1. Shadow Box

Gene walked down the stairwell into the club. He knew it was going to be a busy night, just by the way the girls were moving. They picked up on the energy around them and moved harder, faster to the music when the crowd was into it. Joni, particularly, had a great pair of hips that she moved like a snake in heat on a good night, but froze with listless disinterest on bad ones. She was easy to read and always a clear indicator of what was in store for him.

As far as he was concerned, though, his night was over, the difficult work done. He spent the last twenty minutes buggering Warren into his desk. It was not fun nor easy to keep a hard-on up the arse of a man you hate, and Gene truly, madly hated Warren, but practice made perfect in Gene's case. At least Warren was 'in the mood' early and Gene could get on with his preferred job as club manager and forget about the rest of it, the rest of his life, the life he tried not to remember.

He was a DI once, on track for DCI as soon as Harry Woolfe got his own step up. He was a decent cop with the Manchester Police and he would have sold his soul to the devil for Harry. In the end, it was Harry who sold him. It all actually started with one of Warren's enforcers, who squealed on a detective constable and ended up dead in the cells, but by the time Gene traced it all out to Warren and Harry, he was already stitched up. Harry framed him with corruption charges centering on theft and extortion in order to cover his own tracks, protecting his small crime empire at the cost of Gene's career.

Harry did help him avoid prison time, but it required Gene admitting to lesser charges and getting kicked off the force. Gene wanted to kill Harry and threatened to, but the choices in his life boiled down to doing time for crimes he did not commit, doing time for a murder he wanted to commit, or taking the hit and finding another way to support his family.

Harry, still feeling the threat of Gene Hunt over his shoulder, insured that he was unemployable in the whole damn city. Gene was left with the option of working as a ditch digger or leaving Manchester, but at the time his wife, Mary, was pregnant and Gene was forced to stay. He went to Harry and for the first time in his adult life, begged. He thought at the time he could not get any lower than that humiliating moment, but he had a family to consider now, and pride was nothing to keeping a roof over the heads of his wife and child and food in the cupboards. Even if the marriage itself was beginning to crash on the rocks, there was his son to consider.

Harry handed him over to Warren and at first it did not seem like a bad gig. Gene played enforcer and collected rents and beat up a few dead-beats on cue and handled security for the club. Gene accepted perks from the girls and rent boys and did not think much about it as everyone who worked for Warren got the same treatment, and Mary was busy being a mother to their son and did not need Gene sniffing up her skirt. Gene's preferences were never to her taste anyway, and his own appetite for dick was not a fact he was ashamed of but certainly not willing to advertise in his previous job. At the club, though, pretty much everything went because Warren was a flaming queer and no one doubted Gene's ability to do his job just because he enjoyed buggering rent boys in the storage room.

Once, though, Gene rebelled and went renegade on a 'job' that involved roughing up a teenage boy who was supporting his ailing mother and younger siblings. Putting the kid in the hospital was what Warren sent him to do, and it would have been easy but left the entire family on the streets. Gene did not do it, gave the kid a wad of his own bills to cover his debt to Warren, and did not think anything more about it, even when Warren yelled at him. A week later pictures landed in his mailbox, and more importantly in his wife's hands, of Gene getting sucked off by Jason the bartender. He was divorced and disgraced so fast it made his head spin and he had to give up all rights to visit his son, Stuart, who was named after his brother. Mary made no secret to their families of Gene's shame (although Gene managed to get her copies of the photos and destroy them), and anyway she was bitter that he fought Harry instead of just taking the backhanders like everyone else, so within the span of two years Gene lost his career, his friends, his family, his wife, his son, and his life.

He sank into the bottle and to his mortification, Warren pulled him out. For a price. Warren set him up with a flat near the club and even sent him off for 'treatment' for a couple of weeks to dry out, all on Warren's dime, and Gene knew the price to surviving this disaster would be steep, but he had to survive, because he paid alimony and child support. He considered that the last truly moral and good obligation left in his life and he was not going to back down from it. He did not imagine, at the time, that Warren's price would be his own ass. Or, specifically, his dick.

He knew Warren liked the pretty boys and it never occurred to him to think about the bruisers who were his 'personal' guards until he got back from his treatment at the asylum. Warren called him into his office, offering him the position of club manager, with benefits. Those benefits being provided personally by Warren.

Gene told him to fuck himself and Warren laid out more photos, vivid evidence of Gene's queer depravity and then evidence – courtesy of Harry – of his 'crimes,' and it was startlingly clear to Gene that he was either going to be an arse fucker for Warren, or an arse fucker in prison. His only salvation was to get the hell out of town, but Warren held the bank accounts of everyone who worked for him and the car titles too. Short of stealing a car, Gene had no way out of town other than hitch hiking.

He did exactly that, and got as far as Bramhall. Warren called in another favor from Harry and Gene was picked up and arrested on bogus trespassing charges and held until Warren's brief came and got him.

Warren admired him, that was clear. Warren wanted him, and that was clear too. But what was clearest of all was that Warren did not let anyone walk out from under his thumb unless he let them go, and Warren never let anyone go until he after he broke them. Gene was challenging him at every step and to Warren, that was a massive turn on. He told Gene that much. He also told him that he was tired of trying to 'play fair.'

Gene was hauled back and finally cracked, not for his own sake, almost wishing that Warren would just slit his throat at that point. No, he cracked because Warren drove Gene by his old terrace, which belonged to his wife and son now. Nothing was said as the car rolled slowly down the street, Gene in the passenger seat next to the pretty boy driver, who kept throwing him suggestive glances while Warren grinned like a bastard in the back. Gene did not notice either of them, much, because he was watching his ex-wife and her sister playing with his son and cousins in the front garden. Warren held their lives more closely than he even held Gene's, and it was that understanding which put Gene up against the wall that night while Warren sucked him off. Gene was not one to put much emotional drama into sex, but he surprised himself with how easy it was to shut down, in fact it almost scared him. But Gene Hunt was not scared of anything, other than the safety of his son, and there his thought process stopped cold.

Their understanding stood. Gene could fuck any boy or girl he wanted, but when Warren beckoned, Gene came. He lived a life of apparent autonomy with his own flat, a 'respectable' job as club manager, and time to spend at City games or with his pet fuck du jour, but Warren paid for his flat, paid his salary, and personally arranged his work schedule and time off. Gene knew he was Warren's 'rent boy' as much as the pretty kids who took rooms at the flat house behind the club and clung to Warren like taffy. They changed with sickening regularity, but five years later, Gene was still there, still working the club, and still fucking Warren. Not so often anymore, but always on cue, and there were always the special favors Warren set him up with, which he actually preferred to fucking Warren. At least those felt like honest pay for honest work.

He hit the bottom of the stairs, Charlie moving aside to let him pass, and nearly ran down a skinny bloke he had never seen before, not short nor small but wiry and tough. He looked young at first glance but Gene realized as he stared at him that he was in his late thirties. He glared malevolently at Gene with dark, disturbing eyes that Gene thought looked slightly unbalanced. They stood at an impasse, Gene damned if he was going to move for some gangster upstart in a leather jacket trying to prove his brass balls to Warren's staff, and then Gene saw Carling. Ray Carling, DI now, and who could forget that traitorous bastard brick of a man. Confused, he looked from Ray back to the stranger, who was now holding his warrant badge up into Gene's face with something like malicious glee.

"DCI Sam Tyler. 'Ere to see Warren. Now get the 'ell out of my way." His eyebrows shot up and he bobbed on his feet like an impatient bird. Gene did not smile or frown or even twitch. He stepped back and laid a hand on Charlie, letting him know he was dealing with this. Wordlessly he turned and walked back up the stairs to Warren's office, hoping the bastard put his arse together, and feeling DCI Tyler's nervous energy behind him like a heat wave.

---

Earlier that week, Sam sat in his office in the middle of CID, listening to his mother on the phone. She was telling him that he was stabilized now, but the doctors were…he lost it there, whatever the connection was. He yelled and slammed the handset back into its cradle – words he still was not used to – and ran his hands over his face. Chris opened the door cautiously and silently gave him the autopsy report for Yvonne Mayfield (hit and run, not complicated but still a crime) before slinking out.

They all hated him. They did not understand him and he did not want to understand them. This was all some insane coma dream and he nearly threw himself off the roof the first day he was here, thinking it might be a kind of 'reverse release.' PC, no, WPC Cartwright followed him up and talked him down. He wondered if even Maya could have done that, given his level of desperation at the time, and how strained things had become between them. He really missed Maya, though, because he needed a DI with a brain, which DI Carling most certainly did not possess.

His first night was hell and he expected to just WAKE UP back home, where he belonged, and not here. Whatever here was, which Sam was not convinced was 1973 despite appearances. When he woke up in the same dirty flat he went to sleep in, he knew he needed to try to figure out what was going on. The problem was, he could not google these symptoms and he did not have his mobile with the number of his therapist on speed dial.

Walking back into CID the following day, he began clearing desks by sweeping everything on them onto the ground. He threw full ashtrays into wastebaskets and tore all the pictures of half naked women off the walls. When every man in the place began bitching, Sam started yelling in what he knew was a slightly deranged fit about procedural efficiency. No one appeared to understand a word of it, but paperwork was picked up and organized and Sam refused to allow the women's department plonks to be used as maids. He set out rags and cleaning liquid and made every man there clean his own desk and by the end of the day, Sam Tyler was the most loathed man on planet earth, at least in the Manchester Police. Ray pointedly commented that he thought he was getting a new DCI, not a poofer wife.

So Sam made him clean the windows to his office. Ray did it, but sprinkled cigarette ash all over Sam's desk and refused to talk to him directly.

A week later there was some kind of efficiency in effect, albeit kicking and screaming. Sam knew he was falling back on habit, on procedure and protocol and all the things he knew, but it was all he had. If he was insane or in a coma, then nothing he did affected anything; and if he was cut-scene from Dr. Who and really traveled back in time, then he was probably stuck and trapped forever as the DCI of a barely functioning Jurassic-era CID team.

Sam simply could not imagine the type of person who could successfully lead this crowd of mismatched, under trained, bigoted, narrow minded idiots. They believed that every day at precisely five pm they got to kick off for that damn ugly pub down the road (which Sam avoided like the plague) no matter the urgency of the cases at hand. They did not comprehend the importance of forensics or chain of custody for evidence. Every time a mugging happened Ray was half out the door to go round up every blagger in the city in order to beat a confession out of someone. There was nothing to admire or respect in this rag tag group of sad sacks, and Sam thought bitterly that they should just dress Chris in the Tufty Squirrel costume and make him their team mascot.

More than anything, Sam was mortified by their political incorrectness. As a bisexual man whose most recent girlfriend was half Ugandan Asian and also his female DI and whose personal mentor in the service was black, Sam went through every day in a cloud of furious displeasure, refusing to laugh even at innocuous jokes for fear of encouraging them to worse ones, and ripping his men apart whenever they used racial slurs or misogynist language. He backed off on slamming them for the homophobic bigotry when it started sinking in that it really, really was a major job hazard to be gay, or thought of as gay, or to act 'supportive' of gay rights. This was 1973, and there was no such thing as gay rights, just queers and poofers and benders who fucked in the back of underground clubs and got hauled in under the Sexual Offences Act and sent to jail for no damn good reason at all.

And then there was the corruption.

