Chapter Five - Friday on My Mind

The rest of the week had continued as quiet and slow as Monday morning. There were a couple of robberies, a noise complaint that Sam was sure Phyllis only sent them on to get them out from under her feet, and a stabbing that took no time to sort out, given that the culprit was found at the murder scene, blade in hand, saying 'It was an accident,' rather feebly. As it happened, he'd only managed to hit the guy in the arm, which might have been the accidental part. He was banged up before he could say anything else, leaving a paper trail that took ten times as long to deal with.

On Wednesday, a call had come through from the Super to say they had a missing persons case that required Hunt's personal attention. His twin nieces hadn't been seen since the day before, and he was assuming the worst, having it in his head that they'd been scooped up by a sex trafficker. There were two groups suspected of that kind of thing in the city, though there had never been any hard evidence against them. Ray and Chris were sent to stake out a known residence of one group's ringleaders, while the Guv and Sam took the other. They had sat outside, in Gene's car instead of one of the unmarked ones as protocol would suggest (a detail Sam had been unable to refrain from pointing out, and which Gene roundly ignored as expected), from Wednesday to Friday, passing the detail to a second set of officers at night. The suspect went out to the shops a few times, on one notable occasion stopping in at the pub for several hours where he consumed Guinness, one pint of, Scotch, four measures of and packet of pork scratchings, one. This was by way of being the highlight of the stakeout, and both men were bored stiff by Friday afternoon, despite the potential gravity of the situation.

'This is a waste of time,' said Gene, yet again. He was restless, hated being cooped up like this all hours. Ray and Chris had had nothing more to report than they did, less if anything. The plods were carrying out their own missing persons investigation, with public appeals and the usual leg work. There were no leads, and things were looking grim. Sam tried to remind the Guv of this.

'There's two girls missing, here. Show some respect,' he scolded. Gene fixed him with a look.

'Exactly, there's two girls missing, and we're just sitting here on our arses!' He had a point. Sam had been skeptical about this detail from the start, and as time passed his suspicions seemed to be confirmed. The Guv lit another cigarette, either oblivious to or ignoring Sam's wrinkled nose, and took a long draw before firing out a stream of blue smoke.

'Go out and get us something to eat. I'll hold the fort.' The heavy sarcasm in his tone didn't go unnoted, but Sam wasn't as needled by the request as he might normally be; it would be alright to stretch his legs, get a bite to eat. 'Alright,' he said, amicably enough. 'Usual?' Gene nodded, staring over at the house and smoking his fag.

Sam stepped out of the car and walked off towards the nearest greasy spoon. A roll and anything fried for the Guv, and whatever they had that wasn't dripping in saturated fat for himself, maybe a couple of cans of coke. What a week. What a dull week. Times like this were hard, there was so little to keep his mind active. The radio seemed to speak to him much more often. The Test Card Girl hadn't been so bad lately, though, for which he could only be grateful.

He and the Guv hadn't come to blows again since Monday, which was something else to be grateful for. In fact they'd been back to normal after the whole debacle, spending the hours in the car between comfortable silence and inconsequential chat. Sam hadn't joined him in the pub through the week, preferring to keep his beer intake at a sane level, but this hadn't been taken amiss. He was also sure the Guv had kept his word with regard to Annie - nobody was singing playground rhymes at him, anyway. There had been no further questions about it, either, or any repeat of that odd line of enquiry the Guv had touched on at the end of their conversation.

'This someone else...'

'What?'

...

'Was it a bloke?'

Sam was used to, if not happy about, his status as the 'queer' of the office. It was mostly not bad natured, except when it came to Ray, and he had to admit that he was different to the other men. Nobody really seemed to believe he was gay, though, or he was sure he'd have had more fights on his hands. The Guv's question had come out of the blue, and he'd seemed genuinely curious instead of utterly disapproving. He was unpredictable, was Gene.

Sam had always been comfortable in his own sexuality, and been impatient with that dated 'backs to the wall!' attitude that some other men had. He wasn't gay, though, regardless of how open minded he was. The thought of being with another man in that way - skin to skin, a flat chest instead of curves - did nothing for him. The thought of the smell of aftershave instead of perfume, coarse hair instead of soft skin, strong hands in his hair... None of it ticked any boxes. In fact, he was exploring the thought now more than he had in years. A certain hint of smoke appeared in his imaginings, a glimpse of sandy blond hair, the taste of whiskey... He cut himself off there, feeling like he'd just been blindsided by his own subconscious. And not for the first time, either, he thought humourlessly. How else could you explain the characters he'd chosen to surround him with here in the coma dream? A load of Neanderthals and a bird he couldn't get off with. When he woke up he'd definitely need to see a good psychiatrist.

