.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Sam frowned at the junked car in confusion.
"You'll kill me? Yer just a voice in my head!" Sam exclaimed with a jabbing motion to his temple.
"A voice, yes. But I am more than just a voice. I am your doubts and your fears, your anger and your rage," the static crackled, but more clearly than it had in the past. It was easier now for Sam to recognize his own tone and inflection in that garbled static.
That was intimidating, but Sam still managed to scoff at the bodiless voice. "So what are you goin' to do? Talk me to death?"
It was as soon as the words left his mouth that Sam knew something was wrong. Some sixth sense screamed at him and an instant later Sam heard movement from behind him. He spun around as fast as he could, but was only in time to see the flash of a navy blue uniform and glimpse the shine of the switch blade before Tannon stabbed it into his gut. Sam's eyes went wide, first in surprise and then remained so in agony as the truth of his situation washed over him, warm and red. Tannon grabbed him by the back of the head even as Sam grasped desperately at the other.
"You crazy son of a bitch," Tannon growled, ignoring Sam's attempt to pull out the knife. "The fact that some fool like you that talks to the air and that oaf, Hunt, managed to halt something I've been doing for years… For Years!" he repeated in a shout while giving his blade a twist. Sam screamed, the sharp sound echoing through the junkyard. Tannon showed no pity and only grabbed him more roughly. "It irks me, DI Tyler. You can die here with that victory at least, hm? But you'll also go with the knowledge that you failed to stop me."
Sam stared up into those hateful eyes, the weight of that knowledge dragging him down. It wasn't fair. He'd gone through so much for this mission. He'd tainted his reputation, made his friends think he was a murderer, he'd lost his memories, he'd even put his sanity on hold and now the bad guy was going to get away and his insanity, his 'Damage', was going to win.
…Except It would probably also lose because if Sam died, how did this Damage expect to survive? …What was Sam in this place? He'd always sort of thought that if this was a dream world, then he was whatever made Sam Tyler Sam Tyler. He was the consciousness… The soul… But was that required for life? If Sam was the consciousness of before his accident… would it be the psychopathic Damage that would wake up in 2006 if he died here at Tannon's hand?
Or was this real and if Sam died, his insanity would die with him?
…His mind was spinning. Stray confused thoughts rushed into his mind, each trying to get their turn in what Sam was now thinking were his last moments. He felt the pain in his abdomen where the intrusive metal blade still stuck and he felt his life blood leaking out of him. But he also felt a strange strength rising up. It wasn't normal strength and it wasn't powered by rage as it had with Gene at the park or with Charles in the cellar. It was the very last strength of a dying animal, that overwhelming instinct to survive, or to at least take down the one who had felled him.
Sam gripped Tannon's knife hand harder, nails digging into Tannon's skin roughly enough to draw blood. Only slightly surprised by the desperate move, Tannon let go of Sam's head and reached down to grab at Sam's clawing hands. With an exhausted smirk, Sam grabbed Tannon's free hand, now very close to his knife hand, and used the dangling handcuff to cuff the two hands together. Tannon jumped away in surprise, bloody knife tumbling to the ground as he tried unsuccessfully to pull the locked handcuffs off. Sam followed him forward and lashed out with a weak jab that had been meant for the face but went low and struck hard in the taller man'sneck. Tannon's eyes blazed as he choked, his cuffed hands going to his throat as he stumbled away. Sam remained wearily on his feet a moment, clutching his stomach.
"I told you," Sam wheezed. "You are under arrest."
Tannon stared incredulously at the rebellious dying man. Then he lunged forward, hands outstretched as if he meant to strangle the life out of Sam before the blood loss could have the same end result. It was about the same time that Tannon started forward that that sixth sense of Sam's piped up again, urging him to get out of the way. Sam didn't bother thinking about it. He was just too tired now. He was spent and no longer even had the energy to stand. So he gave in to gravity. Sam's legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed to the ground.
The instant after he hit the dirt, Sam heard the resounding boom of a revolver firing in the distance and much to his surprise, DSI Tannon jerked back. For a moment he stood there, staring at Sam with a look of astonishment on his face. And then blood began to pour from a hole that had appeared in his chest. Tannon and Sam looked at it, then at each other, and then Tannon stared off behind Sam and he too collapsed to the ground. Sam just lay sprawled where he was, wondering what the hell had just happened and wishing he had the strength to turn over and see where the shot had come from. Luckily a voice shouted his name and answered the question for him.
