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'Do you know why you're here, Mr Tyler?'
'No.'
'There is something I need from your DCI.'
'Whatever it is, I'm sure it can be arranged in a more amicable manner than... this. The Guv doesn't take too kindly to his officers being kidnapped.'
'If you think there's any way Hunt could be 'amicable', you don't know your superior at all.'
'Believe me, I do. He'll hunt you down and treat you to a round of interrogation á la Gene Hunt, which is something you do not want to experience.'
'Oh, Mr Tyler... you are quite amusing. I know all about that. And I know that you like talking your way out of things. You see... me and your boss, we have a bit of a history.'
'Care to enlighten me?'
'No. And, in fact, that's enough of your talking.'
'What – n – mmph!'
'Time to send your DCI a message.'
**
Gene stepped into the warehouse, not bothering to attempt to close the rusty doors behind him. On first glance, the vast space before him looked empty, but he knew these people; they would be there. Each step he took carried him away from the light pouring into the hall, until it stayed behind completely and Gene walked through gloom. It was still bright enough to make out large stacks of wooden crates and other material, but not bright enough to notice the figures until it was too late.
'Stop,' a voice said sharply, and Gene obliged, keeping his arms loosely by his side. A few yards away, a man stepped out from behind a tower of boxes. Rodgers, no doubt.
'You said you wanted to talk,' Gene said, keeping his voice intentionally level. He couldn't show them how affected he was, how worry was gnawing at his insides.
'And you came running like the obedient dog you are,' Rodgers retorted. Gene could just about make out the smirk on his face. He raised his chin, but otherwise kept his expression stony. He was too angry to put on his usual neutral mask, but the glare with which he regarded the man opposite him suited him just fine.
'You kidnapped my DI.'
Rodgers nodded, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 'Like you did with my right hand man.'
'I arrested him for the crimes he committed,' Gene growled, letting his mask slip for a moment. 'And he deserved what he got.'
Rodgers shrugged, appearing indifferent to Gene's little outburst. 'We've always had our disagreements, haven't we. Why don't we get a second opinion?'
Gene heard a scraping sound and turned his head towards it. A group of men approached them, and two of them were dragging something along between them.
No.
Someone.
Gene's eyes widened at the sight, anger boiling up in his chest, fear making his limbs go cold, his hands curling into faintly trembling fists.
It was Sam. They were pulling him along without care - his hands were tied behind his back, so the way the men were holding onto his upper arms in order to drag him no doubt put excruciating pressure on his arms and back. They dumped him at Rodgers' feet. Gene couldn't help but notice that Sam wasn't moving, not even when Rodgers poked his side with the tip of his boot.
'Didn't last very long, your man,' he said, disinterest in his voice. 'Tried to talk his way out of it, then didn't say a peep when we worked him over.' Rodgers looked up at Gene. 'He had no idea what we wanted him for. Not a clue.'
That hit home. Gene ground his teeth with frustration and guilt - his snouts had heard whispers of Rodgers' return, but he hadn't thought it necessary to pull Sam into this... But now there he was, slumped over on the ground. Gene couldn't see his face, but his body told him many things; Sam's shirt was ripped beyond saving, the skin underneath mottled with dark bruises. What remained of his shirt was stained with what Gene had to assume was blood, although it was hard to tell in the twilight surrounding them.
'Anyway. Let's see what he's got to say.' He knelt down, grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair and pulled up his head. Gene inhaled sharply – get your bastard hands off him – before the sight of Sam's face nearly stole his breath away with shock. They had stuck duct tape across his mouth – from the get-go, judging from the dried blood on it. Sam's nose was still bleeding, and his eyes were closed, one of them swollen shut.
'Oi.' Rodgers shook Sam's head a little, and Gene could have shot him right then and there. Sam didn't make a peep, though it was impossible to tell whether that was out of defiance, or simply because he was unconscious. Rodgers waited for another few seconds before letting go of Sam. His forehead hit the ground with a low thunk , making Gene flinch.
There was a crack in his voice when he finally trusted himself to speak, his hand trembling with barely subdued rage as he pointed at Sam with two fingers, glare boring into Rodgers. 'This is nothing to do with him.' Though he knew, he knew exactly why Rodgers had gone after his DI out of all people. An eye for an eye.