Sam realized fast that cops were on someone's payroll. Some cops were taken down, but they were just sacrificial lambs to the alter of 'status quo.' Ray explained that Stephen Warren was the 'Big Boss' in town and the first time Sam met Harry Woolfe, his trips went off. Sam did not put a lot of stake into 'instincts' or gut feelings – he learned the hard way a long time ago how that could screw up a conviction – but Harry made jokes about 'steering clear' of Warren that sounded familiar to Sam. He worked on a few cases concerning organized crime, and there was definitely a pattern to how people behaved towards and concerning crime lords. A very casual nosing around with a few common crooks brought in told Sam everything he needed to know, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. He harbored suspicions about Harry and Warren and the whole damn force, in fact, but he had no evidence and no one he could trust to work the 'case' with him. He was certain Ray was on the take somewhere, somehow, because he simply spent too much cash not too be getting extra money on the side. Chris, no, he was too innocent to even need to be paid off. A few other men in CID, perhaps, and without a doubt the prior DCI, at least to a point. That man, Gareth Dixon, transferred to 'L' Division as soon as a position opened up and was simply not talked about, despite (according to Geoff) being one of Harry's own 'angel boys' for a long time. Geoff said something offhandedly about a 'Gene Hunt,' and everyone within hearing distance turned cold and distant and terrified and the whole place shut down as if a switch were thrown. No one would even look at Sam, so he stepped back and dropped the subject, to everyone's obvious relief.

When Sam asked Ray about Gene Hunt later, when they were alone in Sam's office and Ray was trying to give him something like an organized report on the daily action items for the team (not that single one of them would know an action item if it actioned them over the head), Ray turned grim and stated only that Hunt was a goddamn bent cop who deserved everything he got, but refused to say what exactly it was he got. He sounded bitter and uncomfortable and Sam could read between the lines far enough to know there was personal history there. He let it go then spent half the night by himself in collating looking for Hunt's file, and not finding it. He began to wonder what it was about Hunt that inspired such raw fear in the ranks, and whether it had anything to do with Woolfe. Or Warren. Or anything. All he knew was that the ghost of Gene Hunt hung like a heavy stone weight over the whole division.

Sam was grasping at straws and he knew it, but was beginning to nurse the idea that solving the riddle of Gene Hunt was his ticket to getting home.

His television talked to him and that damn Test Card Girl ruined his sleep and his mother kept calling on dead phone lines and two months later, with three unsolved murders on the docket and a rash of robberies in a quiet middle class neighborhood, Sam gave up on trying to find out anything about Gene Hunt. He had not been on the force in over five years, and all of his files – case related, employment related, payroll related – were missing. Sam went to great lengths to hide his interest in the man, but what was the point if there was nothing there to find? Sam turned back to thinking that Harry was bent, and he now wondered if taking Woolfe down was the key to his return. He did not know anything much other than he hated his life, he missed his home and his mother and his job, he was universally detested by everyone he worked with, and that he was stuck in the middle of some serious police corruption that might get people killed. No one told him Hunt was dead, but the effect was the same, as was DCI Dixon's absurdly fast and unexpected departure out of 'A' Division.

Nothing quite added up, and Sam sat at his desk fiddling with the radio, praying for a voice, any voice, he knew to come through it, because if this was all in his mind then he could just stop worrying about it and wait to wake up. He stopped caring what any of them thought about him weeks earlier. They were his team and he was their DCI and if he was psychotic, then so be it, that was their problem not his, because they already hated him anyway. His eyes caught the file on Yvonne and he decided to distract himself by reading it, his attention flicking to the radio every three seconds, waiting.

Then his eyes stopped flicking and focused. Yvonne worked as a dancer at the Warren. She was one of Warren's girls, and she was brought in the week before on a minor charge of property destruction. It was odd, but not so unusual as to signify. Yet, it did, somehow, and Sam cursed himself for being all touchy-feely when the facts did not support a damn thing.

But he kept the file, and made a note about her, just in case.

A few days later he tackled a man strong-arming someone on the street, and arrested him. It turned out to be Charlie Edwards, one of Warren's enforcers, and as soon as he was released Sam found himself figuratively eating carpet in Harry's office.

"Don't be playing with Warren, Tyler. Don' want to drag your body out of the canal."

"With all due respect, sir…"

"Checks and balances, Sam. Checks and balances." Harry moved and handed Sam a glass of whiskey. Unable to not accept it, but horrified at the offer, Sam just sat dumbly with it in his hands while Harry leaned against his desk. "Now I'm not any happier about it than you are, but to keep a city running and keep the streets safe, we have to make deals with the devil sometimes." Harry smiled benignly. "Dixon before you did a good job, but he let…personal matters get in the way. Good thing he moved on, but I don't need to be running through DCIs in CID. Be a good boy and stay out of Warren's hair. If he gets hot on you, come to me, I'll smooth things over. But don't – don't -- go stirring the pot." Harry took a long draught from his glass, and Sam was compelled to at least put his glass to his lips, and wonder why, if this was his subconscious speaking to him through a coma dream, WHY in the hell he was the only straight cop in a den of thieves.

The following day, on cue, Charlie Edwards walked into CID and straight into Sam's office without escort or permission and laid a piece of paper on Sam's desk. Sam did not look at it, just stared at Edwards, wondering how hard to play this, but before he decided Edwards smiled at him smugly and left his office. Sam watched him walk out, and watched him nod to Ray as he went by his desk.

Den of thieves. And they were trying to steal his soul.

---

"Got your message." DCI Tyler stood, antsy and furious, staring at Warren across the desk that Gene just fucked him over less than thirty minutes ago. Gene amused part of his mind with the thought that he had a much better procedure for getting Warren to squirm than this Tyler kid.

Ray stood behind Tyler, trying not to look embarrassed. Gene knew he was on Warren's payroll and was probably scared that Warren might blame him for Tyler. Gene did not feel sorry for him, although he had liked Carling well enough back in the day when they worked together. Not a brilliant man, but a hard worker when pushed, and loyal. It was Gene's curse that Ray was more loyal to Warren than to Gene back then, or more accurately more loyal to the extra income. Gene wondered maliciously about how long Ray would have survived in Gene's shoes, but then stepped off that idea, not wishing his fate on anyone but Warren.

He dropped out of his musings when Tyler slammed his hands down on the desk.

"Don't think you can buy me! Don't think you own me! I know you got plenty of coppers in your pocket but I'm not one of 'em! I'll do my job, on or off your turf, Warren, so you best stay out of MY sights!" Tyler smacked the desk again and stalked out, his body tight and coiled and rocking with fury. Gene did not move, just eyed him as he went, and tried not to think about how much both he and Warren wanted that arse. Gene hated having anything in common with Warren, but it was a fact that they had similar tastes in 'boys'. They shared plenty enough of them to know.

He chewed his lower lip, admiring Tyler but feeling sorry for him. He knew, better than most, that standing up to Warren only brought out the worst in the bastard. If Tyler played along and mostly ignored Warren, they could have come to an accord in time. No doubt that is what Harry told Tyler, because it was exactly the same thing Harry told Gene right before Gene pushed the matter and was hung out to dry. Tyler threw down the gauntlet instead and now, if the past was any precedent, Warren was going to go out of his way to destroy Tyler, to own him body and soul, or both. Gene considered himself one smart son of a bitch and here he was, Warren's slave with his own son's life on the line. Tyler did not stand a chance.

"Gene." Warren was looking off at the space Tyler just vacated, probably thinking similar thoughts. Gene uncrossed his arms and turned to Warren. "What's his name? Carling?"

"Yes sir."

"Think he's a part in this?"

Gene thought for a second, trying to recall the days of working with Ray. Warren did not let Gene interface with the police, with good reason, and left that for his enforcer James Merton. "Jim would know better, Boss. But I'd say, no. Ray's…a coward. Won't risk a good thing for a new boy like that kid. Looked as nervous bein' 'ere as a virgin in a brothel."

Warren nodded slowly. "That leaves us Tyler."

Gene flashed his eyes over at Warren, who returned the gaze. "One of the girls, I think," Warren said thoughtfully.

Gene nodded. "Joni. Been in a pain in my arse lately, getting' all sniffily about her mum. Hate to lose her, she's good on the floor. Gets men drinkin'." Gene's stomach clutched, feeling something like betrayal. Joni was a good girl in a bad place, but she was trapped and she needed to come to terms with it before Gene had to take her in hand himself. At least this way Warren would be the big bad man and Gene could keep her loyalty to him intact. She would learn a hard lesson and grow up and get on with her life, rather than living in the past. There were worse ends to that story, and Gene did not want to see them. He saw them too often already.

"Send her up." Warren tapped the desk and Gene knew a dismissal when he saw it. He went down to the dance floor and motioned Joni to follow him. She got down off her dais warily.

"Warren wants to talk to you."

"Wot about?" She looked worried and Gene wanted to slap some sense into her. In the middle of the dance floor, it was a bad idea, so he just kept walking until they were at the stairwell. Then he turned and physically picked her up and dropped her onto the steps so they were eye to eye. He leaned in so she could hear him over the music.

"You got to strap your tits on, girl. Whatever Warren wants, you do it. I seen birds like you disappear or worse, don't let that be you. Choose your fights. This ain't one of 'em." He turned her around and slapped her hard on the arse so she fumbled up the stairs, looking terrified. Bad start, Gene thought, but he could not do more for her than he already had. Warren would leap on her fear like a badger smelling blood, and Joni was in for a bad night. A bad life, if she did not pull herself together. Gene watched her until she disappeared into Warren's office then went to find a bar back to yell at.

---

Four days later, one of Warren's girls was brought in for throwing a brick through a store window. She demanded to speak to him, and to him only, and the plod who brought her up smirked as he walked out of Lost and Found to leave Sam alone with her.

Sam was entirely suspicious of the set up. It was too close to his visit to Warren's and one thing Sam did not believe in was co-incidence.

"So why you want to see me?"

"I heard…I heard about you standing up to Warren. I thought you can…help."

Sam folded his arms and leaned back in the chair. His gut was gnawing at him, but he ignored that and tried to stick to the facts.

"Who told you?"

"No one. Just 'eard Gene talkin'…"

Sam frowned. "Gene?"

"Gene Hunt. The club manager. He was talkin' to one of 'is boys, tellin' him how you stood up to Warren."

Sam's mind went into reverse. Gene Hunt. He finally found Gene Hunt. It made sense: a bent copper being drummed out of the force would go to what he knows best, where he felt safe. Then he thought some more. "Tall bloke? Blond?"

She nodded. "That's 'im. Yeah."

"So Gene sent you here?"

She got mad. "No! No…I'm frightened. I'm really really frightened…"

Warren was threatening to rape and kill her and she wanted protection. Something rang wrong but Sam could not put anything substantial behind that feeling so he listened. Gene asked her to play 'hostess' for a French businessman that Warren was trying to work with, and when she said no, Gene hauled her up and left her with Warren and Edwards, who let her know exactly what she was in for if she did not follow orders. She was in fear of her life and believed every policeman in the building was bent, other than Sam. He knew it was rank flattery, but also probably true, and he tried to convince her to work with him to take down Warren and his henchmen. Then she mentioned Yvonne, and Sam remembered that Yvonne had done the same thing as Joni a week before her death. He also reminded himself that he did not believe in co-incidences, but the pattern was clear, and nothing was to be gained by letting Joni get killed.