"Tyler!" came the grating shout of Gene Hunt. Sam became aware of the sound of footsteps and after a moment the owner of the voice came around and into view. "Tyler? Oh… bloody hell…"
Gene crouched before Sam, pulled out a radio and began shouting for an ambulance. Sam made a face despite himself. The last thing he wanted was to be subject to the 1970's medieval idea of medicine. He must have said some of it out loud because Gene put down the radio with a frown.
"Medieval? Look, Tyler, we've got good doctors 'round here. They'll patch you right up," Gene replied seriously, but even in Sam's current state he could see that Gene was worried.
As he had good reason to be, Sam thought as he felt the blood leaking through his fingers. He probably looked about as awful as he felt.
"I'm dying, guv. Forgive me if I don't have a lotta faith in 'modern' medicine," Sam said. He tried to say it lightly, he'd rather go out with a sense of humor than not after all, but he wasn't sure he'd pulled it off properly.
"Don't be such a girl, Sam," Gene scolded as he reached out to turn Sam onto his back then pressed his hands to the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding. Sam moaned and Gene scowled in a pale imitation of his usual grouchy tough-guy demeanor. "I've seen worse 'en this plenty of times…"
Sam took in a rasping breath. It was getting harder to stay awake, but he couldn't decide if it was the blood loss, the fact that he'd been exhausted before any of this happened, or some unfortunate combination. In any case, Sam rather thought he enjoyed the idea of sleep.
"Stay with me, Tyler. We nicked the baddie –killed him, I think. Focus on that."
"Good…"
"Hey!" Gene gave Sam a not-so-gentle slap and Sam's eyes fluttered open. "Litton's gone off to guide in the ambulance. It's all gonna be ok."
"Tired now is all. It's been a… busy few days… but…"
Gene waited then jabbed Sam in the shoulder to wake him. "But what?"
"…But I think… Justice over wrath… I think I won in the end, yeah? "
"Yeah," Gene replied softly. "Yeah, you won, Tyler. You keep yerself alive so you can claim yer reward, ey?"
Sam smiled. Gene had no idea what Sam was talking about, but it amused him how right Gene was. Sam needed to live to claim his prize against insanity, but he really wasn't sure staying awake was the way to go right now. Rest seemed like a much better idea…
"Just gonna rest… a bit, guv…" He could claim his 'prize' when he woke up
"Tyler?"
The voice seemed so far away. Which was good. Quiet was what he preferred right now.
"Sam!"
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The big white doors swung open and a man in scrubs stepped through. He was covered in blood, Gene noted. Except for his hands where his medical gloves had been. Gene watched the surgeon slide the mask off his face and didn't like the look that he saw. The surgeon wore a frown and his blue eyes flicked from Gene to a place behind him where Annie Cartwright sat worriedly.
"Well?" Gene asked.
The surgeon sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "We did the best we could. His wound was just too severe."
Gene heard Annie gasp, a sound that tore at him. He stared the surgeon down, trying not to let his anger and sadness get the better of him as he felt his heart sink down to his gut. He refused to let his mind extrapolate anything, instead wanting the doctor to spell it spell it out for him.
"What are you saying?" Gene questioned.
The surgeon pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hunt. Your man is dead."
Gene turned away. He'd been afraid of this and yet he really hadn't thought it possible. Sam Tyler might have been a scrawny little wuss with barely enough muscle on him to throw a proper right hook, but he was also a tough bastard. Mentally anyway. Gene never really thought Sam would let himself die. He'd always thought the man was too busy fighting for something.
Behind him, he met eyes with Annie and wished he hadn't. The woman sank down into one of the waiting chairs, tears welling up in her eyes as she tried desperately to hold back a sob. He'd always known there was something between those two, though honestly he didn't think it had gone too far. Still didn't. Tyler was too much of a gentleman. Love from afar… Soppy romantic drive and yet it had obviously been deep enough for Cartwright.
"The other one is in critical condition," the doctor continued. Gene hardly heard him. "On top of the major laceration, he was extremely dehydrated and found traces of a cocktail of as of yet unidentified stimulants and hallucinogens. We're keeping him under for now to give him a better chance to recover. Luckily whatever he was pierced with didn't do too much damage to any of his organs-"
"Wait-" Hunt interrupted, putting up a hand. "He was 'pierced' with a bullet. I shot 'im."
The surgeon shook his head. "No…this man was definitely stabbed. The officer was shot."
Gene stepped right up to the doctor with a serious frown. "So one in the uniform is dead? Sam Tyler's gonna be all right?"
