Chapter Six - What's Really Happening

Tyler had been a right strange one tonight. All week he'd been normal, or at least approaching normal, but since they'd sat down to play a bit of poker the man had been distracted, looking over at him in a way that he obviously thought was subtle. Gene wondered when he'd realise that you couldn't keep anything from a good Chief Inspector.

That said, he did feel like he was missing something, here. The way Sam was looking at him now, his expression carefully blank, it was like last Friday all over again. Alright, he'd just admitted to enjoying the lad's company, which was practically like a proposal of marriage coming from him, but he didn't have to get all Dorothy about it. In fact, he could almost swear that Tyler was blushing. How becoming, he thought scathingly. He realised that he was still maintaining that eye contact and broke it to look for another ciggie.

He'd mulled over the events of last Friday more than he might care to admit during this long, drawn out week. Spending so much time in the car with Tyler obviously had a lot to do with it, but then that conversation at the start of the week had added its own share of mysteries. When he thought about touching Sam's hand once to refill his whiskey glass, and again to stop him dropping it later, a spark seemed to ignite in his chest. A tiny spark, like ash from a fag end, but it was there alright. The memories of those moments and a dozen others - laughing across the table, watching Tyler get his coat on when he was barely sober enough to stand, sharing a final nip out of the bottle - had all got mixed up with the fight they'd had on Monday, and the conversation afterwards where he'd basically asked Sam outright if he was a poof. Sam had denied it, but in such a way as to leave Gene with more questions than he'd started with. He was starting to feel bloody confused, and took a huge hit from his Scotch in the hope that it would, as it so often did, help.

Nelson had put some music on, but the pub seemed a lot quieter than usual. For a moment he wondered if he'd rather have Chris and Ray in here with them, making stupid jokes or telling bald-faced lies about their sex lives, but the thought was easy to dismiss. For all his weirdness, Tyler was good company. Which was just as well, since he'd hardly spoken a word to anyone else all week. Gene puffed at his cigarette, looking into the middle distance silently. What if Tyler did turn out to be a queer? Would that change things? Before now he'd have said yes, that he'd have beaten seven shades of shit out of the man and sent him back to Hyde without a moment's hesitation. He would never have believed that he'd have been capable of sharing his office, his car, his space with a nancy. Now? He wasn't so sure. The idea that Tyler might fancy other men seemed not to cast a shadow over their relationship, as though it wouldn't matter. He hesitated to even think it, but might it even be good? God knows it had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like Sam did, or since he'd met anyone who could almost match blows with him and still be upright on the other side. That was the thing about Tyler, sometimes he was like a skirt with his mood swings, but he could fight like a man. Drink like a man, too, if you forgot about last Friday. As if he could.

He took another drink himself, finishing his glass. Tyler's was still almost full, and he was gazing into it.

'Gone off the Scotch since last time, Gladys?' he asked. Sam looked up, then shrugged.

'Looks that way, doesn't it?'

'Well, don't be too hard on yourself. A skinny bird like you, it's no wonder you can't handle your drink.' Sam gave him a withering look, then, and defiantly swallowed some of the whiskey. Gene sniffed laughter, lips pursed.

'Do they not drink the hard stuff in Hyde?'

Sam seemed to think about this, his expression surprisingly serious for such a casual question.

'Going to the pub's different, back home,' he eventually replied, his tone somber.

'Oh yeah?'

He nodded. 'Yeah. Everybody's drinking wine and G&Ts. Nobody smokes inside.' He looked around them. 'There's a lot more women - a LOT. Oh, and it's bloody expensive.' This last part seemed to cheer him a little, as he gave a bittersweet smile and took another sip of whiskey. Gene took all this in.

'Sounds bloody awful,' was his summary. Sam looked up at him, surprised, and his smile lost some of the sad edge.

'It is a bit, actually,' he agreed, thoughtfully.

'More birds though, I don't mind the sound of that. And I bet they were all flocking to you, eh?'

The smile was definitely much warmer now. 'Well, I don't like to brag, you know how it is...' This was a rare show of bravado from Tyler, the Guv couldn't resist winding him up.

'A new notch on the bedpost every night, was it? Good lad.'

This was met with a laugh and a shake of the head. 'Not exactly.' Still, he looked pleased. They sat quietly while Sam finished his whiskey, seemingly lost in memories. Gene watched him, taking in the slender hands round the glass, the dark, serious eyes, the long v-shape of Sam's open collar. There was a stillness about Sam Tyler, a feeling of fierce self-control. Even now, in the pub and after who knew how many pints, he looked tense. It had been good to see him properly relax last week; you didn't get much more relaxed than asleep on the table. Gene had set out to make sure Sam was OK, that night. His DI's well being had become increasingly important to him, and maybe tonight he could admit to himself that it wasn't a purely professional concern. Damn it, he liked the man. It was personal. They'd saved each other's bacon out there on the streets many times, they were partners. Good partners. It had been a long while since Gene had worked with someone he trusted and, yes, respected this way. A long, long time.

Sam seemed to come out of his reverie. 'Another drink?' he asked, reaching into his pocket before waiting for the answer. Gene only nodded, and Tyler made his way back to the bar, leaving the older man to his thoughts again. He looked back on the week, realising that not only had he been stuck in the Cortina with Sam all week, but in the times in between shifts he'd been thinking of Tyler more than anything else. He'd told himself over and over, without realising that he was doing it, that he was only taking care of business. He had to look after his men, because nobody else would. That was his job, to take care of these coppers and this city, and if that meant paying particular attention to one nutter then that's what he would do.