As he came back from the cafe with two chip butties (saturated fat was high on the priorities of that particular chef) and a couple of cans in his pockets, he returned to those musings. He looked at them carefully, as you might prod a sore tooth with your tongue. He really didn't fancy the Guv, did he? Is this is what bi-curious meant? He hated that word, it always seemed like a word people used to make themselves seem interesting. Maybe he'd been harsh. And maybe, since none of this was real anyway, it was alright to have some unusual ideas. Like when you had a sex dream about someone really inappropriate, someone you'd never fancy in a million years. Yeah, this was exactly like that. He couldn't be blamed for what his subconscious threw at him. Rationalising done, he stored the train of thought away, as though packing glassware into a box.

He was back at the car, and slid into the passenger seat.

'Anything?' he asked, passing Gene his lunch and fishing the cans out of his jacket.

'Less action than a eunuch in a brothel,' said the Guv gloomily. He took a Coke from Sam, sneered at it. 'What is this, a children's party? Are you going to do balloon animals?' He dropped the offending article in the back seat, looking out a hipflask instead. He took a sip and offered it to Sam, who declined with what he felt was admirable restraint; there was no point giving Gene a lecture on drinking during working hours, and behind the wheel of a car to boot. He just didn't care.

They ate in silence, both staring over at the flat. Occasionally the suspect passed by one of the windows, at least proving that he was there. Sam washed the last of his lunch down with a swallow of Coke and sat holding the can, missing the drinks holders in his own car, not to mention the CD player, heated seats and, perhaps most of all, air freshener. The Guv chased his lunch with another sip of whiskey. He hated these stakeouts, would much rather be storming in the front door and looking for evidence, but this one had to be by the book. If Gene ever met the ponce who wrote the bloody book he'd kick him into next week. This was not proper policing. He looked over at Sam in the passenger seat. It was blokes like him that wrote the books, blokes who had no understanding of the real nature of the job. Still, Tyler was proving to be a good copper despite all that, and the Guv took the credit for showing him that not everything could be solved in the collator's office. You couldn't accuse him of being all mouth and no trousers, either; he still had some bruises from Monday's fight. When he had to, Tyler could produce the goods.

He looked back out the windscreen again, sighing with the frustration of it all and leaning forward over the steering wheel, arms folded. What a waste of bloody time, he thought, keeping it to himself. He was sick of saying it anyway, knew it was a pointless complaint. They were here until they got a break, or another lead came in. Might as well try to make the most of it.

'Right, I'm going for a kip,' he said. Sam looked over at him, eyebrows almost meeting his hairline. 'Well, we both know nothing's doing. Wake me up if something happens.' So saying, he leaned back into his seat again, arms folded across his chest this time, and shut his eyes.

Sam looked back out of the window, as if he might see some sympathetic onlooker who could share a commiserating nod, then back at the man in the driver's seat. Unbelievable, he was actually going to sleep on the job and leave Sam here on his own to keep watch. Of all the nerve... He shook his head and brought his focus back in on the block of flats. At least one of them could be professional about this. He couldn't help but continue to spare glances over at Gene, who was soon breathing deeply. When he started snoring Sam turned his eyes to the roof of the car, appalled that this is what his career had come to. He was a DCI back home, in charge, the one making the plans. Here, he was sat in a brown Ford Cortina with a man who thought nothing of taking an afternoon nap on the job, keeping surveillance on the world's dullest criminal. Unbelievable.

Still, he couldn't help but laugh. The situation was so ridiculous. He looked over again at Gene, now letting out a gentle whistling snore through pursed lips, and snorted. He was a different breed, Gene Hunt. A law unto himself. The Guv's face relaxed as he slept, the lines softened, and Sam looked for a little longer than he knew was safe. If Gene woke up to find Sam watching him sleep he'd never hear the end of it, and probably never get to set foot (or arse) in the Cortina again. Still, he lingered a moment longer, watching the steady rise and fall of the Guv's arms over his chest, the peaceful expression. He looked so... well... vulnerable. He remembered himself and looked back over to the flat, with a quick glance up and down the street to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Still nothing. With a quiet sigh he leaned back in the seat himself, resigned to another long afternoon without even a read of the paper or a walk round the block to break it up. Great.