He snuck her out and took her to his place. She insisted that she was leaving the next day, that a friend was coming to pick her up, but Sam hoped to use the time to convince her to help him bring down Warren. He made her dinner, let her pour the wine, and got nowhere. She was determined to leave town, and Sam did not really blame her, but he was annoyed. Nonetheless he tried to sound encouraging, because she came to him for help, and he told her it was a beautiful life worth living and he thought he saw something spark in her eyes when he did.

His slept in the chair and his dreams were disorienting and dangerous. More walking through the woods, the damn Test Card Girl, Joni…sex with Joni? Bless his subconscious…Gene Hunt, looking frightening and attractive in ways that Sam refused to acknowledge in his waking moments. It was a terrible night to wake up from, worse when he realized he was in bed, naked, handcuffed to the frame and all alone.

Honey trap. He knew it, and he shouted in impotent frustration as his brain kept buzzing on the artificial high.

---

"Good girl." Gene sat in office while Joni looked meek and sad across from him.

"It…it wasn' right."

"Nowt right 'round here."

"Warren screws all of us. He owns all of us."

Gene was leaning over his desk, smoking, studying her. He took a long drag and put the cigarette out. "Screws some of us more than others, love. Be glad you got off with this much. Tyler's not bad on the eyes, you got your jollys there too."

"Well if you like 'im so much next time YOU go fuck 'im. You're good at that." She spat out, and was up against the wall before she had a chance to reconsider. He bounced her hard against the wall a second time and she stared at him in dazed terror.

"'Oo I fuck is no business of yours. You keep thinkin' you're so smart but you're goin' to end up in the canal if you don' play smart." He bounced her one more time against the wall and let go of her. She was dizzy and off balance and fell down. "Tyler got what was comin' to him. He won't play the game, so Warren's bringin' him in line. Got nothin' to do with you." He turned and grabbed the envelope on his desk and dropped it on her. "Good wages for a easy night's shag."

"You're as much a whore as I am!" Joni yelled, taking the envelope and running out the door before he got to her. He watched her speed out of the club and he knew she would not be back. Not that night, anyway, but the following night sure as sin she would be on his door step, asking forgiveness, offering a blow job, and dancing for the customers. He had seen this all happen before, different girls or boys, always coming back to Gene in hopes that he could shield them from the worst of Warren. Gene liked to think he tried, but in the end, Joni was right: he was Warren's whore, and he did what Warren told him. Just like Joni.

Gene slammed the door so hard the floor vibrated. That did nothing so he began punching the filing cabinet, knowing that was not going to do much either. He thought of Tyler, that smart whip of a DCI who was just going to be another stain on Warren's shoe, and Gene hit harder. He imagined Joni riding Tyler and he never wanted to see those photos, never wanted to see someone that proud brought that low, someone that beautiful used up and spit out. He found himself with one arm slung over the top of the cabinet, bracing himself, as his other hand worked on his cock like a ploughman, rough and hard and merciless, until he came shaking and groaning, imagining Tyler and mad at himself for thinking about him at all. Tyler: untouchable, ruined and in Warren's sights.

As he recovered from his fit and cleaned himself up, he considered that idea with a dawning horror. This was not going to end with bringing Tyler in line, not if Gene knew anything about Warren. Tyler was some kind of perfect, bizarre mix of exotic, boyish charm and masculine power. Everything Warren adored in one, tight arsed package. Joni's honey trap was only a shot over the bow, more than Gene got from Harry, but it was just that: the beginning.

Warren wanted Tyler, and what he wanted, he always got. Gene was not threatened by that, though, secure in his job as club manager. In fact he was glad to trade Warren off to anyone at this point. Anyone but Tyler.

---

Sam's humiliation could not have been more complete if Ray had taken a picture of him handcuffed to the bed and taped it to the mirror in the ladies' loo. WPC Cartwright, his only ally in the whole damn building, was not even talking to him. Neither was anyone else – radios and phones were quiet, television shows did not warp into 'The Life and Times of Sam Tyler, Coma Man' and the Test Card Girl stayed clear of him for the rest of the week. He wondered if that was as bad as he suspected, but the only good thing going for him right now was the full nights' sleep he got for a change.

He was simply waiting for the photos. He knew they were coming, Joni said as much when he confronted her at the club. He called her a loser and a few other things he could not even remember and he felt childish doing it, but it was honest. She shrugged and gave him the look of the young and the damned: smug and over confidant and trying too hard.

As he walked out of the club, he heard Warren's voice, and he turned to see Warren walking down the stairs, Gene Hunt following him. Sam took a second to really take in the man, who was tall and a bit out of shape and clearly not one who put much thought into his wardrobe. For all that he moved gracefully, with confidence and a certain slowness to his movements that was, Sam thought, the physical manifestation of a drawl. He was attractive in a rough and tumble way, like an action hero gone to seed, but through his relaxed pace as he followed Warren there was a nearly visible level of coiled tension radiating off him.

"Gene, I appreciate your concern, but you work for me."

"Even Jim don' know this bloke, Boss. Tyler might be more trouble than's worth it. Jus' sayin'…"

Warren turned on him and pointed at his chest. "Don't SAY anything. This doesn't concern you. Jus' keep to your little patch and stay out of mine."

"First time you ever said that to me." Gene's chin jutted out and his eyes narrowed.

Warren slapped him, and Sam tensed, expecting that he was going to have to tear the men apart and probably get hurt trying. Gene straightened up and looked at Warren quietly, and Sam realized in shock that Hunt was not going to fight back. He only met Hunt once but something about him and the general mystique his otherwise mysterious reputation had with everyone in CID, not to mention Joni's description of him, made Sam think that Gene would not put up with this, but he did. Gene stood like a statue, his expression solid stone.

Warren reached out and petted the cheek he slapped. "Sorry, love. Don't make me mad at you, yeah? Not worth it…I'll make it up to you later." Warren ran his thumb over Gene's mouth and it was personal, far too personal a touch for two men to share unless they were lovers. Sam remembered that Ray once called Gene Hunt a fag, and he realized with another shock that Ray was just not being a rude homophobic bigot; Gene Hunt was gay, and he was Warren's piece of arse. Sam pulled back and rested his head against the support pipe of the stairwell, furiously unwilling to watch any more, while another part of his mind took in how much of an idiot he was with Joni, believing her story that Warren threatened to rape her. Sam had a better chance of being raped in this building than she did.

He went to stalk out but saw Hunt walking across the floor to a back room. Without thinking, Sam followed, past Joni who threw him a frightened look. Sam cast her a hard stare but continued to follow Hunt. He pushed open a door that was labeled 'Manager' and went to slam it shut behind him, but Sam put his arm out and hit it, sending the door crashing back open before it ever closed. Gene turned, a look of fury passing over his face that turned to genuine surprise when he registered who was in the room.

"Close the door, you git."

Sam closed the door, feeling his own surprise creep up on him. Gene's reaction was not the one he expected.

"Ain't got the photos…"

"I know. Joni said they are being developed."

"Came here to piss on 'er, did ya'? Do you no good, wasting yer time." Gene sat down and pulled out a cigarette, leaning back in his chair. They glared at each other for a moment, then Gene motioned to the chair. "Siddown."

"Warren always play like this?" Sam sat down, leaning back and crossing his arms. There was something comfortable between the two of them, and when Sam thought about it, he decided it was a kind of honesty. For a change, someone was being straight up with him and he could be totally candid in return. For now.

"Warren never plays, Tyler. This isn't a football match, it's war. It's your life, and Warren's gunning for it."

"If I don't follow along like a good boy he'll take me out?" Sam's eyes narrowed and he snapped his words in displeasure. Gene laughed at him.

"Warren's not that stupid. He doesn't want your body in the canal, if he did you'd be there already. He wants your legs spread open an' his dick up yer jacksie."

Sam felt his eyes go wide for a second at that, and noticed Gene's discomfort. He was hunched up, one arm over his chest as if he was holding himself in, and he was not looking at Sam at all.

"Isn't that what you're for?"

Gene unfolded and walked around the desk, radiating hostility, and Sam stood up instinctively. Gene reached for his jacket, grabbing the lapels, and Sam wrestled with his arms but he was outweighed and unwilling to take it to a full-on brawl. Gene slammed him up against the filing cabinet and shoved into Sam's personal space, but then stalled, just looking at him. Sam's breath hitched and he knew Gene felt it too, and damned himself and his libido for incredibly piss-poor choices and timing. Gene pushed at him hard as he let go and stepped back.

"Yer a brave son of a bitch, but that'll only give Warren a hard-on for yeh. Take my advice: listen to Harry. He can keep Warren out of yer knickers if you…"

"If I roll over like a good little bent copper? I'm not you."

The gut punch sent him to his knees, and the kidney punch would have sent him to the floor if Gene had not twisted one of his arms up behind his back.

"Think! You stupid plod, use yer gooddamn brain! You think I'd be here if I was bent? I was on track for your job, Detective Chief Inspector and I'd still 'ave it if I 'ad listened to advice. You go at playin' sheriff in this down and it'll be the losing end of High Noon for you. Comprende? I'm trying to save your arse!" Gene let go and stepped back again, letting Sam crawl up.

"Why?"

"What?" Gene turned and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. He filled two glasses sitting on his desk and handed one to Sam.

"Why?"

Gene glanced at him as he took a sip of his drink, and went to sit back down as if he had not just physically assaulted a police officer. Sam stood, rubbing his back, while Gene pondered him and finally answered.

"Got no love for Warren or Harry. Bastards took me down, hate to see it happen to another good cop." Gene slammed his drink. Sam shook his head in confusion.

"I don't get you. No one talks about you. It's like you never existed in CID, but everyone knows what happened to you. Your name can stop a room dead, but I can't find a shred of paperwork with your name on it. I thought you were dead."

Gene frowned. "You been lookin' into me?"

"Yeah." Sam sat down. "Harry's bent. Dixon is too, but I don't know what happened there. Most of CID is on Warren's payroll and I'm grasping at straws trying to figure out what to do."

"Easy answer: Play along. Save your job. Live a long, healthy, life."

"Healthy?" Sam snorted, thinking of himself on life support in some hospital. Was he at St. James, he wondered? He took a sip of the whiskey, remembering when Harry offered it to him and how uncomfortable he was accepting that. Now Gene Hunt beat him to the ground and they were sitting around amicably sharing a drink. Sam decided that his psyche was in 'surreal' mode. "I'm a cop. Not a bent cop. It's my job to fight corruption and crime, even if it is within my own department. I didn' ask to be here, but I am, and I don't give a fuck if everyone hates me and the local crime lord wants to rape me and my superior officer might get me killed. I'm here to do my job, so I can go home. That's it."

Gene studied him. "I thought the same thing, once. Lost everything. This is it, my world." Gene waved his glass around the small office plastered with posters of Sergio Leone westerns and 'girl of the month' pinups. "Lucky I got out with my life."

"Warren?"

"At first. Then it went inside. Harry's what did it, in the end. I started diggin' in too deep into his operations. He an' Warren work different interests. Don' ask me what, not tellin'. Just sayin' they don't overlap so they find it's more…convenient to work for the common good than fight each other."

"Checks and balances…" Sam mumbled, and Gene nodded.

"See he's already been talkin' to yeh. I told you, Tyler, listen to him. Save your arse."

Sam turned the glass in his hand, looking at the amber liquid. "So you weren't bent."

