No additional warnings for this scene.
The call came in and Gene cursed. Another one. What the Hell was he going to get this time? He dreaded these Hyde transfers because they were never good news, and no amount of drinking at the Railway Arms was going to make it better.
"You're not going to make this easy, are you?"
"Oh no. He's just so lonely…lonely, and selfish." The girl on the other end of the line sighed dreamily and Gene wanted to strangle that damn clown doll.
"I know what you're thinking!"
"I bloody well know you do, you little…"
"Ah ah ah! He's coming in tomorrow. Sam. Sam Tyler."
"Yeah, I'm lookin' at the soddin' transfer. See Morgan already got his claws into him." Gene drank his whiskey and growled.
"What do you think? You'd get an angel?"
"Shut it." Gene hung up the phone.
Naturally, it was worse than usual, because this time around his new DI really did believe he was in a coma. He was hearing voices and experiencing trauma based on his physical experiences in the hospital, and Gene was ready to tear his own hair out trying to reach the boy. It was nearly impossible, though, to make him take anything seriously as long as he believed he was in coma somewhere else. Until the Vic Tyler incident, an inspired bit of improvisation on Gene's part because it tied in so well with Sam's childhood memories. After the whole traumatic event went down and Vic disappeared as scheduled, Gene wondered if he pushed everything too far, because Sam really looked ripped up. As he got into the Cortina to head to the pub, though, he saw Sam smile before walking forward to join him, and Gene mentally checked off one for his team. Morgan could go to Hell, but Gene was going to win this one. He just knew it.
Sam asked how he was doing. It was painfully awkward because no one ever talked to him like that. Everyone on his team lived in awe of him and his sanctified status, and the transfers were usually just terrified of him. Not Sam, who treated everyone equally, and genuinely cared about people, even the people he did not like. Gene saw how crushed Sam was after Ray nearly got blown apart, and those two were oil and water. So when Sam sat down next to him after a particularly bloody and brutal case that was, thankfully and unsurprisingly, solved quickly, Gene did not know what to say to the simple question, "How are you?" He stared at Sam and Sam just looked back with his eyebrows raised in sincere expectation.
So he told him, just a little, nothing too revealing or emotional – he was not sure if he even remembered how to communicate at that level, anymore – but he tried to break the barrier that existed, and Sam held open the door for it. It began a regular routine that Gene moved to Sam's flat, not wanting too many people to see how dependent he was becoming on Sam. Sometimes they talked for hours and sometimes they barely spoke, but it was companionable, and it was friendship, and Gene finally remembered how much he missed that connection with someone. He began to feel to his bones how lonely he had been for so long, and for the first time in eons he really feared Morgan, and what he was going to do to Sam.
Gene gave Morgan credit: he really knew how to pick up and torture a person's deepest desires. Screwed with them good, every time, and Sam was no different. Whatever carrot Morgan was waving at him was working, and Gene felt helpless to counter it. He wanted to scream and knock Sam into next week but that would not change anything, because it was still Sam's choice to make, in the end. Gene just had a sneaking suspicion that this time, Morgan somehow got the upper hand, and that the cards were stacked against Sam in all the worst ways. Gene pulled the only card he had, friendship, and Annie went all out with her endearing ability to inspire true love but Sam was broken, and they all knew it. It would come down to his final choice, and right now Gene could not even see what that choice was going to be.
Sometimes he thought this was Hell, but he knew better.
Sam jumped, and felt free. Gene and the girl stood behind him, watching, waiting for the change, when Sam's body hit the ground, destroyed, and Sam would be released. The girl smiled, always pleased with a job seen through to the end – she really hated comas, they were such indecisive states – but Gene's heart broke as he saw Sam fall out of sight. He had not cared this much for a mortal soul in centuries.
"It was a bloody set up!" Gene raged, pointing at Morgan.
"Rules is rules, Eugene. Suicide is a sin, even if the motive is pure." Michael tapped the paperwork.
"Break his word and leave us to die, or commit suicide to save us? How in the name of Hell…"
"Don't you dare!" Morgan pointed back.
"HELL! How in the name of HELL was Sam NOT to sin with that kind of choice?"
"Morgaine did pull a fast one. Clever." Death smiled lovingly at Morgan, her blond hair drifting about her head.
"Yes, clever, I know, Dear." Michael patted her affectionately on the head and tickled her doll, then turned back. "As right as Azrael is, everything is in order. Sam goes Hell."
"I won't 'ave it! I'll take this upstairs!"
"You moron, I cleared it with God before I even tried it." Morgan snickered.
"Purgatory is not supposed to be about lose-lose options! You did not give Sam a fair choice, you fucking demon!" Gene marched over and poked at Morgan's chest.
"Get your airy fairy fingers off me!" Morgan yelled back.
"Gentlemen! Please! Angels are supposed to have better manners…even fallen ones." Michael nodded at Morgan. "The issue here is Sam. He's damned, pure and simple, and I'm afraid God did sign off on the orders." He held up the scroll. "So there it is."
"No."
The Arch-Angel sighed and looked pityingly at St. Eugene. "I'm sorry."
"I get 'im." Gene crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.
"Do not! He's going straight to Hell, I've got the transfer papers!" Morgan waved a small scroll under Gene's nose.
"Mike, you know I can pull him."
Michael nodded thoughtfully and went flipping through a pile of parchment to the side.
"No! I fought for this one! He's going to Hell!" Morgan yelled again, but more frantically this time, sensing the Arch-Angel's consideration for St. Eugene. Michael eventually pulled out a very old document and studied it, squinting his eyes.
"My Aramaic really needs work…but yes, here's what you are thinking of, Eugene. 'In the event that Purgatory is short staffed of angels trained in moral quandary theory, the lead Representative of Heaven may request a damned soul to fill the vacancy until a more appropriate replacement can be located.' Well, that's pretty clear…but you're going to have to convince me you're short staffed. The DI position…"
"Personnel cuts hit us hard after Vatican II. I'm damned sure short staffed and well you know it, Mike. I get Sam."
"It's just a temporary assignment. He'll go to Hell eventually." Michael frowned at him.
"And you said I'd go to Heaven. I died in 657 A.D., Mike, and I'm still waitin'. So I'm not bloody worried about it for a while."
"Oh this is NOT fair!" Morgan howled. "You Heaven-sent bastards always side together!"
"Sorry, Morgaine. Sam gets Purgatory duty. But Eugene, no haring off to try and get his soul saved, you hear me?" Michael pointed at Eugene and glared, his halo flashing with a bright orange spark.
"Wouldn' think of it, Mikey." St. Eugene smiled wolfishly at the Arch-Angel and then at Morgan before turning around. "Com'on, Sam, you're with me."
Sam got up from the chair, looking exhausted and terrified. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, Sammy boy, you get to work for a living this time 'round. Welcome back to Purgatory, 1973."