| "All around
me are familiar faces�" It was a nasty little room with its faded yellow paint and peeling windowsill, stained lino-tiled floor and polystyrene tiled ceiling, too bright strip-light and heavy smell of disinfectant. How anyone could possibly recover in a room like this, Sam had no idea, but then perhaps patients got better quicker simply to get out as soon as possible. The metal frame hospital bed pushed up against the wall in the centre of the room was high and narrow and looked incredibly uncomfortable. Still, from where he stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself and hunched into his leather jacket, Sam Tyler thought Gene Hunt looked strangely comfortable. He was lying on his side, knees slightly bent, hands on the sheet in front of his face, mouth open and snoring softly. His wife must have brought some clothes in for him and it occurred to Sam that this was the first time he'd ever seen Gene wearing anything other than a shirt and trousers. (Except for the Speedos at the baths, but that didn't count.) "He's supposed to be going home in the next couple of days," Chris had said, "once the doc clears him." Sam had questioned that; Hunt wasn't the type of man to wait around for a doctor's word that he was well enough to go home. And Ray had provided the answer to one mystery at least. "Last year an armed robber shot him in the backside while he were trying to make his escape. The Guv discharged himself from hospital before the nurse had had time to dress the wound properly. Next day he came in and there was this huge stain on his trousers. We thought he'd shat himself or sommat. Turned out it was the wound bleedin' through the stitches." Sam could imagine the pain, coupled with the likely tempered but still unpleasant jibes. His heart was already out to Gene. A week he'd been in here, and this was the first time Sam had visited. Guilt had stopped him, but it was guilt that had brought him here. Silently, slowly, he approached the bed. The elasticated cuffs of the blue sweater Gene was wearing over dark denim jeans were pulled up to underline the palms of his hands. Never, in all the months he'd known this man, had Sam seen him looking so vulnerable. In sleep, without the anger in his face, long lashes and the fall of his uncombed hair made him look younger, not as weathered. Sam dropped one hand to the bed and ran his thumb along one sleeve, over the tight cuff to the clammy skin of Gene's left hand. There he hesitated and before he could lift it away, the fingers of that hand curled around it. Sam held his breath, expecting blue eyes to open and fix him with a glare that would break this strange illusion of weakness. But Gene slept on. Perhaps he imagined it was his wife back again, sitting by his bedside and holding his hand. Or maybe this was just a reflex action. Still, Sam let his other fingers rest against the back of Gene's hand, just standing there, watching his Guv sleep, his mind finally clear of the chaos of the last few days and the maddening confusion of the last couple of months. Insanity, he'd believed, had crept in. Slowly, and really without him realising it. So many had said it; 'you're insane', 'you're ill, Sam', 'you truly are a loony, Tyler'� so many times that he'd started to believe it. And with the creeping insanity had come the madness of trying to find a way to end it. "Sam?" His face broke into a smile completely of its own accord. Blue eyes were looking up at him, Gene's face tilted slightly upwards to study him. "Hi, Guv. How are you feeling?" Simple. Obvious. Utterly without strings. "Like I've been run over by a car." Simple. Obvious. Sam flicked his eyes to where his thumb was still encased in Gene's palm, not released even though he obviously knew now it wasn't his wife. Sam didn't try to lift his hand away. "Why did you do it?" "I have absolutely no idea. A moment of madness, mebbe? Perhaps it's catching." He caught a soft sigh. "Sit down, Sam." Reaching back, he pulled the high-backed green-seated chair up to the bed and perched on the edge of it, thumb still caught and held. And when he turned back, he saw Gene shift slightly, easing the pressure on his hip at a guess. Annie had said that the bruising to his back was too painful still for him to lie that way. "Why did you do it?" He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Gene pursed his lips in that oh-so-familiar gesture of feigned consideration. "I think you owe me at least an attempt at an explanation." Sam bit back his first response and shrugged slightly. "I just wanted to go home." "How does getting yourself run over take you back to