The doctor nodded, obviously confused by Gene's change in demeanor. "Yes."
Gene broke out into a grin and slapped the doctor on the shoulder. "You saved the right man then," he replied.
The doctor blinked. "It really wasn't a matter of choice that the officer died…" he replied, offended that Gene might think he just allowed someone under his care to die.
"Don't matter," Gene said as he cast a nod towards Annie. Cartwright smiled back at him. After a moment of consideration, he spoke to the woman. "Cartwright, you stay here an' keep an eye on Tyler. I want someone around in case he wakes up and remembers anything important about our case."
That was only partly true, of course. He also thought Annie would appreciate being the one to be there for Sam. God, Gene thought with disgust, I must be goin' soft.
"Keep me informed," Gene ordered as he headed down the hall.
"Guv," Annie called. "What are you goin' to do?"
Gene glanced back at her, then at the surgeon who still wore a confused expression on his face, then back to the WPC. "I've got some loose ends to tie up."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Sam opened his eyes. He didn't move at first, just stared up at the ceiling trying to decide if it was white or some sort of grey… It was too dark to be certain, he decided. The only light in the room came from some sort of monitor out of view behind his head and he wasn't sure he had the energy to look for it. That he had any energy at all, Sam realized, was incredible. He wasn't dead.
Not yet.
"So, Sammy-boy, what year is it now?"
Sam went rigid at the sound of the voice. First he was positive that his 'Damage' had managed to survive as well and had returned to strike the final blow. When he realized that the voice was not his own, his next thought was that it was Tannon come to finish him off. But just before the shadow off to the side of his bed leaned forward, Sam recognized the voice.
"Charles?" Sam questioned incredulously. And indeed the madman's face did appear out of the dark with a smile. "What are you doin' here?"
Charles pouted. "Nice to see you too," he replied sarcastically. Then he broke into a grin. "Good to see you back with the living. You've been out for a good twelve hours."
Sam tried to push himself into a sitting position, but found that it just wasn't worth it and settled for adjusting the pillows beneath his head. The motion pulled painfully at the stitched up wound in his side and he hissed angrily and lay his arms back down. After sucking in a deep breath through his teeth he looked back to his visitor. "Good to be back. I think. What happened?"
"We won! That's what happened. The elusive DSI Tannon is dead and died knowing that his name would be forever sullied. We finally got my evidence to a good group of coppers thanks to you. And that little trick at the end when you got Tannon to admit his involvement on tape? Brilliant, mate! That just sealed it."
Sam wanted to share his Charles's excitement, but he just didn't feel it. After everything that he'd gone through to find Tannon and catch him… the man just up and died before he could be tried and sentenced. Charles sensed Sam's discontent and lifted an eyebrow questioningly.
Sam sighed. "It just feels… like he got off easy. Like he cheated," Sam replied.
Charles searched Sam's face a minute. "Yeah, I know at you mean. I woulda liked to see him locked behind bars in a little cell for the rest of his life so he could stew in his own juices with what he'd done," Charles told him softly. Then he proceeded to slap Sam a bit too roughly on the shoulder with a smirk. "Then again, death isn't exactly getting' off easy, is it. I hear that when you're dying you have to live through all your past mistakes and deal with all your guilt, but in slow motion. Time slows down or somethin', so to Tannon, he actually did live with the consequences of his actions for a nice long time. How's that for just desserts, eh?"
Sam nodded silently, thinking briefly about the car that had run him down before pulling himself back to his current situation. "Maybe you're right," Sam replied quietly.
"'Course I am! And either way, the world's better off without that psychopath," Charles replied seriously.
Again Sam nodded. He was feeling sleepy again after all this talking. Undoubtedly morphine and sedatives played a role as well. Charles noted this and stood up from his chair, straightening his waistcoat. "Well, I suppose I'll be off then." The thief clasped Sam's hand in a firm and grateful shake. "Thank you, Sam. For everything. You've restored my faith in the police of Manchester. Even so, I think me and mine will be off. You don't need to worry about us anymore."
Sam frowned, trying to keep himself awake as a half formed thought from earlier took shape now. "Wait… Charles, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in custody."
Charles released Sam's hand and with a sly smile headed for the door. "Yeah… about that… Tell Mr. Hunt I'm sorry, but I really couldn't stay until the end of this. 'Places to be' and all that. And I am really not fond of prison," Charles replied, making a face. Sam tried to push himself up again.