A couple of hours later, the radio crackled to life. 'Eight-seven-zero, come in.' Gene's eyes snapped open and he had the radio in hand almost before Sam could take in what was happening.

'Hunt,' he replied tersely. Sam was amazed by the transition from out cold to alert and poised for action.

'Stand down Guv. They've shown up.'

'What?' he snapped, raising his voice.

'Walked in the house half an hour ago, a lovebite and a hangover each. They thought they'd run away to London but it turned out the streets weren't paved with gold.'

The two coppers looked at each other as this information was relayed. Sam shut his eyes, mouth flattened in annoyance. Neither spoke for so long that Phyllis came back on.

'You there Guv? Boss?'

'Phyllis, if anyone is looking for me, I will be in the pub.' Gene returned the radio to the cradle harder than necessary.

'Roger that, Guv,' she replied, sounded singularly unsurprised. Gene turned back to Sam.

'Bloody kids. What a waste...'

'...of time,' Sam finished with him. 'At least they're safe, eh?'

'They wouldn't be if I was their father, I'd tan their hides for them,' Gene replied, clearly furious. He started the engine and Sam barely had time to brace himself before the car was thrown into reverse and sped backwards down the street, performing what felt like a handbrake turn to face them in the direction of the Railway Arms. Gene floored it again, Sam hanging on while trying to pretend not to, and screeched off through lines of washing, scattering unwary pedestrians and bellowing offensive language all the way.

Usually Sam would be appalled at the suggestion of knocking off at 4pm on a Friday but, after the week they'd had, he didn't have it in him to argue. He would be glad to draw a close to this week, and if he could do so in the pub with a few pints he would be all the happier. No Scotch though, not after last Friday. Well, 'none' might be a bit unrealistic but less, anyway. Gene parked up behind the bar and they both climbed out, gratefully stretching their legs and backs. The Guv leaned on the roof.

'You coming in then?'

'Yeah, I think I will.'

'Not going to quote me chapter and verse about clocking off times?'

'Not this time, Guv.' Sam gave him a half smile. 'Think we deserve a break.'

Gene seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, stepped away and slammed the car door, heading off to the pub without a word or a glance back. Sam followed in the wake of the Guv's billowing coat.

The bar was quiet again at this time. It'd get busier in an hour or so as people clocked off and headed down after their shifts, but for now it was sedate. Nelson gave them his broadest grin as they walked in. That was one of Nelson's great skills, thought Sam, he always made you feel like he was a little surprised and very glad to see you. A barman's talent if ever there was one.

'Mister Hunt. Sam, man brahv.' He nodded at each in turn. 'What's your poison this fine afternoon?'

'Pint of bitter,' said Gene, making his way up to the bar. Sam nodded.

'Same.'

Nelson set about pouring the pints. 'Long week this week?' His accent stretched out the word 'long' in a way that seemed very fitting. Both men nodded, Gene lighting a cigarette as he did.

'That's an understatement, Nelson,' Sam offered, 'like you wouldn't believe.'

Nelson chuckled as he finished the second pint.

'Thirsty work?'

'And no mistake,' said Gene, reaching for one of the glasses. Nelson handed the other to Sam, then stood back a little from the bar, a hint of expectancy about him. Sam looked at him, nonplussed, then over at Gene, who was busy with his pint. Eventually he looked back, then glanced at Nelson, before returning to Sam. He jerked his head towards the bar, and when Sam looked back again Nelson met his gaze. He suddenly got it.

'Oh I do beg your pardon, Guv, allow me...' The sarcasm rolled off his tongue as he fished his wallet out, but he didn't really mean anything by it. After all the Scotch last week, the last thing Sam could stint over was buying the man a drink.

'Good man,' said Gene, letting the tone wash over him and the beer wash down his throat. He continued to lean on the bar, alternately hunching and straightening his shoulders to ease the cramped feeling from them. It was worse for him than for Sam, he thought. This was one situation where being a skinny shortarse was an advantage. You could put Tyler in a single wardrobe and he wouldn't be cramped, though he might come out with a new outfit and complaining that the shoes didn't match the coat. He straightened up again and puffed his fag, glad it was all finally over and looking forward to getting a great quantity of beer in his stomach before he switched over to the Scotch. You had to line the stomach, that was the key thing.

