Part Two
Gene moved around the Cortina at faster than normal speed to open the passenger side door. The drive to his house had been harrowing. He had felt sick to his stomach as he listened to Sam's labored breathing, glancing sideways every once in a while to see Sam shivering and clenching up against the pain. Until that awful drive, Gene did not realize how much he could miss hearing Sam's smart-alecky mouth run.
He jerked open the door, impatient to get to the injured man. "How are you holdin' up, Sam?" he asked softly as he reached into the car to help his DI sit up.
"Not so good, Guv," Sam replied with endearing honesty. He hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.
"You gonna puke again?" Gene asked, leaning back a bit.
Sam shook his head. "Don't think so," he muttered.
"A'right. Then let's get movin'." Gene slid an arm around Sam and helped the younger man to his feet.
"You sure this is alright?" Sam asked, his voice breathless and shaky. "You sure it's not-?"
"The missus won't mind," Gene cut him off. He kicked the door closed behind them, and practically carried Sam across the garage to the door. "She's probably bored, anyway. Havin' you around to look after might liven things up for her."
Gene hauled Sam inside the door and hollered, "Alice! I'm home!"
"It's awfully late, Gene Hunt!" his wife called back. He could hear her footsteps grow nearer. "Why didn't you call?"
"There was a bit of an emergency, luv." Gene dragged Sam across the dark living room to the couch, where he gently eased him down. "I hope you don't mind, but we've got company staying tonight." He neglected to add that Sam would probably be there for a few nights to come, as well.
His wife stood in the doorway between living room and kitchen, studying him carefully, her arms crossed over her chest. "One of your men?"
"Yeh. DI Tyler," Gene explained. "Be a dear and flip on the light. He's not in very good shape."
The light flickered on, and Gene bent over Sam, worry clenching at his insides.
Sam's eyes were half closed, his mouth half opened to drag in air in what seemed to be a painful and difficult process. The red welt on his cheek stood out starkly against the paleness of his skin. One hand fluttered convulsively over his stomach.
Gene winced. "Alice, go get me some wet rags. He's been beat up, this one."
"Sorry—s-sorry to be an inconvenience," Sam said, lifting his head and smiling weakly at Alice.
The gesture was so polite, so Sam... Gene felt his throat tighten.
"No. No problem at all," Alice replied. She turned and hurried into the kitchen.
"You best relax, Sammy-boy," Gene cautioned his DI. "Don't you trouble yerself."
Sam let his head drop to the sofa, eyes sliding closed.
Gene began to gently undo the buttons of Sam's pinstripe shirt. Strangely, it bothered him how rumpled the shirt was, the shirt that was normally perfectly pressed. He supposed, with a touch of bitterness, that multiple blows from meaty fists and hard boots would do that to a shirt. The sight of the bruises spread across Sam's skin made Gene's blood run hot. He wanted to kill Gore and Babbin for this.
"Heh. Wouldn't that be funny, Sam?" he muttered. "If I killed Gore and Babbin, we'd both be in trouble for murder."
"Hmm." A slight smile curved Sam's lips, followed by a frown. "Don't do it, Guv," he whispered. "Don't get in trouble."
Before Gene could reply, Alice returned carrying a bowl of water and wash cloths, along with a small leather bag. She gasped softly at the sight of the dark bruises blooming all over Sam's torso. "What happened to him?"
"Got himself accused of murder, Sam did," Gene answered simply. He took one of the cloths from her and dipped it in the bowl of cool water. Very gently, he placed the rag across a particularly nasty-looking bruise on Sam's ribs.
The DI flinched and groaned.
"Easy, Sam. We're just tryin' to help yeh," Gene assured him.
Sam bit his lip and nodded his understanding. "Just... hurts," he murmured.
The tightness in his throat was back, and Gene had to swallow it down. "We'll fix that. Don't you worry." Together, he and Alice pressed the cool cloths atop Sam's deep bruises.
Gene noticed that Sam jerked any time his hands brushed against one of the skinny DI's ribs. He wondered, worriedly, if any of the ribs were broken. But what could he do about that? Even doctors couldn't do much for broken ribs. They just taped them up and sent you home with a warning not to move around much... Gene knew that from experience.
"I think his temperature is down some," Alice said softly, feeling Sam's forehead after the poor lad had finally fallen asleep. "That's good."
Gene sat back on his heels, watching Sam's face smooth in sleep, watching the pain-drawn lines fade somewhat. Good. Definitely good. He nodded. "Yeah." He turned and met his wife's questioning eyes. "Technically, he's under house arrest. But not—not really."
Alice crossed her arms. "What's going on, Gene?"
"I'll tell you later, luv." He turned back to Sam, watched with deep guilt as the DI's chest rose and fell unevenly, listened with the same guilt as the breath entered and exited Sam's lungs raggedly.
"He'll be alright." Alice's hand rested lightly on Gene's shoulder. "We'll make sure of that." She stood, and with a quiet wisdom, turned off the living room light and returned to sit silently beside her husband.
Sam murmured something in his sleep and reached out. Gene caught his trembling hand and squeezed it. "It's okay, Sam. The Gene Genie's lookin' after yeh."
"Don't—don't leave me," Sam pleaded, still unconscious, but perhaps sensing his Guv's presence.
"I won't," Gene told him softly, honestly.
And so they stayed by Sam's side all night. Alice fell asleep first, slumping against Gene's shoulder. Gene finally drifted off to sleep past midnight, one arm around his wife, the other hand still holding onto Sam.
The first thing Sam noticed when he awoke was the pain. Wicked, cramp-like pain blasted through his body, originating in his stomach and ribs and spreading outward. He groaned, instinctively drawing up his knees...