Gene could see that Rodgers was thinking the same thing, merely raising an eyebrow and shaking his head slightly. 'It's everything to do with him, as you very well know.' As he spoke, the man reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out something – a gun, Gene realized with a sudden jolt, as Rodgers extended his hand and pointed it, not at Gene, but Sam . He made to move forward, but froze as he heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet clicking into place, ready to be shot.
'What do you want.' It took all of Gene's willpower to stay calm. Everything inside him screamed to run over to Sam, to ignore the scum around them. The only thing keeping him rooted to the spot was the gun Rodgers still held trained on his DI.
'You,' the man replied, without hesitation. 'Hand yourself over to us.'
Gene almost laughed. He was here, Rodgers had Sam at gunpoint – he was theirs already. There was no choice.
'What about me DI? He needs an ambulance,' Gene spat. Rodgers cocked his head to the side, appearing to think about it.
'We can dump him outside, I suppose. I'm sure your colleagues will find him soon enough.'
'You—!' Unthinking, his self-control slipping, Gene took a step forward. Rodgers reacted immediately. A shot rang out, Gene stumbled back in shock, and Sam groaned. Blood began seeping into the ground from his leg.
'Don't you move.' Rodgers' voice was like ice now, keeping Gene frozen to the spot. Shit, shit . He had come to save Sam, and now –! 'This is the deal. You surrender, we leave your man out there to be found. If he's luckier than he has been in the last few hours, he'll be fine.'
Gene's mind was racing. This was all his fault, how could he have come here before backup was ready, he had put Sam's life in jeopardy. If he agreed to Rodgers' deal, all he could do was hope that Ray hadn't messed up and that his team would arrive any moment. He hated it, the thought of leaving Sam's life to chance like this, but what choice did he have? He couldn't risk losing Sam. Least of all like this .
'… I'm not going anywhere until I know that Tyler's safe.' One last attempt, he couldn't just give up – if he handed himself over, there would be no telling what Rodgers would do to Sam. He might decide that it would be best to put him out of his misery. Gene couldn't let that happen.
Rodgers laughed humourlessly. 'You're in no position to make demands, Hunt.' He shifted his stance, until Gene realized with mounting horror that the bastard was pressing his foot against Sam's bullet wound, not quite putting pressure on it yet. Sam had come to life a little (ironic, that, seeing as he was bleeding out there on the ground), writhing minutely. Gene's eyes were inevitably drawn to him – God, he looked so fragile, so damaged.
Rodgers' put more weight on his foot, and another muffled groan was forced from Sam, the sound slicing right through Gene.
'Your answer, Hunt. Now .'
As Gene stared, Sam moved his head, until Gene could see him trying to glance up past his fringe, blinking against the dried blood caking his face. Suddenly, Gene was scared that Sam might see him. Recognize him.
It's all my fault, and I can't make it better. I'm so sorry.
'… fine.'
There was a moment of silence. Nobody moved, apart from Sam who was squirming slightly, no doubt attempting to get away from the increasing pressure on his leg. Then, Rodgers gave a nod. 'Get him.'
Men advanced on Gene, more of them coming out from behind piles of crates and boxes. He forced himself to stand still – one wrong move, and who knew what else Rodgers was going to do to Sam. Hands grabbed him, tugging at his coat, and Gene fully expected them to yank back his arms, tie them together, prepare him for whatever revenge they wanted to lay on him.
He didn't expect the fist that buried itself in his gut, or the hit to his head. Gene stumbled, then gave a pained shout as something hard struck his back and sent him sprawling on the ground. Shit, Rodgers seemed to be in a hurry – Gene had hoped that he might be able to play for time still, because backup must be arriving any minute now, and once they were here he would give Rodgers a good bloody hiding –
He had heaved himself up onto his elbows, instincts not allowing him to just lie there and take it, but a boot to his midriff drove all air out of his lungs. Gene collapsed to the ground again, eyes squeezed shut against the flares of pain, and that was when the beating truly started. None of the men actually stooped down to punch him, as far as he could tell, it was all boots and metal crowbars, raining down on him, hitting over and over. Gene barely managed to curl up, bringing up his hands to at least shield his head, crying out a second later when metal hit home, crushing his fingers. A moment later, he felt another crack inside him, and suddenly breathing meant pumping burning lava down his lungs.