He watched as Tyler paid for their drinks, buying Nelson one while he was about it. Nelson poured himself a measure of rum, voicing his gratitude. 'I don't normally drink when I'm workin', you know that of course,' he said, giving them a conspiratorial wink.

'Nor me, Nelson, very wise,' said Gene, deadpan, clinking glasses with first Nelson, then Sam. Sam tried to maintain a serious look but a smirk broke through as they raised their glasses, then drank. Gene kept his straight face on, but smiled inside. It was good to be in the pub. As company went, these two weren't bad either. If you'd told him a few years ago he'd be standing here with a coloured bloke and a suspected poof, he'd never have believed you. Much less would he have believed that they would, in fact, be his first choice of companions. Times change, he thought. They'd changed for the better, too.

The three of them stood at the bar for a while, drinking and making small talk - football, the power cuts, how Nelson's business was going. Sam was feeling the effects of the beer, but in a comfortable way. He'd been wrong earlier when he thought he'd surrounded himself with Neanderthals; the Guv was old fashioned, but he wasn't as intolerant as he made out. Alright, he was rude to and about everyone, all the time, but a lot of it was bluster. He had to keep up a front, if he wanted to maintain the respect of the rest of the squad. Times were different here, rules were different. He looked at Gene and Nelson laughing over some story and felt a rush of affection. If he had to be here, he might as well be here with these two, enjoying the beer, even if it was imaginary. Better than sitting in the cold flat, putting off the moment that he went to bed to dream those strange, horrifying and above all very real dreams.

He was brought out of his reverie by a nudge from his DCI. 'Come on Dorothy,' said Gene, 'it's your round.' He stumped up happily. He realised that it was now after clocking off time, but the usual suspects hadn't joined them in the bar. Some of CID had come in, sure enough, but taken tables on their own.

'Where's Chris and Ray?' he asked, taking his change.

Gene blew out the smoke from yet another cigarette. 'Ray's sister's friend's getting married. Him and Chris are trying to get some bridesmaid action at the reception.'

Sam mulled it over. 'What, Ray took Chris to a wedding?'

This sank in, and he started laughing at the idea of Ray taking Chris on a date by accident, and wondering why the women didn't seem interested. The Guv and Nelson joined in.

'I suppose he did, yeah,' Gene said, through the laughter. 'Spose they might not get the kind of action they were hoping for, eh?' This brought a fresh round of hilarity. That changed the tone of the night a bit; Sam had assumed that they would be joined by the usual crowd later on, and was pleased that the Guv had actually chosen to spend the evening with him. Not that he should be too smug about it, probably no force on Earth could have kept Gene out of the pub tonight; a lack of drinking partners would never be a good excuse not to stop in for a pint or six. He should also cut that kind of thinking out right now, before he started a replay of last Friday. There was no need to spend two Saturdays in a row wondering if he'd made a move, however subtle, on his boss. His very male boss.

'Right, I've had enough of stretching my legs here,' said the Guv, putting his fag out in the ashtray instead of on the carpet, in deference to Nelson. Sam's heart sank a little. 'Nelson, give us a deck of cards over.' It rose again. They weren't leaving, in fact quite the opposite - the Guv sounded like he was going to get settled in. Nelson produced a dog-eared pack and Gene lifted them and tilted them towards Sam.

'Let's win some money off these soft bastards, eh?' he asked, nodding towards a table of three of the other coppers in the bar. Sam nodded, swallowing his mouthful of beer.

'Sounds good to me, Guv.'

'Good luck, gentlemen,' Nelson called, as he polished off the bar behind them.

The others seemed amenable to the suggestion; Jackson in particular was a betting man and thought himself a bit of a card sharp. They played several games of poker, proving Jackson resoundingly wrong, with breaks in between for bar duty and the necessary visits to the bogs. There was no need to make conversation while you played, of course; generally there was some of what Sam would call 'trash talk' and Gene would call 'taking the piss', but it was a serious business that didn't invite chatter. Sam and Gene had sat on opposite sides of the round table, and Sam was finding himself a bit distracted from the game. The decision earlier that it was fine for him to have certain... feelings... seemed to have been liberating. Not to mention all those pints on an empty stomach, of course.