"No. Never was…well I took a few free cuts o'meat from Jerry the butcher on Clarks St., but that was for the missus."

Sam looked up, and saw Gene staring off into the distance, not quite smiling, his eyes bright and clear. "You're married?"

The eyes refocused and Gene frowned at him. "Nowt anymore, Tyler. Warren took that too. Got a son, I pay for his mother and him to keep livin' well, and that's all I got left of that. Fuck, why am I telling you this?" Gene stood up, angry again, and Sam mused that the man's emotional life had a quick trigger. He put the glass down.

"I'm goin' to fight him, Gene. Every step of the way."

"Nice knowin' ya, then." Gene stood with his hand on his hips as Sam got up.

"Help me. Help me take him down."

"You ask Joni that too?"

"Yeah."

"And did she go along?"

"No. You know she didn't." Sam snarled unwillingly, still furious about being tricked by her.

"Get used to that answer, Tyler. Nowt a soul goin' to help you here. It's a death sentence."

Sam stopped. "Warren's had people murdered?"

"Time for you to go, Tyler." Gene pushed him towards the door, and Sam grabbed his wrist.

"My name's Sam. You change your mind, you call me. You know where I am." He did not let go of the wrist, and Gene did not fight for it. Gene was looking at him but beneath his simple anger Gene practically glowed with pent up emotions and for the first time since he landed on this planet, Sam felt like he was looking at something – someone – real, a genuine living breathing person who could match Sam step for step and it made Sam feel alive. Sam held his breath, let go of Gene's wrist and reached out, putting his hand on Gene's chest to feel the heartbeat that he thought might actually exist. The heat and the beat pulsed into his palm and it was nearly intoxicating and he pressed harder, mesmerized by watching the massive chest moving air and blood through the living, breathing man looming over him. After a second he looked up to find Gene studying him, motionless, and Sam waited for Gene to move into him again, uncertain if he was willing to stop him if he did and not knowing if it would be a fight…or not. Instead Gene reached around with Sam's hand still pressed to him, close enough that their bodies could touch with one small shrug or shift, and opened the door. He grabbed Sam's free arm and slung him out.

"That way, out the back. I don' want to explain to Warren why you're talkin' to me."

---

Honesty was usually the best policy, and Gene understood that the sin of omission was the lesser of all evils.

"Came by to talk to Joni, did he?"

"Yeah, Boss. She said he mostly read her the riot act." Gene stared intently at Warren's desk, arms crossed, and feeling like a piece of shite.

"Ballsy. I respect that. Did you see him?"

Gene paused, cursing Warren's smarts. "Yeah. He tracked me to my office."

"And?" Warren tapped the desk, and Gene was no fool. They were practically an old married couple at this point and Warren could read him as easily as he could read Warren.

"Talked to me. Asked me to help bring you down."

"And did you agree?" Warren smiled, teasing him.

Gene laughed, uncrossing his arms and shaking his head. "Told him to play it smart, listen to Harry. Stay out of your way."

"Oh." Warren's eyes narrowed. "Jealous, are we?"

Gene paused again, knowing he had better play this right for both his sake and Tyler's, but it was not going to be easy. Warren was very good at chess.

"I'm jus' tryin' to keep the peace. Take what you want, Steve."

"I will, Gene, I will."

Gene tried to relax as Warren stood up and walked around the desk, recognizing the tone of voice and the moves. Tried to relax, and failed. He thought of Stu, remembered his duty, closed down, closed his eyes, closed up as Warren sidled up to him, their chests touching

"I still owe you for that little…over reaction. I can be a bit of a bitch sometimes, yeah?"

"No more than usual, Steve. No more than I deserved for being a right mouthy bastard."

Warren laughed lightly and Gene forced himself not to react and stand still and wall off that part of his brain that hated himself and hated this and tried to remember the last porno he saw, willing his dick to a hard-on. Warren's hands drifted to rest on Gene's hips, a soft touch, a misleading touch that promised nothing. They were relatively well matched in size and nearly level, and Warren gazed at him with smoky eyes. He was not a bad looking man, just a bastard and not Gene's type. Still, he had expectations that Gene knew better than to disappoint.

"You want Tyler too, don't you?" Warren cooed, massaging Gene's cock through his pants. Gene was surprised, because while the man's idea of 'payback' was unerringly repetitive, bringing up someone else was not part of the script.

"Tight arse, pretty eyes. Nothin' not to like there," Gene answered neutrally, concentrating on the porno memories.

"Fun to share, perhaps. You think he does blow jobs?" Warren tilted his head and rested it against Gene's neck while he opened Gene's zip and started rummaging for his cock. They both made it a point never to look each other in the eyes when they did this.

"I think he does girls." Gene brought up his arms and grabbed Warren's shoulders for support, a tight grip, because Warren liked the feel of Gene's hands on him, anywhere.

"We could expand his horizons." Warren began stroking in earnest and gently nipped at the base of Gene's neck. Gene closed his eyes, imagining someone else. He was not sure who, but anyone at this point was welcome into his brain. "Strong man that you are, love…we could break that boy. Wouldn't you like that? I'll get him for you…for us…I'd like to see you fuck that tight…hot…arse…"

Warren rubbed his face against Gene's shirt as Gene's breath sped up and his hips rolled to the sensation. Gene began quietly gasping for air, his muscles tensing in anticipation of release, and Warren gave up trying to be detached, sucking on Gene's earlobe with abandon, his tongue snaking into sensitive crevices, trying to make Gene cry out. This was their game, it was what charged Warren up, to control Gene, to push him to the point of crying out but forbid him to make a noise. Warren loved the boys he fucked to cry and whine and yell when they came, but with Gene or his other 'men' it was a different game: he wanted them silent, no matter how deep they drilled into Warren's arse, because Warren could never give up complete control. Years of practice taught Gene to fuck and come in utter, deadly silence, the only sound his heavy breathing and even that would annoy Warren on a bad night. Warren's tongue teased Gene's skin not as a lover but as an endless torment, a play in the game to break him down further, but Gene never gave him the satisfaction and remained quiet, every time. It bled over into his private life and Gene wondered in a detached way while Warren fisted him if he would ever make a sound during sex again, and then he realized he did not even care anymore.

Warren finally brought him off, his other arm wrapped around Gene's back so they were locked into each other to hold Gene up as he came, throwing his head back with his eyes closed and silently spilling into Warren's possessive hand…spilling everything away.

Warren let him leave after that, to start his working day in peace. It was not until Gene was back in his office and saw the glass that Sam was drinking from that Gene realized who he was pretending to fuck when he came for Warren.

---

Sam sat at the pub, by himself, ignored by everyone but the slightly odd possibly-Jamaican bartender whose name Sam just could not bring himself to remember. Lately he made it a habit of going to the pub at least once a week, for appearances sake, but after the debacle with Joni and Warren he wondered if even that was a good idea. The alternative was going back to his very evil flat to stare at mind-bending wallpaper and wait for nightmares to start, and that did not hold enough attraction to peel him off the stool.

"Someone to see you, Guv." The bartender leaned over and motioned to the back. Sam gave him a quizzical look, then got up and walked out back. It was Joni.

"Deliver the photographs yourself? Very classy." He walked over to her.

"There are no photographs. An' I've got the negatives."

"You expect me to believe that?"

Joni pulled out a set of negatives from her pocket and set them on fire. Sam watched impassively, uncertain of why Warren would send her or, if that was not the case, why she was here at all.

"Even if it's true, why would you do that?

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about what you said. It is a beautiful life. At least it should be anyway. You know you asked me why I started working for a man like Warren…"

"Money, I think you said."

She nodded a bit but then went on to tell him her story, which he did believe, although he thought he probably should not. Once again she turned down his plea to help him take Warren down, and told him that she was leaving town with her mother. Sam hoped she was getting into the car and driving out right then, and tried to ignore the horrible gnawing feeling in his gut. Just a feeling, and it meant nothing.

Until Ray woke him up at 2:30 am that night, uncommonly furious and even more rude than usual, and led him to Joni's body. Her throat was slashed and her body dumped in the canal, and Sam knew who did it as sure as if it was tattooed on her skin, but he had no proof, no evidence, no witnesses, and no support. Ray even flat out accused him of being responsible for her murder, and two plods and Chris had to pull them apart.

---

"What?" Gene snorted in disbelief, standing in Warren's office earlier that afternoon.

"Gone. Told me she was done, and left." Warren steepled his fingers and looked at Gene coolly, and Gene knew without a doubt that the bastard was lying. How much, was the question – how far had Warren gone this time?

"Didn' think that was part of the deal."

"I gave her the choice. Stay here, debt free, and make lots of money…or leave town. Youth today. Never thinking long term." Warren shrugged.

Gene forced himself not to glance towards where Charlie Edwards was standing. Charlie did not lean 'that way,' and liked the girls, and Warren kept him around because he was loyal as a dog and brutal as a rabid one. Gene hated him, but respected him. A rabid dog was always something to keep a wary eye on.

"Do we have anyone to take her place?"

"Sandy." Gene pursed his lips. He always kept a few girls around for situations like this, a girl getting pregnant or married or just…disappearing. It happened before and Gene tried not to think about it and believe what Warren told him about those girls or boys who walked off one night never to be seen again. It bothered him, and he knew why it bothered him, but he did not want his name added to the list so he tried to steer clear. But this involved Tyler, he knew it did, and that bugged the tar out of him.

"Well good then, if it won't derail operations." Warren smiled slightly, as if truly put out by Joni's desertion, as if anything that happened below the level of Gene's command made a dint in Warren's life.

"Nope."

"That's it, then." Warren continued smiling, the false hearted bastard, and Gene nodded as he turned to leave. "And Gene?"

Gene turned around.

"I appreciate your help with her. Always good to know I can rely on you."

Gene wondered how many times in one life a man could sell his soul. "Sure, Boss. Anytime." He tried to sound sincere, like he always tried, and left to go to work.

It was a bad night, at least for Gene. At one point he thought he saw Woolfe passing through to visit Warren, which was about the only time Gene ever saw him at all anymore, but it was enough to turn his mood from sour to black. On top of that, tap lines went bust, as did a pipe in the men's loo, there were two serious brawls resulting in injuries, numerous instances of drunks too pissed to keep their mouths shut, speaker number five went completely dead and the place was so trashed that by the time his team cleared everyone out even Gene was holding a mop and threatening to rip the scrotum off the on-call plumber who was not returning calls. On a good night, he was out by 4:30am and in bed by six. It was well past six and the sun was already cracking over the horizon of the city when Gene shrugged on his one luxury, his tailored camel-hair coat, and stepped out to go home and get well and truly pissed before passing out. Small joy, but the best he could come up with. One of the rent boys offered to join him, looking for some of his own stress relief, but Gene was tired of those kinds of favors. He had all those pleasures before, at some point now, and they simply did not compare to a bottle of good single malt anymore. Nothing did, and that worried Gene, because he saw his brother Stu go down that path with speed and he nearly did the same thing himself with booze once before, but it was becoming harder and harder to hold himself in check that way.