Gene's vision was beginning to grey out, there simply was no end to the assault, this couldn't be it, this couldn't be how he would exit this world, he had to do something, and Sam, Sam , he had to –
'DON'T MOVE! YOU'RE SURROUNDED BY ARMED BASTARDS!'
The blows slowed down, then stopped entirely when a shot rang out. A moment of silence, then chaos erupted. Rodgers' men were returning fire.
It took Gene a few precious seconds to stop his mind reeling, to process what was happening. Moving was agony, but he still uncurled slightly, lifted his throbbing head to assess the situation. Backup had finally arrived – he could make out Ray, bellowing orders as he ducked behind a rusty forklift. All of A-division seemed to be there, having rushed into the building like the rash idiots they were. Putting their superior officers in grave danger.
Sam.
Gene heaved himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain. The side of his head was wet, the fingers of his left hand broken, several ribs at least cracked, but none of that mattered – where the hell was Sam?
It took Gene a few seconds, but finally he spotted him, lying exactly where Rodgers had left him. The gang had scattered by now, firing back at the police with everything they had. The air was already growing heavy with gunpowder smoke, scratching at Gene's nose and obscuring his vision.
His chest was on fire, his limbs aching, head ringing with the explosions of gunshots all around him - but Gene ignored it all and dragged himself forward on his elbows, inch by inch, towards the prone form of Sam. Blood was pooling around him from the gunshot wound in his leg, but even now he wasn't moving. Gene couldn't think about the reason for that. He concentrated on getting over there without being hit in the crossfire.
Somehow, he made it. Barely able to breathe through the pain in his chest, Gene heaved himself up far enough to be able to grab onto Sam's shoulder and turn him around. He needed to get that sodding tape off his mouth. A bullet whizzed by far too close, but Gene didn't even flinch, placing his damaged hand on Sam's bloodied and bruised cheek (biting his lower lip hard at the pain flaring out from his broken fingers) and quickly pulling the tape off with the other. If Sam groaned, it was lost in the cacophony around them. Gene thought he felt his DI's head move a little, a twitch of his eyebrows, but then Sam started coughing, his frame shaking. To help him breathe more freely, Gene began to roll him onto his side, ducking as the gunfight between the gang and the police continued. That was when he got his first eyeful of the full extent of Sam's injuries.
There seemed to be even more bruises on Sam's chest and abdomen than on his back – long stripes of them, making Gene think of the same crowbars that had been used on him mere minutes before. The welts spoke of leather, the cuts of knives. They couldn't have been holding Sam for more than a few hours – Gene had seen him only this morning, hadn't he, told him to stop being a girl and go out to do some real police work – so their attacks must have been absolutely relentless. There didn't seem to be a patch of skin on Sam that wasn't bruised and bloodied.
Gene was about to shift, try and wrap something around Sam's bleeding leg – he needed to do something about those ropes as well, they'd already scraped his partner's wrists open – when he realized that Sam was still coughing, struggling to breathe. And that was when Gene noticed the blood steadily dribbling from his partner's lips. Oh hell, oh bloody hell, no – Sam must have been swallowing all that back while he was still gagged, or maybe it was Gene's fault, maybe by moving Sam he had upset something in his chest, and –
No, no, stay focused. If there was one thing he had been taught during National Service, it was to stay focused on the task at hand. And that was to protect Sam from any more harm.
There seemed to be no end to the bullets being fired. When one of them pinged off the concrete only a few feet away from Sam's head, Gene didn't think before he scooped his partner into his arms, cradling him close and shielding him with his own body. Only when he pressed his face to Sam's bloodstained hair did Gene realize that he was saying Sam's name over and over again.