He'd already accepted that it wasn't purely professional, though. For all his self-reassurance, he'd started to care for this nutter. Not just the usual care and concern that he had for the whole CID family, either. He liked Sam. Liked him a lot. His face wrinkled. He sounded like a right fairy, here. But, if you didn't know your own mind you were in trouble, and he realised that he'd been fooling himself for weeks, maybe months, when it came to Sam Tyler. Maybe even since the day he'd walked into CID and they'd had their first fight. Trading blows with a member of his own team wasn't Gene's usual style but there was something in Tyler that seemed to invite it, encourage it even. And the more they fought, and the harder he had to work to win as the other man got used to his moves, the more he liked it. Him. Both.

Sam was back from the bar, a Scotch in each hand, to interrupt this confusing train of thought. The Guv grunted his thanks.

'Nelson's getting bored up there on his own,' he reported. Gene glanced over at the bar, where Nelson stood looking glum.

'It's a quiet night for him, alright, without our lot in filling his pockets,' he admitted. 'Where's Cartwright tonight, then?'

Sam's face darkened again for an instant.

'I, eh... I think she's on a date,' he said. It looked like he'd hoped this wouldn't come up. Gene had thought Sam would be likely to know what Cartwright was up to, even though they'd been away from the office all week. He'd seen the two of them having a cosy chat in the canteen on Tuesday. Thick as thieves, they'd looked. He thought maybe this date business could just be Annie trying to make Sam jealous. Maybe not though; she was a good looking lass, there was no need for her to wait around until Sam Tyler resolved all his many and varied psychological problems.

'Dirty slag,' he said, as much to punctuate the conversation as anything else. Sam's head snapped up.

'Don't speak about her like that,' he spat, obviously angry.

'Alright, Dorothy, keep your shirt on.'

'Just don't speak about her like that. Ever. Understand?'

Jesus, you just never knew when Tyler was going to go off on one. He was only joking. Everyone knew Cartwright was a good copper, everyone liked her. That didn't stop them talking about her arse when she wasn't there, but that was just life. He had an option now: he could let it go, ignore Tyler's outburst, or he could wind him up and maybe get himself into a fight over it. He'd take it outside, of course. Fighting in the Railway Arms was not tolerated, either by Nelson or by Gene Hunt. He decided to shelve it for now. No need to waste good drinking time.

'Alright Sam. Just a joke.' Sam dropped his eyes, took a sip of his drink. He was obviously upset about the whole thing. Gene attempted to make him feel better.

'Good to have some male bonding time anyway,' he tried, thinking it might raise a smile if nothing else. He was half right; the corners of Sam's mouth twitched.

'Haven't we had enough of that this week?' he asked, raising an eyebrow.

'We haven't had enough of this, though, have we?' Gene countered, raising his glass and taking a drink. 'Besides, I know you could never get sick of my legendary wit and charm.' Sam choked on his own Scotch then, and a flush seemed to rise back to his cheeks. Gene noted it, had even perhaps been expecting it. He pushed on, feeling reckless.

'Don't deny it Sammy-boy, we all know yer fancy me. You're only human after all.' He'd gone a bit far there, but once you started on the wind up it was difficult to stop.

Sam wiped his mouth, seemingly lost for words, but managed to respond with a scathing 'Come off it Guv. My tastes run to more sophisticated people. Women, I mean.' He was flustered alright, and Gene felt a certain glee to accompany that blinking spark in his chest.

'Don't worry Sunshine, I won't tell anyone. It can be our little secret.'

Sam looked over at him then, something not-quite readable in his eyes. He looked uncertain and, once again, much more serious than this light-hearted banter deserved. Gene felt his stomach turn over, once, like butterflies. Like how he'd felt when he asked that beautiful girl out so many years ago. After that he'd never felt the same about another woman, thought it was just part of growing up and the novelty of 'love' fading as the realities of the world crept it. Maybe he'd just never met the right woman again. Even with Mrs Hunt things had been more practical than romantic. They'd got along well, and God knows he'd cared about her more than any other woman; that's why he'd asked her to marry him. He'd been happy on his wedding day, dancing with his new wife in front of everyone. She'd whispered in his ear that he looked handsome, so handsome, and he remembered squeezing her hand, looking into her brown eyes. After that shining moment things went back to day to day life and mundane conversations over dinner, the occasional peck on the lips and ever decreasing fumbles in the sack. Had he loved her? Yes, of course, but what was love except a word on daytime dramas and soap operas? Their relationship had died slowly, like a plant your neighbours forgot to water while you were on holiday, and now he was on his own again. On his own again, but looking into the eyes of a man who'd become so many things to him. Those soft, brown eyes, with what might be a flicker of hope drowning in them.

It can be our little secret.

What if he opened his mouth and told Sam what he was thinking, right now? The thought made his stomach roll again, a feeling that hadn't lost any of its power in its years of staying dormant. He would never do it, of course, but the idea of it, what it might mean, was intoxicating. He lifted his Scotch again, but only held it for now, still looking back at Sam. What the bloody hell was going on here?

He didn't expect the response, when it came.

'I won't tell if you don't.'

Sam was still serious, still holding his gaze. That was too much for Gene, and he finally lifted his glass to his lips and closed his eyes as he drank. His heart was beating fast, his mind whirling.

Oh God. I fancy Sam Tyler.