Worse, Warren slipped him a note before retiring for the night himself. VIPs coming into town the following evening, and they needed 'setting up.' Two were easy enough, and Gene knew which girls to set aside for them, but the third man was more particular and asked for Gene by name. Gene remembered him, a portly and snide arsehole of a politician, and he simply did not look forward to getting a blow job from shite like that. Still, the extra cash would cover really nice Christmas presents for Mary and Stu, who he was not allowed to talk to but accepted every generosity he sent without question. He missed Stu, five years old now, but the longer this went on, the more he hated that bitch who never once showed any faith in him and leeched him for every penny while slandering his name to anyone who would listen. He knew she was dating a real estate agent, but suspected she would never agree to remarry and lose her 'benefits.'

Beyond bitter and exhausted by the time he got to his flat, he realized belatedly that he was followed home. His copper instincts were rusty but not dead, and as he unlocked his door he shifted naturally to glance down the street and caught some movement four flats down. Not Charlie, he was not that subtle. One of the boys, then, probably looking for protection after pissing off Warren. Gene mumbled something like 'just fucking fantastic' as he walked in and left his door open ajar. Over the years, that became a signal he never once told anyone about but somehow was mysteriously transmitted from crew to crew, so unless the boy was irredeemably new, he would know to walk on in. As bad as his life was, Gene was not going to back down on his responsibilities to his team, one way or another, and playing auntie anguish was just short of being in his official job description.

As he settled down in his living room with a glass full for himself and an empty glass set out for his expected visitor, Sam Tyler walked in, and Gene froze in surprise.

"Always leave your door open?" Sam leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, sounding amused but looking disturbed and angry.

"Thought you were one of the boys looking for a shoulder to cry on." Gene recovered from his surprise and waved Sam to a chair.

"One of the many services you offer?"

Gene ground his teeth. "Yer a right fucking obnoxious arse, Tyler."

Sam pushed off and went to sit in the chair cattycorner from Gene. "Not in the mood to be generous."

"You know, I bet you're here for a reason. Might even be a good reason. Now convince me I care." Gene downed his drink and poured another, ostentatiously not pouring one for Sam.

"Joni."

Gene stopped, because he knew. He knew exactly what would bring a DCI to his flat at break of dawn about a girl who set him up and then mysteriously disappeared. "Fuck."

"You know." Sam glared at him.

"Not until now." Gene leaned over and filled Sam's glass. "Warren told me she left. Did her job and took off." He sat back and considered his options, which were few and unpleasant.

"Her throat was slit, and she was dumped in the canal. We fished her out about four hours ago."

"Bloody 'ell." Gene sighed and closed his eyes.

"Who did it?"

"Dunno. Best guess: Charlie. You'll never get 'im for it, though. Even if you could find evidence. Which you won't."

Sam jumped up with the drink in his hand and began pacing. "I nearly ripped Ray apart. He blames me. They all blame me."

"Wot?" Gene did not follow, and wondered what kind of mental disconnect fed Tyler's brain.

"She didn' do her job." Sam sipped at the glass in his hands, bouncing on his heels, staring malevolently at Gene's walls.

"Oh, so she didn' ride yer todger? Then yer queerer than Warren." Gene snorted.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know she did. But she came to me yesterday and burned the negatives." Sam turned his intense gaze on Gene, who sat back in shock.

"That bloody stupid girl."

"Oh, for doing the right thing? That makes her stupid?"

"I makes her DEAD, you idiot!" Gene slammed down his glass and leaned forward, pointing at Sam. "I see why they 'ate you. You're rockin' the boat and gettin' people killed."

Sam launched himself at Gene, and it was inelegant but he was fast and nimble, whereas Gene was fast and strong. Gene pushed off the chair, slamming fists into Sam's torso, and they ended up raging back and forth across the living room in equal measure until they both stood, bent over in pain, gasping, staring at each other.

"I did NOT kill her!"

"Don't matter, does it?" Gene answered, pulling himself up to standing. "I need a smoke." He nearly made it back to his chair before collapsing to the floor, and just sat there as he pulled his cigarettes off the table and lit one. Sam limped over and sat on the floor in front of the other chair, and they were nearly back to where they started.

"Sam?"

"What?" Tyler snapped, rubbing his chest.

"Warren didn' mention to me anything about the honey trap goin' wrong."

"So? He obviously doesn't involve you in the real dirty work."

"That why yer here?"

Sam sat, thoughtful, and nodded. "I believe you. I don't think you were bent, and they made you pay for fighting them. And I don't think you're the type to kill a girl for doing the right thing."

"Puttin' a lot into a man you don' know."

Sam looked confused. "Yeah. Guess I am."

"Copper instinct." Gene nodded approvingly.

"No. Instinct isn't a part of the job. Facts. Evidence. That's what closes a case." Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and Gene forced himself to look anywhere else but at his exposed neck, glossy with sweat. Boy was not queer, and he was cop, and he was next on Warren's 'to do' list, but Gene could not get the question out of his head of how the salt on Tyler's skin would taste right now. He shifted, bringing up his knees to hide his erection and returned to the topic.

"The job is all about instinct, Sam. All about the gut feeling. Your gut instinct is telling you to trust me. And your gut instinct is right."

Sam made some kind of undefined grunt.

"Back to me point. Warren did not mention to me that the photos were destroyed."

"So? How does that involve you?"

Gene pursed his lips, and sighed. "Joni was my choice for the job."

Sam's head snapped up. "You bastard."

"Yeah, tell me again. Ain't the first, won't be the last, and me ex got in line long before you. Fact is, Sam, Warren would tell me that. He'd need to find another set up for you, and he'd come to me to pick the girl or boy or place or time. Only reason he wouldn't is that he already got something."

Sam shook his head, confused for a minute, then stopped dead. "What?"

"Murder, I'd say."

Sam turned to look at him in horror, and Gene shrugged.

"Evidence or a witness will appear here soon putting you at her flat, or someplace she was seen, about the time of her death. You got motive, and all he's got to do is make it look bad. Harry will take care of the rest."

"Shit."

Gene nodded, then leaned up to grab his glass and fill it. Sam's was long gone in the fight, so Gene poured a double, handed the glass to Sam, and took a drink straight out of the bottle for himself.

"Go to Harry. Tell 'im what's up. Play nice, and the evidence or witness will disappear. You stay in line, and it will never re-appear. You fight either of them, and you'll be up on murder charges."

"Circumstantial at best…" Sam said, thinking, and Gene snorted.

"Like they can't tie up a jury? Fuck, Sam, give over. They got you stitched up good. Forever. They can pull this murder charge out ten years from now and take you down. Go. To. Harry."

"I came to you."

Gene stopped and looked at him. Sam's face was nearly blank, but his eyes were sparking in defiance, and something inside Gene broke.

"I can't 'elp you, Sam. Nowt I can do for you." He looked at the carpet, frowning, hating himself. Again. Some things never changed, and his ability to always do the wrong thing was one of those constants.

Sam sighed. "I can't trust anyone on my team. Chris is probably the only one in CID not on the take, but he's practically married to Ray. I have to trust someone. I need someone to work with me to bring down Warren and Harry. I…can't do this alone."

Gene looked over at him again, and saw Sam staring straight ahead with an odd look on his face, as if he just said something that surprised him. Gene could not take it, being trusted like this for no reason and no good end, so he stood up and went to his kitchen to rinse off his face, pointedly walking past Sam without saying anything. Unsurprisingly, Sam could not take a hint and followed.

"I need help."

"That you do. A good shrink would do wonders." Gene stood by the sink, drying his face with a tea towel he never remembered buying. So much of his life was blank, these days, and he did not know if it was the booze or because he already felt dead inside. Probably both.

"Should I leave, then? Let you wallow in misery and let Warren destroy me? 'Ey, you got a position at the club for me, when Harry boots me off the force?" Sam's tone was brutal and angry, and Gene threw the towel down.

"Warren's got your position all lined up, don't you worry 'bout that."

Sam bounced over and spun Gene around. "Is this what you are? Tell me. Tell me to my face." He was flushed and furious, and kept his grip on Gene's arm as he accosted him. "Because God 'elp me, I don't think it is."

Whatever he should do, kissing Sam was not the right choice. But Gene was overwhelmed with the idea that someone believed in him, or at the very least was giving him the benefit of the doubt, and he stepped forward without thinking and placed a hand on Sam's neck, drawing him in. Sam was not a rent boy needing Gene to fix his life, this was a DCI who was approaching him as an equal with a moral code that Gene almost forgot existed, and that alone was more intoxicating to Gene than any young, tight body in his arms. He covered Sam's surprised lips and sucked, pushing his tongue in, expecting nothing except rejection and another fight, but Sam let him do what he wanted. One of Sam's hands moved to the counter for support while his other hand remained locked on Gene's arm – the arm that moved around Sam's waist and pulled his body in to follow his mouth. There was no resistance, and while there was not a lot of encouragement other than a slightly open mouth and soft, shy tongue, Sam did not stop him. Gene realized that Sam was not as straight as he thought he was, which made everything worse, and he was so surprised that he stopped and pulled up.

Sam was beautiful, hot and panting with slightly swollen and reddened lips from Gene's attack. Gene instinctively pushed his hips against him, letting him feel his hard-on, and Sam stifled a groan before pushing him back further, breaking them apart.

"Not…not a good idea."

Gene tapped the counter. "Yer right there. Warren'll skin me for getting you first."

"Bastard." Sam looked at him, appalled, stepping back further, and Gene, embarrassed by his needs and his failures, went for the kill.

"Not opposed to me screwin' you, Sam, he just wants to watch when I do."

"You're his fuckin' rent boy alright. Tell me, he sell you off to the highest bidder?" Sam snapped, and Gene slapped him so hard Sam went sailing onto the dinette table. He walked over as Sam tried to recover and roll off, and grabbed him by his shirt.

"You're dead, Sam. Even Warren won't put up with you and your fuckin' mouth. You're walking dead man." Gene threw him off the table.

"Why the 'ell I thought I could trust you, I don' know." Sam snarled and walked out of the kitchen, and Gene followed.

"Because you got nothing else. And because you can." Gene shoved his back.

"What! You belong to Warren, heart and soul."

"No. Never a part of me that belonged to that arse fucker. I'm like a dancing bear in a circus…"

"You goin' to tell him I was here?" Sam turned and put his hands on his hips, lowering his head to glare up at Gene.

He stalled. Yes, he probably would tell Warren, and no, he did not want to. In that realization, Gene understood just how far down this rabbit hole he had fallen, how lost he really was, and in that knowledge, his fight left him. He veered off from Sam and went back to his bottle in the living room. He heard Sam walk in behind him.

"Get out. Won't tell Warren you were here, no point. You're goin' down, either way."

"…He is responsible for Joni's murder, and who knows who else. Yvonne? Others? You goin' to live with that? Because I can't."

"You ain't goin' to live long, so I wouldn' worry about it if I were you."

There was a long pause, then Gene heard Sam leave, slamming the door behind him. He never made it to bed, sitting on his couch all day instead, killing the bottle. It still did not kill the guilt.

---

Ray was a nightmare, and by the end of the day, Sam called Chris in and played bully until Chris confessed. Ray had been seeing Joni, not that seriously but he liked her a lot, and according to Chris there were vague 'plans' to carry things further with her. Sam thanked him for being honest, which confused Chris even further, and finally Sam pushed him out of the door.

Sam contemplated the situation and decided that things really could not get any worse. Joni spared him the honey trap and unwittingly set him up for her murder; Harry was definitely on the take and would gladly send him up for Joni's murder if he knew Sam was a threat to his operations; Warren was a murderous crime lord who was untouchable and wanted to throw Sam's arse over table; Ray thought Sam was responsible for his girlfriend's murder; and of course, Test Card Girl was back.