'You're alright, you'll be fine, cavalry's here, hang in there Sam, Sam, Sammy, please, hold on a bit longer, we'll get you out of here, Sam, please, hold on, Sam, please --'
He felt Sam shake with another fit of coughs, no doubt staining Gene's shirt with even more blood. He didn't care. All that mattered was that Sam knew he was going to be saved, that he wasn't alone in this hell anymore. Holding him close, Gene was about to start to rummage for his pocket knife, when -
'STOP!'
Gene didn't look up as the shout rang out, but when after a few seconds silence fell around them, a twinge in his gut broke through the need to look at nothing but Sam, made him concentrate on his surroundings again. He raised his head, only to be confronted with the sight of a gun, aimed at his head. It was in Rodgers' shaking hand, though the man wasn't even looking at Gene – he was staring over to where Ray and his men where standing, their own weapons trained at him. The bastard's eyes were wild, desperate; he was the only one left standing, all his men had either been rounded up or shot down. His entire plan had gone to shit, and now he was trying to salvage at least the last bits, to get his revenge after all.
And bloody hell, it was working. Nobody moved, although the officers still kept their weapons pointed at Rodgers, who was shouting again. 'BACK UP, NOW! Or I'll shoot them both!'
Gene's eyes flitted over to Ray, who returned his gaze. Whatever he saw there, it wasn't what Gene had been trying to communicate. His heart sank as his DS slowly lowered his gun, the others reluctantly following his example. This couldn't be happening. His hope couldn't be crushed like this. Even if the officers followed Rodgers' demands, at the end of the line, Gene and Sam would be killed, that much was certain.
Gene pressed Sam closer, felt his chest heave with erratic, laboured breaths.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he registered movement from behind Rodgers. Gene squashed down the urge to turn his head – something told him that he didn't want to draw Rodgers' attention to it either – and so he couldn't see what it was exactly, until a figure crept closer... closer...
Annie. Jesus Christ on a bloody stick, Annie .
'Listen mate, you wanna think about what you're doing.' This time, Gene did turn his head. It was Ray who had spoken, raising his hands as if to say 'Not gonna shoot, just saying.' Rodgers scoffed, the gun shaking. 'I know exactly what I'm doing. Back UP.' Gene didn't dare to even swallow, his whole body aching from staying awkwardly upright, shuddering with the exertion.
'Alright, alright. Just, look –'
Bloody hell, Carling, no, don't tell him to 'look', he'll turn around, he'll see Annie –
Annie, who was so much closer to Rodgers now, holding her baton tightly.
' – you're the last one standing, you're on your own. It's over, mate. Look.'
Rodgers, shook his head, sneering. 'Your mind games won't work on me, copper, I know –'
The sentence ended in an undignified grunt as Annie's baton came down on Rodgers' skull with a crack . The man went down like a sack of spuds.
Everything else happened in a blur. Annie was by Gene's side as action erupted around them once more, the officers rounding up the rest of the criminals and dragging them out of the warehouse one by one. Gene was vaguely aware of hands on his shoulders, trying to pry him away from his DI, so he held on all the more.
'Guv, please, there's an ambulance waiting, we need to get you both some help... Guv...!'
Her voice reached him as though from far away, receding further and further until it was drowned out by shrill static. Gene's vision was wobbling, and he lowered his gaze, tried to see Sam, needed to see if he was still breathing, but the body in his arms seemed to be moving, swimming away, he couldn't focus on it at all. More hands, stronger, separating Gene from Sam. And he had to let it happen, because the agony was overwhelming now. Gene was no longer in control of his own body.
He felt something soft underneath his back.
He saw Annie's pale face, Ray's stony expression.
He couldn't see Sam. Sam was gone. All that was left was that image in Gene's mind, of Sam's bloodied face, tense with pain, life draining out of him.
Sam, please.
Please, survive.
Please.
**
'What do you mean, he can't have visitors?'
'Exactly that. Mr Tyler is in extremely critical condition – we can't allow any contact until he truly is out of the woods.'
Gene exhaled forcefully, and regretted it immediately as his chest gave a twinge in protest. He was already tired of the hospital bed he was trapped in – too small, too hard, too far away from Sam. They were keeping Gene for a night for monitoring, and maybe he did need it, what with the broken ribs, but bloody hell, all he wanted was to check on his DI. His partner. He hadn't been able to protect him, keep him out of his own personal mess, and now he couldn't even check whether he was going to survive the whole ordeal.