...which led him to notice something else. He wasn't lying on his creaky camp bed. No springs were poking him in his aching back.
Where am I? ...And when am I?
"You still with us, Tyler? Tougher than I thought."
Gene Hunt's voice brought everything back to Sam, and he groaned again at the memory. He had been accused of murder. He had been beaten nearly to death by Gore and Babbin. And he had just slept on Gene's couch. Not really sure what to say, Sam slowly opened his eyes, his vision greeted by the sight of Gene staring down at him, accompanied by a lady with dark hair and concerned eyes. Gene's wife, Alice.
"Good morning," Sam croaked. His ribs screamed in protest at the effort of speaking.
"Mornin', Gladys. Sleep well?" Gene asked. His voice was teasing, casual, but Sam had seen the worry in his eyes last night.
"Guess so." Sam closed his eyes, trying not to wince too obviously as his abused stomach muscles clenched painfully. "'M I still under arrest?" he asked, his voice breathless from the exertion of fighting the pain.
"Afraid so, Sammy," Gene told him quietly. Low, dangerous tones tinged his voice. "But don't you worry. I know yer innocent."
"Good." Sam smiled a bit, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from him. Sure, being beat up was painful, but what had hurt more was seeing the mistrust in Gene's eyes, the doubt. "Do the others—Do they know?"
"Yeh. They know some," Gene said. "And they believe in you, too."
"Hmm. Even Ray?"
"Even Ray." Gene cleared his throat, seeming suddenly uncomfortable.
"Good." Sam's smile widened, which caused his cheekbone to ache a bit. Oh well.
"Think you can eat anything, dear?" asked Alice.
Sam opened his eyes and looked up at the woman who had been brave enough to marry Gene Hunt. He considered her question. "I feel... hungry. I suppose I could try. I don't—I don't want to impose. I'll pay you for-"
"Oh, shut up, Tyler," Gene snapped, rolling his eyes. "Yer not payin' for anythin'. Yer under house arrest. CID will compensate us."
"Oh. Right." Sam felt a little less guilty then. He smiled at Alice, whom he had yet to see smile herself. "Then, yes. I'd like something to eat if you don't mind." He grimaced. "Don't know if I can keep it down."
"You poor boy." Alice shook her head. "I'll make you some porridge." She turned and headed out of the room, leaving Gene and Sam alone.
"I'll have to go to work here in a bit," Gene said quietly, sitting on the sofa by Sam's knees. He clasped his hands together, leaning forward and not looking at Sam. "You'll be safe here, I hope. I'll send someone by to check on you later. Might come myself." He glanced toward the kitchen. "Alice ain't one of my men, but she'll do as a temporary copper. I'll list her as your warden."
"Can you do that?" Sam asked, looking askance at his DCI.
"We'll find out today," Gene replied. He reached back to awkwardly pat Sam's knee. "You relax and don't try anythin' with me wife."
"Course not, Guv." Sam grinned.
Gene stood and walked toward the door, camel hair coat swinging around him. "Alice, don't you let him die on us," he called to his wife.
"Gene Hunt, get over yourself!" she shot back. "You're not the only one who can do a good job around here! That poor boy is going to get better—and fast—if I have anything to do with it."
Gene rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Right. And behave!" And with that, he was out the door.
Sam closed his eyes, weariness washing over him with the pain. He found himself unable to hold back a moan and that upset him. He didn't need to be lying around moaning. He needed to be out on the streets solving the murder of which he had been accused!
"Poor little luv." A cool rag was draped over his forehead. "I'll wager this was Gene's fault in some way."
Sam opened his eyes and looked up at Alice. "No, not at all," he assured her. His lips curved sideways. "At least, not this time."
Alice sighed and rolled her eyes as she knelt beside the sofa, carefully balancing a steaming bowl of porridge. "He's naught but trouble, my husband." But there was a deep affection in her voice.
"So I've learned." Sam studied Alice carefully, wondering just what sort of woman Gene had married. She seemed intelligent, capable... and a bit intense. "Thank-you," he told her impulsively, warmly. "Thank-you for looking after me."
"It's no trouble at all," Alice replied calmly. She set the bowl down on the coffee table. "Think you can sit up on your own?"
"I can try." Sam took a deep breath—which caused his ribs to sting—and bent his elbows under him. He started to push himself up, but that hurt so very badly that he had to stop and catch his breath again. He realized, embarrassed, that his breathing was laced with involuntary whimpers of pain.
"Oh, God. Don't die on me, DI Tyler." Alice slid a strong arm behind his shoulders and lifted him slowly into a sitting position, quickly sliding a soft pillow behind his back.
Sam relaxed back against the pillow, holding his breath to keep from crying out at the pain ripping through his body. He pressed a trembling hand against his bruised stomach, but that didn't seem to help at all.
Alice sighed and leaned back on her heels, hands on her hips. "You need a doctor," she said quietly.
"No." Sam shook his head. His whole body was shaking, and he could feel a sweat breaking out on his face. "Doctors nowadays can't do anything for this. It's just—just some deep bruising, cracked ribs... What's a doctor going to do?"
"Prescribe some pain medication for one thing," Alice answered. "Wouldn't you like that?"
"No. Nothing strong." Sam shook his head again. "I need to be in full control of myself. I've got to—got to help Gene figure this out."
Alice narrowed her eyes on him. "Gene's complained about how stubborn you are. Until now, I thought he was exaggerating."
Sam grinned, but before he could say anything, Alice held up the bowl of porridge. "Now hush and open your mouth," she ordered, sounding strangely like her husband. "I'm going to get you well whether you like it or not."