Then there was the taste of Gene Hunt on his tongue. He had absolutely no idea why he thought he could trust that bastard, who was at the very least guilty of aiding and abetting Joni's murder, among other things. He might not have been a bent cop, but now he was as good as a common thug, and Sam felt more like a fool for confiding in him than for kissing him. Because, if nothing else, that kiss was the best thing to happen to him since his brain got hit by a car, and Sam was not going to allow himself to feel guilty about that. A very primitive part of him decided that if it all went to hell, he was going to go seduce Gene just so that Warren would not get him first. And with that absurdly deranged thought, Sam hurled himself out of his chair, desperate to get away from everything for a moment and clear his head. Instead he ran straight into Ray.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and Sam knew that the 'evidence' had come in. He collapsed his shoulders and rolled his eyes and turned back into his office, Ray on his heels, looking murderous.

"I didn' do it." Sam crossed his arms.

"You don' even know why I'm here."

"Yes, oh yes, I do. You hate me. You were dating Joni. Now Warren or his henchman has given you some kind of lead to make it look like I killed her. I've been waiting for this. Warren's trying to stitch me up for her murder to get me off his case, and he's got you in his bloody pocket, so it's a right fit, yeah? 'Ell you'll make DCI for this once I've been locked up."

Ray barreled forward and it was as if a brick wall collapsed on top of him. Unlike Hunt, though, Ray was not fast and after taking two bruising hits Sam was able to lock him down to the ground with a martial arts hold he had not used in about three years.

"You fuckin' killed her for settin' you up!"

"She burned the negs, Ray, I got no reason to hurt her. An' I wouldn've hurt her even if she didn't. Fuck! I was set up for not playing along!"

"Still got her killed, didn'ya!"

Sam paused, then swiftly stood up, releasing his subordinate. Ray rolled over and slowly got to his feet, never taking his intense blue eyes off of Sam. "You're right. I got her killed. And I'm sorry." Sam rubbed his face and leaned backwards against the cabinet. "I'm so damn sorry."

Ray looked confused. "You admit it, then?"

"No, I'm not admitting to murdering her. I didn' do it. I suspect Charlie Edwards did, but 'ell, I got no proof. No evidence. No witnesses. And Warren is goin' to make it look like me anyway. But I'm sorry for not…protecting her. Not helping her get out of town faster. For not understanding how far Warren would take this."

"Why you tellin' me this?" Ray still looked malevolent and unconvinced.

"I got anything to lose? You 'ate me, everyone hates me. The whole bloody department is on Warren's payroll, or Harry's, or both. I keep fightin' this, and I'm goin' down like Gene Hunt."

Ray frowned. "What you know about the Boss…Gene?"

Sam studied him, and wondered about the slip. Every time Sam mentioned Hunt before, Ray's opinion was vociferous and damning, but here he accidentally referred to him as 'Boss,' as if there was some part of him that remembered Hunt as his DI.

"I met 'im. Talked to 'im. I don't think he was bent. I think he was taken down just like they are goin' to take me down, for fightin' them."

"He had more to lose than you do, Guv."

Sam looked at him, and Ray shrugged, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and leaning against Sam's desk.

"Wife and kid. Couldn't just leave town, not like Warren would let 'im, yeah? Not once Harry turned him over."

"Harry turned Hunt over to Warren?" Sam could not keep the shock out of his voice.

"Hunt's a fighter, he is. Brave man, bravest I ever met. Never one to back down from a fight. He took 'em both to the wall and if they weren't tight as thieves he might've won."

"So you knew he wasn't bent. You knew he was set up."

Ray closed his eyes, nodded, and took a drag off the cigarette.

"And you didn' do a damn thing to help him…you're on Warren's payroll, aren't you?"

Ray gave him fierce, glaring look but did not disagree. Sam sighed in frustration.

"Look, Guv, we're all in the same boat. Hell, Hunt told me to stay on the take, once it all started goin' wrong, tol' me to save my arse, not go down for him. I wanted to 'elp him, he was my DI, yeah? But Harry was still DCI and…" He trialed off, obviously realizing how pathetic that sounded. Sam considered reaming him for it all, and he really wanted to, but it would not accomplish anything anyway. Ray looked at him again. "You mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"That you're sorry about Joni."

"About not protecting her, yeah. She didn' deserve that, an' she tried to help me out in the end."

"Not your job to protect her," Ray said quietly, concentrating on his cigarette, and it all clicked for Sam.

"Don' blame yourself, Ray. It's Warren you need to blame. He set her up, and when she failed to follow through he had her killed. Warren. He's the bastard here."

Ray nodded slowly, his gaze unfocused. "You take 'im on, Guv, he'll do the same to you."

"Gene…Hunt warned me of that. Too late now."

"When you talked to Hunt…"

"He may not 'ave been a bent copper, Ray, but he belongs to Warren now. We can't trust him."

"…We?"

Sam pursed his lips and stood up straight. "Time for you to choose sides, DI Carling. You've sinned and you're a bent copper but I don't believe that you will stand by and let Warren get away with murder. Not Joni's murder. You 'elp me, and we can bring him down. Him and Harry Woolfe. We need evidence, we need proof, and we need time, but I know they can be brought down. I know it. I'm staking my life on it. So where are you in this?"

Ray sat silently and smoked, looking at the ceiling, his thought process slow and ponderous. Just when Sam was about to assume the worst, Ray stood up, put out his cigarette, turned to face him and frowned.

"Tell me what to do, Guv. We'll take those murderous bastards down."

---

It was the little pig politician and his pals, and Gene stepped into the room with a light green dress shirt and burgundy silk tie on, his jacket slung over his shoulder. The dark suit fit well; Warren was nothing if not generous in dressing his men, for both personal and professional reasons. The girls were giving laps dances that threatened to break into a Swedish porno any second, and the little pig man was pretending to watch, but his eyes riveted on Gene the second he showed up. Gene brought Isaac with him, one of the older rent boys who worked the bar part time, in his early thirties and smart as well as experienced. He was dressed sharply in black and while lean, could play 'security' well enough not to be laughed at.

"Mr. Harris?" Gene leaned over the piggie, keeping his jacket slung over his shoulder and Isaac standing off to the side, looking serious. Gene bent in low, knowing he was looming over the man, getting just close enough to let the john smell his cologne but not close enough to feel his breath. This type was turned on by intimidation, an easy enough role for Gene to play.

"Yeah?"

"Boss'd like a word with yeh. The boy'll show you where to go." Gene stood back up and nodded towards Isaac. Harris licked his lips nervously but his partners in crime were oblivious underneath the pussy so he eagerly followed the younger man out as Gene stared at him.

Gene turned to watch the girls for a moment, hoping for inspiration, but they looked as bored as he felt and he walked out.

Through a side entrance and down a private hallway, Isaac was standing outside the door to a small 'guest' room, and smiled slyly as Gene walked up.

"Ugly fuck." Isaac indicated the door. "'Ope you get combat pay for this one, love."

"He don' do nothin' but suck cock, so unless he's hidin' a hoover my I'll make it out in one piece." Gene sighed and put the jacket on, feeling stupid and self conscious.

"Could be worse for yeh." Isaac reached out and petted his tie, then wrapped his fingers around it and pulled. "Need some warm up?"

"Good lad…" Gene said as he stepped into him. They kissed lightly, familiarly, and Gene let Isaac earn his keep by playing seductress. The boy's tongue worked wonders on his mouth and neck, and Gene ground his hips. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of a different slim, dark-haired man against him, trying to keep Tyler out of this dirty world of his. Isaac was a good looking man and all of Gene's 'type' and he wanted to feel something as he pushed Gene's buttons, but this was on-the-clock work for both of them. Isaac had a girlfriend to go home to after working the bar and Gene had a john to finish off and it was so impersonal he wanted to punch a damn timecard to show he was present. Isaac could be counted on for some things, though, and his long, delicate fingers worked at Gene's cock through his trousers until an erection was in evidence and strong enough to get Gene through the door. Isaac pulled off, sucking at Gene's bottom lip.

"Need me for anything in there?"

"No double bubble for you. Get back to the bar." Gene snapped his fingers against Isaac's neck and pushed him down the hall, rolling backwards to open the door. Harris was in a chair, looking meek and timid and pretending to be scared. A few sharp instructions and the man was on the floor with his dick in hand, his mouth open and greedy, and Gene unzipped as he walked over.

The curses and insults Gene forced himself to rant as he tried to come were genuine, because it was possibly the worst blow job of his entire life, but he finally got off, shooting his spunk all over the little pig's face, making him squeal as he fisted himself to orgasm at Gene's feet. Gene turned and walked out, saying nothing as he packed himself together, glad it was over and did not require a shower to clean up from and trying only to think about the money.

Trying very, very hard not to think of Tyler.

There was nothing he could do, not with his son in the cross fire. The second Warren thought Gene was working against him, all bets were off and Gene would be kidnapping the boy and living on the run for the rest of his life, probably in some nancy poncey country like France where everyone spoke through their noses and ate snails. Although Italy might not be so bad, and the women there had large breasts. That amusing thought trailed him and became less amusing as he got back to managing the club, yelling at the bar backs, frowning at the dancers and corralling Warren's latest boy up to Warren's office for a quickie, as ordered.

Run for it. He finally had enough cash stashed in his flat to get him out of the country, and he knew people who could get him and the boy passports on the fly, under fake names. Gene was not the least bit worried about survival, because he could find a job anywhere he landed. Warren would figure it out but by the time he did, Gene and Stu would be three countries over and down and living under another set of names. Or hell, America – he would not even have to learn a new language. The boy was young enough to go along and not cause too much of a fuss, or know how to run away, but old enough not to need nappies. The kid would be terrified of him and that thought infuriated Gene, but it did not dampen his enthusiasm for the plan.

He smiled to himself as he oversaw the bar, rolling the word over and over in his brain: plan. He had a plan. The first workable plan he had come up with in years, the first plan that might actually save lives instead of spend them, the first plan that ever gave him real hope. It was not that he never considered running before, but not with enough money to get far or to take his son with him. Over three years of scrimping and whoring, and he was in possession of just enough to call it a starter.

Of course, that left Tyler, who was doomed. Gene thought that if he set it up right, Sam might be able to walk into a new life as club manager of The Warren instead of floating in the canal. His smile broadened to a grin, despite himself, and the bartenders shimmied away from him nervously. Gene finally felt like he was doing some good for a change, saving two lives – Stu and Sam – with only the cost of his own.

He gave himself a week, two at the most, to think it out in detail, do some covert research – America really sounded like the right answer, but he would need to find out the cost to get that far – and spy on Mary and Stu. He did not want to hurt Mary – well yes, he did, but that was counterproductive. He figured he needed at least a twelve hour lead time with Stu for this to work, and since he would probably end up restraining her somehow he needed to know when the best window of opportunity would be. He kept thinking about every detail and barely paid attention to the club as it pulsed and throbbed around him, and later, after hours when he was called up to the office, Gene flung himself almost gleefully into pegging the new boy with Warren, knowing he only had a week of hell left on earth.

---

Ray's contact was Joe Merton. This was only a part of the information Ray spilled late that night in Lost and Found, Chris sitting next to him uncomfortably, as Sam tape recorded the proceedings and took notes. Ray battled that but Sam promised on his own warrant card that he would see to it Ray kept his job. Sam decided that he would try to figure out that miracle when they got to it, but for now, he needed Ray talking.