'What are his chances then? I want the truth.'
The doctor remained silent for a while, busying himself with checking Gene's patient sheet and scribbling something on it.
'Oi.'
'I heard you, Mr Hunt.' The man sighed and looked up. 'The truth is, I don't know. Mr Tyler was in a bad state, and he still is. Severe physical trauma doesn't even begin to cover it.' He paused, and Gene realized that his own undamaged hand had curled into a fist. 'Are you sure you want to hear it?'
'Yes.'
The doctor remained silent for a moment. Then, quietly, he began to list all of Sam's injuries. The healing process he would have to go through. The consequences.
At the end of it, Gene felt something hot and wet slide down his cheeks. The doctor didn't comment on it, simply told him to rest. As soon as there was news on Sam's status, he would be the first to know.
Gene didn't sleep that night. Whenever he tried to, he woke up to the image of Sam's body – not the way he had last seen it, but pale, naked, on a slab.
**
By the time Sam was allowed visitors, Gene had already checked himself out of hospital. Technically, the doctor had told him not to go back to work for a while, on account of the broken ribs and fingers, but bloody hell, Gene needed something to concentrate on while he couldn't check on his partner. The mood at the station had been properly gloomy, but when the call came in, the team brightened visibly. Annie especially was burning to see Sam, but she left the first visit to Gene. Not for the first time, he suspected that she knew more about his and Sam's relationship than anyone had any right to know, but if she thought it improper, she didn't show it.
The glimmer of hope Gene had felt at the message was very quickly put out when he stepped into Sam's room. Where he had been covered in blood and bruises last time Gene had seen him, Sam now was wrapped in so many bandages and gauzes that there was barely a patch of skin showing. A machine was helping him breathe, another supplied him with painkillers and nutrition. The faint yet insistent beeping of the heart monitor soon grated at Gene's nerves, sat in the rickety hospital chair as he was, not daring to touch Sam's hand for fear of his partner shattering like glass.
God, how fragile he looked. Even more so now, all cleaned up and pale. White as a ghost. There was no movement beneath Sam's eyelids. If it weren't for the machines proving him otherwise, Gene would be convinced that there was no life left in his DI. Gene's good hand clenched in his lap, the damaged fingers on the other hand twinging painfully. He was on his own regimen of painkillers, but he had got off lightly compared to Sam. It bloody well should have been the other way around.
Apparently, there was no telling when Sam would wake up. And if he woke up, there was no telling what state his mind would be in. Gene couldn't help but remember that by the time he had arrived at the warehouse, Sam had already been unable to recognize him, to respond.
The scenes of that day replayed in Gene's head endlessly. He wasn't the kind of man to dwell on events, but he lost significant amounts of sleep, jerking awake from a nightmare, watching Sam be shot over and over, watching him bleed out, staring into his broken eyes. But miraculously, Gene resisted the lure of whisky to help him forget. The reason was simple – he needed his wits about him for the moment Sam decided to finally wake up. He needed to be coherent, able to apologize, to try and make it up to his partner in any way possible.
And so Gene returned whenever he possibly could, to sit by Sam's side for as long as the nurses would tolerate him. After a week or so, they began extending Gene's visits little by little. Sam still hadn't woken up. He once heard a doctor murmur something about possible brain damage. Gene liked to think that Sam was immune to something like that – he had always been a little bit special in the head department, so surely he would be able to recover from a few knocks.
Except, of course, Gene knew it had been more than a few knocks round the head that had put Sam in this hospital bed. And he remained unconscious, even when the morphine was reduced, then replaced entirely by a comparatively lighter painkiller.
That night, Gene didn't go home. He'd begun to rely on the nurses to come by to let him know when it was time he left, but when he woke up from his little doze, he realised that it had become morning.
Sam still refused to wake up.
**
Putting Rodgers away for life didn't bring Gene as much satisfaction as it should have. He couldn't rejoice, knowing that Sam hadn't woken up once since the entire ordeal four weeks ago. That wasn't normal. Even the nurses were glancing at each other worriedly, when they thought Gene wasn't looking. It set him on edge. He thought he could see changes in Sam – that he was becoming more haggard, his cheek bones that much more visible than they had been previously. He found himself wondering whether all that muscle mass on his partner, so lithe and flexible and strong, had started to wither away as well.