"You can't just run from the police," Sam declared.
Charles smirked. "A proper copper through and through, eh? I'd expect nothin' less." Charles pulled open the door and gave Sam a little salute. "Cheers, Sammy."
"Hey!" Sam called, his voice rasping, but Charles ignored him, stepping out into the light streaming in from the hall and closing the door behind him. "Hey!" Sam shouted again, but his voice only cracked and sent Sam into a painful coughing fit that felt like he was tearing open his newly stitched knife wound with every cough. Sam tried to reach for the button to summon the nurses, but couldn't find it. He looked to the bed stand beside him for a phone, but it was out of reach. He tried shouting again, but again, his voice was too weak to go too far.
Finally Sam just collapsed, his head falling back into the pillows, his energy expended. He closed his eyes. Charles was going to get away, he realized. It took him another moment to recognize that he wasn't too broken up about it. Perhaps Charles would see the error of his ways…
Perhaps not. But no one could say Sam hadn't tried to get help. And with that thought Sam let himself drift off to sleep.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Gene Hunt looked furious. "And you just LET Charles Dominic escape?" the DCI exclaimed.
"Me? I was half dead! I tried to stop him, but I was on sedatives and painkillers. What's yer excuse, guv?" Sam let Annie help him pull on his leather jacket as they made their way to the hospital's lobby. The motion pulled painfully at his stitches. The doctor had wanted Sam to stay for another day, but he had insisted he could do just as much resting up at home.
Gene fumed. "This is a load of bollocks," he grumbled, shoving his hands into his jacket in search of his flask. "Two arrests and two escapes. When Litton finds out he'll have a field day."
Sam pushed open the hospital door, holding it open for Annie and ending up holding it for Gene as well. "Wait, two escapes?" he questioned.
When Gene only scowled, he looked to Annie who gave a little shrug. "Charles's accomplice escaped back at the warehouse."
"Damn the man!" Gene exclaimed, drawing a few concerned stares from an elderly couple on the sidewalk.
"Arthur escaped?" Sam asked.
"Chris let 'imself be ambushed or some nonsense," Gene grumbled. Sam nodded with a chuckle.
"On the other hand, guv, we did accomplish all we set out to accomplish. We found the traitor in the force and solved the murders of our three policemen. I'd call that results," Sam replied, pausing to adjust his borrowed and now bloody shirt over his bandages. He couldn't wait to get home and actually put on one of his own shirts. A surprising thought considering how not fond of the style he'd been when he'd first arrived.
On his right, Gene was nodding thoughtfully. "Yeah. And the Chief Super's not gonna care much for two rubbish thieves when he hear's about everythin' else…" Gene reasoned. Then a sinister undertone crept into his voice. "And Litton… He was workin' with the baddie! It'll be some time before he lives that one down!"
Sam rolled his eyes, letting Annie lead the way to the parking lot. "It's not like he knew, guv."
"Doesn't matter. I am usin' this against him forever!"
"Didn't he help us catch Tannon?" Sam pressed.
Gene turned to his DI with a glare. "Whose side are you one, Tyler?"
Sam laughed. "We're all on the same side!"
Gene shook his head. "Obviously you hit yerself on the head durin' yer little fight so I'll let that one go."
Sam shook his head incredulously. "How generous." He sighed. "There's something I don't get about all this though."
"Oh? Something the boy wonder doesn't get?"
"How did Tannon know where and when to break into the asylum? And he had a team sent in with guns. Who were they?"
Now it was Gene's turn to laugh. "Well, while you were out cold, Sleeping Beauty, some of us were doin' our jobs."
"And?" Sam prodded when Gene paused for dramatic effect.
"Well, Tannon had a man on the inside. Let 'im know where Dominic would be and when."
Sam scowled, thinking of the 'therapy' sessions he could barely remember with his snobby doctor. "And I think I know who it was…"
Gene glanced at Sam then chuckled. "Yeah. And you'd be wrong."
"You don't know who I was thinkin' about."
"I do 'cause I met 'im. And it aint yer good fer nothin' shrink, Loytta. It was one of Loytta's assistants. Some up-and-coming prat that felt under-appreciated. Tannon bribed him."
"Annnd we have proof of this, I hope."
Gene grinned. "Trust the Gene Genie."
Sam scowled. "You don't make it easy," he muttered.
"I went back to the loony bin with Chris and Ray," Gene elaborated with a glare at his subordinate. "All we had to do was mention that Tannon had been caught and imply that we knew someone who worked there was responsible. Loytta practically handed his man to us then and there."