Harry ran robberies and gambling interests and it was very lucrative but surprisingly low key. Harry was greedy but not that greedy, and both smart and experienced enough not to cross any lines that might send RCS after him. Apparently Geoff in CID was Harry's sole man in the squad, but that was enough because everyone knew it and let Geoff do what he needed to do.

Everyone else was, to some degree or another, Warren's. Warren worked every angle, from larger gambling interests to brothels to slum lord. He owned a few 'honest' businesses that were used to launder money and Ray suspected, but had no proof or first hand knowledge, that Warren was branching out into drugs.

It was all damning, but it all rested on Ray's word, and they both knew that one sharp knife or well placed bullet would fix that problem for both Warren and Woolfe. Ray was nervous but trying not to be, and Chris was nearly insensible with fear.

"You need to think of this as goin' undercover, Ray. You're doing the same thing you always do, only we're recording it, proving that it happened."

"Undercover." Ray nodded repeatedly, unhappy.

"This will save your career, Ray, when it all comes out. We'll say you were undercover…"

"For six years?"

"What's past is past, okay? Just focus on the now."

"The now." Ray raised an eyebrow.

"Just a saying. Undercover. You are undercover. Think you can do this?"

"I'm doing this for Joni. Yeah."

"I know, and you're doin' the right thing. Now, you an' I, we got to keep at each other. No one can know we are workin' together. I'm goin' to be hard on you, and you need to give it right back. Just like always."

A slightly evil grin spread across Ray's face. "With pleasure, Guv."

"Don' have too much fun with it." Sam snarled and Ray's grin widened. Sam shook his head and wrote down a few more notes, then he heard Ray clearing his throat and looked up.

"Ey Guv, what about Hunt?"

Sam blinked. "What about him?"

"Maybe…maybe he could 'elp us, you know, if…"

"No. I already asked him anyway…"

"Yeah well he don' know you, does he Guv? He knows me."

"We can't trust 'im, Ray."

"I'd trust 'im with me life, Guv. I would."

"He's not the man you used to know. He's changed…"

"Not the Boss. He ain't changed that much. You give him a rope, and he'll pull 'imself out. I know him, Guv, I know him. Let me talk to him."

Sam tapped his pen and looked at Chris, who was pale and shaken, but who shrugged noncommittally. Hunt was before his time. Sam's first thought to Ray's comment, though, was that giving Gene enough rope might hang them all, but something in his stomach clinched. Some small, odd part of him wanted to trust Gene, and wanted to believe that Gene was somehow tied to getting him home. Bringing Gene in on this would be, at the very least, Gene's own death warrant, but Sam could not stop himself from hoping for more.

"Okay. One shot. You talk to him once. Not at the club, not anywhere anyone will see you. Once." Sam pointed his pen at Ray, who looked defiant, but nodded.

---

Gene walked in to his flat, turned on the light, and froze. Ray was sitting on the couch, just sitting, waiting. Gene's first panicked thought was that if Warren found out, he would start keeping tabs on Gene, and his plan would be postponed if not shattered. He stared angrily at Ray, who shifted uncomfortably.

"No one sent me, I'm here on me own."

Gene did not answer, slinging his coat over the spare chair and pouring himself a drink.

"I know you wasn't bent, Boss. I knew it then, when you tried to get me to 'elp you."

Gene looked at him askance. "Some good now. Why you here?"

"Joni."

Gene sighed heavily and sat down.

"Tell me you got nothin' to do with her murder. I want to hear it from you."

"You goin' to hear it from someone else?"

"The Guv says we can't trust you. That you set her up. He don' think you had a hand in her murder, but he says you set her up. Just as bad, in my book."

Gene leaned back. "She worked for Warren. She done what she was told, she'd still be alive."

"Not an answer, Boss."

"I'M NOT YOUR FUCKIN' BOSS!" Gene roared, standing up and pointing at Ray, who flinched. "You an' your lot saw to that! I knew you was on the take, Ray, but I trusted you and gave you a chance to clean up, to own up…"

"You tol' me not to rock the boat!" Ray pointed back.

"When it was done! When it was me or us going down!"

Ray looked away. "I know. I let you down, Boss. I know. That's why…Tyler's takin' 'em on. Both of 'em. An' I'm goin' to help him. I know that don' change nothin', but…I got to know if you set Joni up for Tyler's honey trap."

"Why you care?"

"We was dating, like." Ray sniffed and Gene's stomach soured, because in the end, they would have made a good couple. Joni was honest by nature and kind and Ray was loyal and hardworking and it was a good match. If Gene had known, if Joni had told him, he would never have sent her up to Warren.

"Yeah, I did."

Ray's stark blue eyes went dark and ominous and Gene turned his back on him.

In the end, Ray lost the fight, but the couch, two tables, and at least one of Gene's kidneys paid the price. He knew he would be pissing blood for a couple of days, but at least it was not visible damage like Ray's nose. He got the tea towel from the kitchen, wet it down, and slapped it on Ray's face before sitting down in one of the surviving chairs.

"I didn' know you two were on. She didn't say, and if she had, I would've sent some other bird. But that's my job, to get Warren what he asks for. He needed a girl who owed him favors or money and Joni owed both. That's the deal. I was doin' my job, and sure as hell never meant for her to get hurt by it. Tyler was the one supposed to go down. Not her. I'm not a god damn murderer."

Ray just sat on the floor, his legs splayed, wiping off his face.

Gene took a deep breath. "I should've protected her, an' I didn't. I couldn't, I didn' know what was 'appening, that Warren would take it that far. I didn' kill her, but damn, I'm sorry." He rubbed a hand over his mouth and saw Ray looking at him peculiarly. "What?"

"That's exactly what the Guv said."

Gene leaned back in the chair, contemplating that. "He's goin' down hard, Ray. If I know Warren he's settin' him up to take the fall for Joni's murder."

Ray nodded. "Already started."

"Hmph. Don' tie yourself to a sinking ship."

"We're taking that fucker down, Boss. One way or another. Tyler can do it, he's smart. He's a stuck up arse, but he's smart. Thing is, he thinks you're Warren's dog, that we can't trust you. I told 'im we could, that you'd be in on this."

Gene sucked his teeth, thinking of his plan, and wondering if he could pull it all off. Help Tyler take Warren and Harry down, and still get the hell out with his son, and start over. He could. Now he knew what he was doing, he could.

"Ask me that a month ago, and I'd say Tyler was right. But things change. Those bastards need a good going over, and I think Tyler's the one to do it. Count me in, Raymundo. We're goin' to clean up the streets of our fair city." Gene went and poured them both a drink.

Ray smiled.

---

"What?"

"He's in. He'll help us."

"I don't believe you."

Ray grinned. "He said you'd say that. Told you to meet him tonight, his place, after the club closes." Ray turned and walked out of the office, putting on a scowl for the sake of their audience in the office.

Sam did not like it. He did not trust Gene and, he admitted, he was not sure he trusted himself around Gene. He was hardly one to be lead along by his dick but facts were, he was horny, he had not had anything like real sex in a long time (Joni did not count, as far as he was concerned), and Gene pushed his buttons. He knew it, and he knew Gene knew it, and this was not the time to even be thinking about any of that. Even so, he needed to know exactly what Gene was willing to do to help them, or how dangerous Gene was to the operation. That meant, Sam was going to his flat that night.

He actually went right after work. He knew Gene was at the club and he figured the best way to avoid detection was to be at the place Gene was not. Thinking of it as a stakeout, he brought take out with him and broke in through the back door, skulking down the alley like a thief. He ate while light was still coming in through the windows in the small kitchen, then went and laid down on the oddly broken couch, trying to sleep even though it was slanted in one corner. Reading or television was out, because Gene was not home and someone might get suspicious. He was in for a long night, knowing Gene would not show up until early morning, but the risks were too great to do anything but play it all very, very safe. He tossed and turned and sleep simply escaped him for hours, and when it came it was hell. He thought she only appeared in his flat, but he was wrong.

Do you miss your friends, Sam?

"Go away!"

Do you miss the people who love you? No one loves you here, do they, Sam? He doesn't love you, he's going to kill you. He's not your friend, Sam, he will try to destroy you. Why are you waiting for him? Are you just waiting to die?

"No!"

Poor Sammy, just waiting to die. Waiting for him. To. Die.

He was blinded by a bright light and he threw his arms out to ward it off. "No! I'm not ready to die!"

"Hell I ain't here to kill ya. Wake up." Gene stood by the floor lamp, looking confused.

"Damn, you sweat like a race horse, getting muck all over me sofa. What, you dreaming of Ursula Andress?"

Sam blinked as he stared at Gene, who was standing next to the floor light he just turned on.

"….No. And your sofa is broken anyway, kind of leans funny…" Sam made it rock uncertainly as he sat up.

"Been here all night?" Gene sat down and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Sam swung his legs to the floor and rubbed his head, trying to wake up. "Yeah."

"I smell Chinese food."

"Take out."

"Leave me any?"

"No."

"Right bastard you are."

"Not yer wife."

"No, the wife put out." Gene leaned back casually and blinked slowly, amused with himself.

"Not here to put out, either. Don' you get plenty of that at the club?" Sam slung back, hoping to derail the topic completely.

Gene did not answer, and in that silence, Sam realized he stepped over the line.

"Sorry."

"You want my help or not?"

"What I want is not a factor. What we need to pursue this investigation is."

Gene nodded. "Fair enough. What do you need?"

"Information," Sam answered, surprised, because he thought it was obvious. Gene used to be a police officer, surely he knew the drill.

"Not very precise, are you? Look, you want my help, you tell me what you need. What are you using to bring down Warren?"

Alarm bells went off in Sam's head and he peered at Gene. "The nature of our investigation is on a need-to-know basis. You aren't a cop, you are an informant, and you'll answer my questions. Not the other way around."

Gene's eyes narrowed but he did not argue.

"Can you place Warren on the night of Joni's murder?"

"So you're trying to bring him down with that, then?"

"Oh for christ's sake, Gene, cooperate!"

"No. No, I'm not 'cooperating' with you. I'm giving you want you need to bring this bastard down. Ray's nothing to Warren, doesn't know shite about his operations, and barely registers on the rolls. He's paid to look the other way, not to know anything. I've worked for Warren five years now, five years of bleedin' hell, and I know what's what. You're on a limited time frame here, so I suggest you make good with what I can tell you."

Sam did not like the speech, but let him roll. He had an idea on how to get Warren, and that was not really why he was here. "All I want to know is, if I can bring Warren up on murder charges, which side of the fence will you be on? Providing him an alibi?"

"That all you want to nail him for?"

"Jesus Christ, answer the question."

Gene looked at him for a long time before answering, and while Sam was not one to squirm, the look was sad and bitter and worried and made him very uncomfortable. "Won't matter. I won't be here to testify either way."

Sam leaned back on the couch. "You're skippin'."

Gene nodded. "Jus' put more than one life on the line tellin' you that, Sam. Warren finds out…" Gene sucked on his teeth and looked off.

"He'll go after your son?"

Gene nodded then leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. "So what, you're going to nail Charlie, bang him up, make him give up Warren? Won't stick."

"How'd you…?"

"It's what I'd do. But I'm tellin' you, won't stick. Warren's got the best briefs in town."