At first, Gene had been talking to Sam as much as he could, telling him about the station or simply reading what amounted to the entire newspaper to him. He had brought a tape recorder into the hospital and put it next to his head, letting that Bowie tape Sam loved so much play for hours on end. He knew the lyrics by heart by now.
It's a godawful small affair...
No, it bloody well wasn't. Sam lying in hospital, all but dead to the world, wasn't a small affair. With each day that passed, it threatened to break down Gene's world. Threatened to turn the time he had spent with Sam as his partner into nothing more than a sunken dream.
Gene hated Bowie.
After Rodgers' trial, he once again returned to his place by Sam's bed. He talked about the trial, but soon fell silent, listening to the respirator breathe for Sam. It was getting dark outside, and after a little while Gene found his eyelids drooping. Knowing that it would be another hour before a nurse would drop by, he allowed himself to relax a little, his eyes closing. His good hand was once again resting on the mattress next to him, Gene's fingers barely brushing the back of Sam's hand.
He snoozed for a little while, but when the images became too vibrant, too frightening, he jerked awake again.
And immediately realized that something was different. Senses sharpening, Gene sat up properly – and that was when he felt it. Slight resistance as he attempted to pull his good hand towards himself. He looked down, almost afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him.
But no. There it was. Sam's bandaged fingers, curled around Gene's own.
Gene's gaze shot up to Sam's face, but to his disappointment his partner was still asleep. However, that pang disappeared quickly. Gene leaned in properly, placing his other hand, his fingers still splinted, on top of Sam's. And he allowed himself to hope again.
**
He didn't know what he had expected, but when Sam opened his eyes for the first time, Gene's vision suddenly blurred with a relentless onslaught of emotions. Words failed him as he gripped his partner's hand that little bit tighter, careful not to upset any of the more persistent injuries.
Sam looked at him for several seconds, his gaze unfocused, and it was obvious that he was having to work through a haze before he could fully comprehend the situation. His eyes slid down to where their hands were joined, then back up. Gene had to squash the urge to reach up and rub at his own eyes, stinging with tears of relief that were threatening to spill over. He only hoped that Sam's vision was too hazy to see the tell-tale shimmer.
Gene cleared his throat, but his voice sounded far too rough as he spoke. 'Took your sweet bloody time, Gladys.'
Sam blinked slowly, and for a moment Gene feared that he would simply fall back asleep. As if he hadn't slept enough already, Jesus Christ. However, after a few seconds, Sam spoke up, his voice even rougher than Gene's, after so many weeks of disuse.
'… so... did you.'
Ice cold regret and dread pooled in Gene's stomach, the beginnings of a smile wilting to nothing. He lowered his head, opening his mouth and closing it again. Finally, Gene squeezed his eyes shut, a few stray tears escaping him.
'I know.'
He made to pull his hand back – it was clear now, Sam wouldn't want to forgive him. And rightfully so – what Gene had gotten him into was unforgivable. He just hoped that, after his recovery, Sam would still be willing to work under him, wouldn't resign or transfer, and maybe they would be able to get on, somehow, on friendly terms –
Gene's train of thoughts was interrupted abruptly by the tug to his hand. Sam wasn't allowing him to let go, holding on with surprising strength. Gene looked up again, eyes wide, to see Sam looking at him tiredly, but nonetheless intently.
'You told me to hold on,' Sam said, so quietly that Gene almost missed it over the sounds of the machines. Gene was absolutely still for a few seconds, his mind struggling to work through everything that these five words conveyed. When it did, Gene sat down heavily in his chair, and the tears finally spilled over properly.
**
Sam fell asleep soon after, but it was different now. His breaths came more naturally, his eyelids twitching from time to time as though he was dreaming. Gene hoped it wasn't nightmares he was going through. But even if so, Gene would be there to make them disappear. He would be there to see Sam wake up again, to help him out of this wretched bed, to lead him back into a normal life.
He wouldn't fail Sam ever again.