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A cacophony of sound. The sharp crack of the gunshot, the dull tearing of flesh, his own echoing scream, Chris' cry, Annie's one-word denial, manic laughter from the man who'd finally fulfilled his lifelong dream to kill. All overridden by a high-pitched screeching that was growing louder and louder, disabling him. Through a growing haze, Sam watched Gene hit the floor, a dead weight, blood already staining the carpet from the bullet wound in his chest."No...." He reached out with one hand while his other clapped over his left ear of its own accord. "No.... Gene...!" Haze turned dark, black, the wail in his head closing in, dragging him under while he desperately tried to reach Gene lying unnervingly still on the floor. Finally, when the pain was more than he could bear he squeezed his eyes closed, bent double, tears of grief and frustration and anger and pain running steadily over his cheeks... ... the noise subsided, the pain ebbed away slowly, and when Sam opened his eyes, he was looking up into the smiling face of a doctor and the shining face of his Mum; atrophy was preventing his arm from rising but his fingers were out-stretched towards where Gene Hunt had fallen. ~ His search through the records was made all the more hurried by his fluctuating temperature, the ache in every muscle in his body, and the pain from his still-healing injuries. They would find him soon, take him back to the hospital. And that was the very last place he wanted to be. In the past, in his own mind, the future - his present once again - had taken on an almost iconic glow; gleaming, shiny progress recalled through rose-tinted glasses. But reality wasn't like that. Computers were slow, their screens too bright, digital connections arduous to make. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk's plastic surface, sitting in the dark in the basement of the station. Odd to see it the place again with its fake walls and carpet tiles, cables and water dispensers. Gone was the stink of over-powering aftershave and stale nicotine. The place was bereft of the larger-than-life characters he'd grown to respect, to like, and even to love. Phyllis and Annie, Ray and Chris. Gene. Finally the records started to scroll. Harold P... Henry J ... Higson C ... Hodgson J ... Hollander H ... Hunt G Sam's heart thudded once before his pulse started to race. He suddenly felt as if his temperature had shot up into treble figures as he moved the mouse, highlighted the name, and hit the Return key. Another agonising wait while the record was retrieved over the network; an activity only marginally faster than searching paper files and finding the information he wanted by hand. Then the screen was providing him with all the information he was looking for. Too much to take in at once. Hunt, G:Gene Hunt, PC - Jun54:Jan56 Gene Hunt, DC - Jan56:May59 DI - May62:Mar67 DCI - Mar67:Aug73 Sam stared at the name, the dates, the detail; the truth. He didn't know what it meant, couldn't comprehend that he'd honestly, actually been there - back in 1973 - with those people. Yet the feelings he still had for Gene felt too real, too strong, too all-encompassing to be based solely on a man he'd only imagined. How could he have been there? But then, how could he have known? There was no photograph, so he couldn't be absolutely sure if was his Gene Hunt, but how many coincidences could exist in one situation?June 1973. For a moment his nightmares were confirmed. He'd watched Gene die; the man's death - his destruction - had been the key to Sam's salvation. And it was a thought he couldn't bear, an idea that brought tears to his eyes, a guilty, breath-taking squeeze to his heart. It wasn't fair. But the progress bar in the right-hand corner of the screen filled up blue, and a second paragraph was displayed.North Yorkshire DSI - Jan74:Oct83 CSI - Oct83:May02RET A wide smile broke on Sam's face, eyes filling this time with tears of grief, trauma, and a soul-deep relief. Gene Hunt - at least this Gene Hunt - had lived. He'd been promoted, moved north and finally retired. In his head Sam did a quick calculation. He'd be going on seventy now, but if he was alive Sam could see him - just one more time - and say all those things he thought he should have said and never did. A cracked, broken laugh escaped his tight throat; facing Gene Hunt it wasn't easy to deal with what he called 'the fluffy stuff'. Some words weren't easy to say. At least he still had a chance to try. Somewhere close by a door slammed open against a flimsy wall. Sam exited the screen, switched off the computer at the base without shutting it down, and made a quick exit. Whether he was being driven by the thrill of the chase or paranoia brought on by mental trauma, he was determined he wasn't going to get caught. ~ He was in no condition to drive, so he caught a train to Northallerton and a taxi to North Yorkshire police HQ. Odd, that charm was something he'd learnt from a man he'd once believed had none. His smile alone won over the WPC on the front desk and he had her full attention before he'd even flashed his credentials "I'm looking for Gene Hunt - he was Chief Superintendent here...." "I know who he is, pet, I went to his retirement party. That was some party, believe you me." "I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find him." He was fully expecting her to shake her head, to say she either couldn't give Sam the address because she didn't know it. Or to tell him that Hunt had moved to He wasn't expecting a beaming smile and a fierce nod. "You're in luck, love. He's in the Black Sheep in town, having a drink with his successor, Chief Superintendent Cartwright." She leaned across the desk. "Or as he calls her, 'Lovely Bumps'."