Hyde? Better hospitals there are there?" "You don't understand." "I know. I never have." Gene closed his eyes and for a few long minutes he seemed to doze. Sam let his gaze roam over his Guv's profile, committing every detail to memory. In the eerily silent moments after the impact, Sam had crawled to his side, checked his pulse and could remember each of the black scratches on this face, caused by being scraped across the road's rough surface. There had been blood and grit in the now clean, untidy blond hair. If the driver hadn't already been swerving to avoid hitting Sam, it would have killed Gene. Not instantly, not even close, but the ambulance had taken half an hour to arrive and there was no on-the-scene medical care. Internal bleeding would probably have drowned him before he'd even reached the hospital. Without really thinking, Sam lifted his free hand and smoothed down a few wayward hairs just behind Gene's ear. "Promise me something, Sam." He snatched his hand away, folded his arm between his chest and the edge of the mattress. He didn't need to ask what. He already knew. "I promise." Tears he resolutely refused to cry burned behind his eyes. "Ray told me� about the bullet wound last year," he said randomly, something to lighten the mood. "Ray did?" "Yeah. He keeps looking at me with something akin to awe." A smile touched Gene's lips, eyes opening. "That's what 'appens when the Sheriff risks his own skin for his deputy. I'm not known for my generous nature, so it raises eyebrows." "It did a lot more than raise eyebrows," Sam told him gently, not mentioning some of the comments he'd heard around the station, most of them questioning Hunt's leanings when it came to the bedroom. Of course, no one was going to dare say anything to his face. "And you were bloody lucky to get away with severe bruising, a concussion and a couple of fractures. Come on, Gene� why did you do it?" He sighed, more meaningfully this time. "Because� I couldn't see you splattered all over that guy's windscreen. You're a good copper, Sam. We've built a good team between us and I don't want to lose that, not yet." He hesitated. "Don't want to lose you, no matter how balmy I think you are." "Thanks." Gene smiled but it was met with suspicion. "Are you sure? Most interrupted suicides don't tend to appreciate it." "I wasn't trying to commit suicide." "You stepped out in front of a speeding car, Sam." "I know, but� like I said, you don't understand." "Then make me." He shook his head. "I don't know how to." "Then how can you promise you won't do it again?" "Because this city would go to the dogs without you policing it." He tried a smile and Gene reluctantly mirrored it. "Because� you did what you did. I honestly didn't think anyone gave a damn whether I was here or not. Now� I know you do, even if you never say it." "Sam�." Long-suffering, exhausted after everything he'd been through, Gene squeezed Sam's thumb, and Sam squeezed his hand in return. "Listen� is there anything you need?" "An alternative to grapes. Ray, Chris and Cartwright bring me a huge bunch every time they visit." Sam didn't know if it was a dig or not at him staying away. It hadn't been mentioned. "I hate grapes." "I didn't bring grapes." "Good." Reaching into his pocket, Sam pulled out a small hipflask and Gene's eyes lit up. "Is that what I think it is?" He held it to his shoulder. "As long as you're not on morphine or anything stronger." "You're joking? Once they realised I wasn't serious they downgraded me to Paracetamol." Chuckling, Sam unscrewed the top and handed it over. Gene let go of his thumb, pushed himself up on to one elbow and drank the contents of the silver flask in three gulps. "See," he muttered roughly, pressing the hip flask back into Sam's hand, "this is why I couldn't let you throw yourself under that car." A smile slipped onto Sam's face, fading as he watched Gene gingerly lie back down, shifting his position again, obviously in pain and trying to get comfortable. "There is something else you can do for me." "Anything. Within� reason." Despite his closed eyes, Gene chuckled softly. "You don't owe me anything, Sam, just in case you're thinkin'�." "I'm not. Your choice. You interrupted me." He saw Gene's hand spread on the mattress before he made a loose fist, and gently he slid his fingers into the curled palm. Gene squeezed them; a silent thank you, Sam imagined, for equally silent support. "I thought you said you weren't trying to commit suicide." "I wasn't. What else can I do for you?" Gene's hand tightened. "You've done it, Sam. Somehow, you always do it. Stay for a while?" Sam nodded. "Course." "Thanks." |