"An' you just believed him?" Sam asked doubtfully.
"'Course not! Thought it might be Loytta just tryin' to cover his own arse-"
"Figures-"
"But when we did a search of their offices, well… Let's just say that Loytta's assistant wasn't as good at keepin' he tracks covered as Tannon. And when we confronted him about it, the sissy pretty much broke down and confessed at my boots!" Gene chuckled, obviously quite proud of himself. "As for the guys with the guns, that was just hired muscle. We haven't nicked 'em yet, but Williams'll tell us what he knows soon enough." Gene paused. "So I guess we do have at least one arrest that isn't escaped or dead."
"Williams?"
"Loytta's assistant," Gene answered.
"Ah. Well…" Sam frowned and his tone darkened. "Loytta should be put away too. What he does to his patients… I doubt it's legal."
Gene snorted. "They're just good fer nuthin' low life criminals. What's it matter?"
"What they did to me was all right to you?"
"Well next time we'll warn the doctors that yer undercover then. …And thereby ruin the fact yer undercover!" Gene exclaimed.
"That's not the point. People shouldn't be treated like that!" Sam exclaimed.
Gene scoffed. "What I don't agree with," he began after a second. "Is that he's got those drugs at all. First he uses 'em illegally on his patients. And then he'll start sellin' 'em to the general populace. Don't need a buncha nutters like you runnin' around, tryin' to shoot their friends and loosin' their minds."
Sam frowned and looked away. When he'd woken up that morning, his doctor had told him about the hallucinogenic compounds they'd found in his system. They told him that the worst thing he'd come away with from his whole undercover ordeal would be a scar from the wound on his stomach and probably another from the one on his arm. Any symptoms he'd had from the drugs should be gone now, they'd said, and they couldn't find any permanent damage from them. The voices of his 2006 doctors confirmed this soon after his 1973 doctor took his leave of Sam. What Sam believed more than the doctors of either time was the fact that he had not seen nor heard from his Damage since he'd woken up. That raging voice and all internal turmoil that it had brought with it were gone.
"We'll deal with Loytta after we finish with Williams, all right, Dorothy? We'll have this thing wrapped up by the end of the day."
Sam chuckled, but let Gene have his moment. The man would have a ton of paperwork to do before this was truly done. A decent amount of which Gene would likely task Sam with completing, now that he thought about it…
"Litton!" Gene's shout would've been heard on the moon. Startled, Sam and Annie winced at the booming sound, but it had the desired effect of catching the attention of DCI Litton who was halfway across the parking lot and was making his way towards his car from a different exit. "What'd ya' get a sliver in the junkyard? Need a doctor to kiss it an' make it better?"
Litton sneered and Gene looked back to Sam and Annie. "You two head for the car. I'll be there in a minute."
Sam watched Gene go. "Play nice, guv," he called as Gene stalked off. Sam and Annie watched him go for a moment, then turned to face each other.
"So," Sam began with a smile. "I hear you got into some trouble for believing I wasn't a murderer."
Annie blushed and gave a little shrug. "You may be many things, Sam, but a murderer isn't one of them."
"Thank you," Sam replied whole-heartedly. "I'm sorry I put you through that."
"It's all right. It was for a good reason," she told him.
"Maybe. But I'm still sorry," Sam said. He looked away as an uneasy feeling washed over him. "After a while in there… though I guess it really wasn't that long… but it seemed like a very long time… After a while, I actually started to wonder whether I was guilty or not myself."
Annie grasped his arm encouragingly and for a moment their eyes met. Sam thought he could gaze into those caring eyes for a good while longer, but, embarrassed, Annie looked away first.
"Come on," she urged, slipping her arm in his with a smile and guiding him again towards the car. "We should get going."
Sam sighed, a content sound. He still couldn't say whether this place, this medieval world with its politically incorrect policemen, its Stone Age forensics, and its horrid fashion sense was real, but as he walked through the parking lot with Annie on his arm, the sound of Gene's shout-out with Litton echoing in his ears and the enjoying the knowledge that there was in fact honor among thieves, Sam found himself deciding it wouldn't be a completely horrible world to reside in.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
-The End-
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A/N: Cheers, guys! You made it to the end! ;p Sorry, I know that was a long chapter, but I didn't like the idea of splitting it. Let me know what you thought. Decent? Horrible? Reviews and critiques are always welcome. But flames will be quickly extinguished. ^_^