~ It wasn't Annie. Coincidence or a relation maybe? Sam was only slightly surprised to discover he wasn't all that disappointed.Because sitting beside her was Gene. His Gene. He'd aged. Of course he'd aged - more than thirty years! Lost weight too, from what Sam could make out with him sitting side on to him, wearing a crisp light blue shirt and dark trousers. Still smoking like a chimney and drinking like a man parched. His hair hadn't thinned out much more and the memory of how the blond strands had felt between Sam's fingers hit him hard.He watched from the bar, Gene talking, flirting gently if Sam still knew him at all; her laughing. For him it was only a matter of weeks since he'd last seen Gene - watched his Guv - his lover - take a bullet to the chest right in front of him before he'd been savagely ripped from a time he'd started to belong to.But for Gene, it had been over thirty years. Should he do this now? Should he reappear after so long? Was that fair? Gene had undoubtedly moved on, maybe fixed his marriage, maybe quit out of it and found someone else.He wondered too about Chris and Ray and Annie. Where were they now? What were they doing? Did they ever think about him? Did Gene? The pang of loss Sam had felt from the moment he'd woken up in the hospital overwhelmed him with its full force, taking his breath away and bringing more tears to his eyes. Lowering his face into his hands, he wiped his eyes silently, harshly, with the heel of his hand; annoyed with himself."Two single malts, please." His head snapped up. Across from him, around the corner pillar of the wide, long bar, Gene was staring at him with a wide-eyed expression of stark shock.They both stood, frozen in place, for a single tick-tock of the clock above the bar. Then Sam moved and Gene met him halfway around the thick wooden pillar, engulfing him in a bear hug. Sam wrapped his arms around the still-sturdy frame, laughing through his tears - absolute joy at simply feeling Gene's face against his neck one more time.Gene was crying too, quietly weeping, holding him so tight he could feel the breath being squeezed from his chest. He couldn't care less. This was where he belonged - where he'd always belonged but where he couldn't have stayed. And now they were thirty years out of sync and there was no way back. A sob hitched in his throat and Gene just held him tighter.For a long, long time they stood there, unaware of the hush around them, aware only of each other and the terrible passing of time. When Gene did step back, sliding his hands down Sam's arms, not completely letting go, Sam looked at his thinner, wrinkled face - by no means gaunt - sharp, bright eyes filled with tears, the wary, nicotine-stained smile. And he felt his heart break."If I could..." his voice failed him for a moment. "If I could go back...." "Don't be an idiot, Sam," and the words made them both laugh through their tears. Soft, wrinkled fingers briefly, tentatively, touched his face. "I've had many years to think about it, years to make sense of it, and I came to a conclusion a long time ago that I should just be happy to have had the time I had with you, and bugger the explanation.""I was in a coma...." He said it like it was some sort of answer when he knew all it really did was raise more questions. "I know.""I'm sorry." It was overwhelming, the emotion; so many regrets, so much he felt he'd lost and knew he'd never have the chance to get back. "Hey," Gene folded him back into his arms, resting one cheek against his head. Sam closed his eyes, breathed in the achingly familiar aroma of smoke and malt whiskey, crying steadily, desperately wanting to find the strength he used to draw from Gene's sheer presence. "Come on, Sam...."It was hearing his name spoken in the gentle northern tones; along with a hundred memories and a thousand regrets, it reminded him of what he'd always felt around this man - that things would be okay, even if they would never be the same. "Come on, come and sit down."Gene's arm went around his shoulders, leading him to the battered leather armchair by the window, calling back to the barman, "Better make it a double, Neil." Sam let himself be led. He was introduced to Chief Superintendent Cartwright but couldn't bring himself to ask about the name right then and she left a couple of seconds later after murmuring something to Gene and kissing his cheek.A minute or two later there was a large single malt in his hands and Gene Hunt was sitting in the chair next to him, an old man. Thirty years in which they should have grown old together, should have fought like football hooligans and fucked like cowboys. "You never belonged in my time, Sam," Gene spoke quietly to his own glass, "never really belonged to me."Sam glanced up at him, and not yet ready to acknowledge that he asked, "What happened?" A sigh, as if Gene had told this story a thousand times before. Or maybe he never had and was remembering something he'd made himself forget."Twenty-sixth of August, 1973, Collins' Mill on Trafford Industrial Estate. George Collins shot me in the chest and at the start they thought he'd shot you too. They said you collapsed. We were both carted off to hospital, me bleedin' to death and you out cold. "I woke up a week later to the joyous sight of Ray's ugly mug, bloody agony where the butchers had fished a bullet out of me, and the news that you'd vanished from your hospital bed a couple of hours after we'd been admitted and no one knew where you were.I looked
for yer, soon as I could walk. Listed
you as missing, tore the city apart
searching it. I was sure
you'd turn up
floating in the canal with yer throat slashed but you
never did. So in the end I
left "Then
thirty odd years later I hear a story on the
news
about an officer in "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you. I was scared of what I'd find, scared if you woke and you didn't know me�. Most of all I'm sorry I didn't... understand, when you needed me to, when you were trying to tell me." Sam shook his head. "How could you have ever believed me? I wasn't sure I believed myself. I thought I was mad, thought you were all in my head. Until I started to realise how much you were meaning to me, how much I was beginning to... to love you. When I woke up...." Sam wiped the straddler tears from his eyes. "You're wrong, you know. I did belong with you. I wanted to stay with you.""I'm an old man, Sam. I loved you - never stopped. But you.... At the risk of sounding clich�d, you've got your whole life ahead of you." "Then why do I feel like it's behind me, and I missed it?"Silence fell between them; comfortable and soothing like it had always been. Gene finished his whiskey, ordered another, and lit a cigarette. Turning to Sam, seemingly drinking him in, he murmured, "I missed you." Reaching between them, Sam discreetly stroked the back his finger along the side of Gene's hand where it rested on the arm of the chair. "I'd have missed you too."Gene looked at him for a time, and Sam swore it was with as much regret as he was feeling, and as much longing as he'd experienced over the last few weeks. He might have said something, but Gene turned his head, dropped it to the back of the chair and took a long drag on the cigarette. "So tell me all about yourself, DCI Tyler. And this time around, don't skip the important stuff." |