Gene had the best poker face you could hope not to encounter. His blue eyes gave nothing away. He didn't twitch or fidget with his cigarette, but took evenly spaced, long draws between plays. He didn't shuffle and reorganise his cards like some of the men; like Sam did himself, in fact. He didn't betray a single emotion, with only occasional looks at the other players when their attention was buried in their own hand. This let Sam sneak many a glance over his own cards, taking in the rough skin, slightly over-long hair and purposeful movements as though for the first time. His poker game was suffering for it, but Sam had to admit that he was enjoying this, letting down the guards in his mind and seeing what cropped up. He'd never paid attention to another man in this way before, and the novelty of it was a bit of a thrill in itself. He watched Gene's eyes as they flicked over the cards. Those hard blue eyes; they were so difficult to read, almost impossible most of the time. Sometimes, though, when a joke hit the right spot or the conversation turned to City's former glories, you could see something else in them. A light and a heat behind the cynicism. Those eyes had probably parted a few sets of legs in their time, thought Sam. All exclusively female legs, of course.

Gene shuffled the pack and started a new deal, cigarette half-smoked and safely tucked in the corner of his mouth. The Guv's mouth, so ready with criticism and profanity. Sam had been on the receiving end of both, and of countless derogatory nicknames into the bargain. He'd never really noticed before, though, the soft way the lips pursed together at rest. Sometimes it was damn near a pout, even. Some might describe that as kissable, but Tyler wouldn't be among them. Things hadn't got that far. The deal had come to an end and Sam was slow in lifting his cards. The Guv had noticed.

'Alright Tyler, I know I'm fascinating but d'you think we could start?'

Shit. Rumbled. He tried not to react, reaching forward for his cards as casually as he could manage.

'Don't flatter yourself, Guv.'

This caused a slight stir round the table, a couple of high-pitched 'ooooh!'s from the other men. The Guv himself took a final draw of his cigarette and blew the smoke directly over at Sam. 'If I was flatterin myself, Tyler, I'd have Britt Eckland in mind, not your scrawny arse'. This met with rough laughter and some nudges round the table. Sam only narrowed his eyes and tilted his head with an expression meant to convey his contempt. Inwardly, though, he was embarrassed at being caught out. This was stupid, what was he hoping to gain from ogling the very man he'd been paranoid about chatting up only days before? Bi-curious? Bollocks. If he didn't know for a fact that he'd banged his head he'd be worried.

He picked up his game a bit, winning back some of the coins he'd thrown into the ashtray in the centre over the next few hands. One of the others left with apologies and much mockery over his inability to take the heat. The remaining four played on until Jackson huffily declared himself out for good, then the cards were finally shuffled back into the pack. Jackson and his partner left the pub with lighter pockets and heavier hearts. The Guv leaned back in his chair, finishing the pint glass in front of him.

'You look like the cat who got the cream, Guv,' said Sam, looking over at Gene's self-satisfied expression.

'Not just the cream Tyler, the whole ruddy dairy. Those boys will never learn, you can't beat the Gene Genie at poker.' He leaned back, with the air of a man who has done a good day's work. At some point between games he'd rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie, undoing the top buttons on his shirt. He was a picture of contentment. He gave Sam an unprompted smile, slate eyes shining. 'Let's have a Scotch to celebrate. I will allow you to do the honours'.

Sam matched actions to the Guv's words, and ambled back to the bar where Nelson waited. Two glasses of Scotch richer (he'd known he could never last the night without having at least one), he made his way back and handed one over. They both relaxed into their wooden seats.

'A successful night then, eh?' Sam suggested.

'Too right Sammy-boy. Good winnings, good booze. Good company. The week is definitely looking up.' He smiled with his eyes, looking over the top of his glass. It happened again, their eyes met and locked. Gene's words echoed in Sam's mind - Good company. There it was. The Guv really did want to spend time with him, enjoyed it and looked for it just as Sam looked for it in return. The full force of his connection with his DCI came home to him; here was a man he wanted to pass his time with, spending day after day at close quarters and never tiring of it. Here was a man who he thought about every day, who could make him feel a vast range of conflicting emotions in an unprecedentedly short space of time. Here was a man who, despite his obvious flaws and faults, had been a rock to Sam in this strange new existence, had literally saved his life, and who could without question be relied on to save it again.

In that moment, as he looked into the eyes of the man opposite him, Sam could no longer keep the lid on that box of thoughts from earlier. He had to face up to a troubling realisation.

Oh God. I fancy Gene Hunt.