"True. But I can't very well get him on much else."

"Can, if you tie him to Harry."

Sam smiled. "Harry's why I'm here. I figured I could nail Warren for the murder but Harry…he's damn good."

"Who's his man inside?"

"Ray says it's Geoff."

"Yeah, would be 'im."

Sam started to relax, for no reason he could name. He thought maybe it was the expression on Gene's face, which showed that he was sincerely lost in thought. Sam was almost put at ease knowing that Gene planned to skip town, because it meant he was not staking anything on the outcome. Although, another part of him regretted it, because something about the man intrigued him. He reminded his libido to stay the hell out of the way and focused back on Gene's train of thought.

"Set Geoff up, get him to turn over evidence?" Sam suggested, not really backing the idea but throwing something out to consider, to bounce off Gene. This exchange of ideas was something they could do together that Sam did not think he could do with anyone else he knew. Certainly not here.

"Entrapment."

"Not like this crowd frowns on that, as far as I can tell." Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Blimey, you hate everyone, don't you? Must be 'ell in CID right now, with a DCI who thinks 'is whole team is scum."

"Stupid scum." Sam corrected, and Gene just stared at him in shock.

"Yer talking about some good men, there, Sam."

"Can't tell. Most are bent and they are nearly to a man incompetent."

"You're serious!" Gene said, appalled.

"The list of their sins is endless. I don't know how a single crime ever got solved in that building before…"

"Before you." Gene finished pointedly.

"Well…yeah."

"I was right the first time. Yer an arsehole."

"What did you say? 'You're not the first to say that and you won't be the last.' I'd rather be an arsehole copper doin' my job than a bent copper wasting space."

Gene looked literally speechless at that, and Sam shrugged. "I'm here to do my job, Gene. Do my job and go home."

"Don' think you'll be missed, at this rate."

"Is there a reason we're 'aving this conversation?" Sam crossed his feet and folded his hands over his belly, tired, and not seeing the point of this anymore. He did not think Gene was going to be much use to him, after all, and the man's belligerence was wearing on him.

"What do you want, Tyler?" Gene suddenly looked much older, and exhausted. Sam tilted his head. There was a note of resignation to Gene's voice that felt out of place in the conversation, and Gene was rubbing his hands together as if trying to scrape something off them.

"What did Warren have you do tonight? More than watch the club?"

"Yer a sick bastard to ask me that." Anger and hatred flashed in eyes that Sam noticed for the first time were intensely, penetratingly green. They were beautiful, even with the flush of emotion radiating from them. Sam felt like a bastard because it was clear that Warren did have him do something – or someone? – and Gene was ashamed about it. Warren was using him up, and it made Sam angry, but it also calmed him down. Gene needed more help than a 'get out of hell free' card and it actually felt good to focus on someone else's problems rather than his own – just being around Gene made everything feel so real, as if Sam was making a difference. Just for a few moments, his own tribulations did not seem quite that bad, and Sam's mind slowed down with concern.

"No, I'm not. I'm asking because you look like shite. You don' look good at all. When was the last time you ate?"

"What the fuck do you care?" Gene rubbed his face with both hands, and Sam saw they were shaking. He got up and walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder, uncertain if the gesture would be welcomed or brushed off but needing to do something.

"People still care, Gene. Don' let Warren take your soul."

Sam found himself in the middle of Gene, who wrapped his arms around his hips and pressed his face into his stomach. There was no crying or talking or any sound at all, just Gene leaning into him as Sam stood next to the chair. He reached down and began rubbing his back, slowly, trying to work out the tension. He could not imagine this life that Gene led, disgraced and humiliated and hopeless, and he pitied him. More than anything, he wanted to help him, he wanted to take down Warren, the bastard who destroyed this man and was out to destroy him in the same way.

"Gene, I'll help you, you got to let me help you."

He felt the temperature of Gene's skin rise before he understood what it meant. Gene dropped one arm and snagged Sam's legs out from under him, and fell out of the chair onto his knees, catching Sam as he went down. Gene was on top of him faster than Sam could figure out why, and by the time he did, Gene's tongue was firmly inside of his mouth. He tasted of whiskey and cigarettes and desperation, and Sam's heated mind decided that this was exactly what they both needed. It felt real, anyway, and Sam was desperate in his own way for that. He grabbed for Gene's back, his hold fierce and demanding, and Gene sighed at the sensation of Sam locking them together. The kiss grew from tongue to teeth to jaw, from tasting to sucking, and Sam pressed his head up, trying to reach further into Gene, who was gasping as if he was a fish out of water, running out of breath. Sam moved one arm between them, forcing his hand into the heat and pressure there, and went for Gene's belt, kissing down his jaw and fantasizing about holding Gene's cock in his hands. As his fingers scrabbled at the buckle, Gene froze, his eyes closed but his face drawn as he pulled back from the kiss.

Sam slowly pulled his hand out and rested it on Gene's back again. "Too fast?"

Gene snorted and pushed off, laying down on the floor next to him so they were side by side, looking at the ceiling. Sam rubbed his face. "Sorry. Sorry. This really isn't why I came here…"

"I know."

Sam just glanced at him and continued to lay there, waiting for Gene, willing himself not to drop his hands to his own, still fierce erection trapped in his pants.

"That's all I do."

"What?" Sam rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. Gene did not look at him.

"That's what I do. Warren. The boys, the girls…the johns." Gene closed his eyes. "Always want somethin'. Always go for the dick, as if I care anymore. I don't take, I give. An' they take." Gene seemed to break with the admission, and sat up, holding his head.

Sam sat up next to him. "Shit. I'm sorry…"

"Leaves me nothin'. Nothin'…for here. For mine own." Gene glanced at him and then quickly looked away, and Sam was mortified.

"I don't…Gene, I don't need that. I'm sorry, I just…"

Gene closed his fists and looked straight ahead. "That's life, chews you up and yer lucky if you get spit out." He got up and stared down at Sam. "I'm going to bed. 'Ad to fuck Warren and half the damn football team, and the plumbing in the loo bust again. Fuckin' cheap piping Warren put in…and I'm doing an inventory audit tomorrow, think one of the bartenders is giving out too much for free." He ran a hand through his hair, and Sam sat on the floor, stunned at the casual admission in the midst of the job description. Gene looked at him, raising his eyebrows in surprise, as if he just remembered exactly who Sam was.

"You decide what information you need, Sam. I'll get it. Now go 'ome like a good boy." Gene turned and walked to the back of the flat. Sam remained on the floor for a couple of minutes, then got up and followed him. When he walked in the bedroom, Gene was down to his boxers, stripping off his watch and looking pale and exhausted. He glanced up at Sam. "What part of fuck off don't you get?"

Sam shoved past him to turn down the bed sheets. "The part where you mean it." He waved at the bed. "Get in."

"I was anyway." Gene said, sitting down, then tucking his feet into the sheets and looking at Sam before pulling them over him. "If yer stayin', you need to be gettin' naked 'fore I can shag you."

Sam pushed him down and pulled the sheets up, then turned off the light and laid down on top of the blankets next to Gene, gently placing one arm across his chest. Gene squirmed, and Sam wondered about all of the boys and girls who had slept in this bed with Gene, a man who expected to be used for sex as casually as any street walker, his pride completely destroyed by his circumstances and any sense of self-worth he once possessed demolished by Warren. Sam hated everything about this world that he probably made up, his job and his own personal life and the nightmares that kept him emotionally unbalanced, but now more than anything he hated the people who would crush Gene this far down for the sake of their greed and selfishness. Gene, the only person Sam knew here who made him feel alive instead of lost, who reminded him of what it meant to be human, of everything that he had to live for and to fight for. He rubbed Gene's arm softly, affectionately, wondering with amazement at how much he cared.

"What are you doin', Sam?" Gene said into the darkness, trying not to sound confused.

"I'm putting you to bed and stayin' until you fall asleep. I'm watchin' over you."

"Yer a damn romance novel."

"You're a damn wreck."

"That's you with the sweet talk. I see why Ray fancies ya."

"He doesn't!" Sam bowed up, appalled, and Gene laughed softly at him.

"No. No…but Warren fancies you. He'll get you killed, you know."

"I'm already in a coma, you know." Sam laid down on his back, letting go of Gene.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Yer not right in the 'ead, Tyler."

Sam felt Gene's body relaxing next to his, and he shoved an arm under his neck and shoulders, tugging until Gene rolled into him, resting his head on his chest and kicking his feet like a stubborn kid.

"Bloody fairy."

Sam smiled. "Go to sleep, Gene."

---

Gene woke up at two in the afternoon alone, and he wondered if the night before was some kind of fever dream. He wanted Sam so badly, but in the clutch he flashed back to everything he tried never to remember and it broke his own hard-on. He laid in bed wondering if he could even get it up anymore with out being paid to. Which, in a way, Sam was doing: using him to get what he wanted on Warren and Harry. Made sense and it was a square deal, but it obviously was not good enough for his dick and Gene wanted to die there on the floor and just let Sam take him to the morgue so Oswald – did Oswald still work the morgue? – could chop him up. Chopping off his dick at this point would hardly be much of a loss. Gene enjoyed sex but almost everything he had over the last five years was either demanded of him or needed of him and not anything he would ever really want himself, even when it was damn good sex. It was him giving and others taking and even on those few, rare occasions when a boy got under his skin, Warren had the kid fired, or, in one particularly nasty row between them, got the offending love interest hooked on drugs, strung out, and dead in the gutter from an O.D. Gene never forgave him for that, but he never forgave Warren for anything, so in the end the boy's misplaced love and wasted life was filed under Gene's long list of personal failures…which now included his penis and Sam Tyler.

What bothered him even more, though, was that he never intended to say the things he said to Sam. Things he never said to anyone because there was no point in saying them; but when he did, it felt like a Catholic confession to let Sam know what was really up with him (which, obviously, was not his cock) and how messed up his life was. That feeling of absolution was almost too pure to belong in Gene's life anymore and part of him thought that he was just cluing Sam in on what his own life was going to become, but the rest of him knew the truth: he wanted Sam to give a damn.

But he did not actually expect that Sam would, and he still did not believe it completely, even after Sam's little fit of domesticity.

He tried not to remember how it felt to lay in bed like that, holding on. If felt normal, comfortable, something a man with some grip on his life might do. A pipe dream, a queer-arsed fantasy that he knew was impossible; Gene was used to being 'on call' and being in anything resembling an adult relationship was a skill he lost a long time ago and did not deserve at this point. Anyway, Gene reminded himself as he showered and dressed for work, Sam was going to use him, eventually. No one ever came to his flat without wanting something in exchange. Sam would not have showed up that night otherwise and Gene chastised himself for thinking that there was anything more to it than Sam needing a canary to sing.

Because when it all came down, Gene knew he was just another one of the pieces of 'stupid scum' Sam thought so highly of, and as Gene considered that, the more he respected Tyler for beating Warren in the 'manipulative bastard' game. Killing dreams was honest trade, but giving false hope…that was a different sort of evil altogether, and it usually got people killed.

---

"But Guv…." Ray argued as they sat in Sam's car, ostensibly on a stake out, mostly just escaping prying ears and eyes at the office.

"Gene's in too far. He may even think he's helping, but Warren's got his claws into him. I'm not sayin' we don' use him if we have to, but I'd rather find ways to do this that won't involve him."

"You don't trust him." Ray crossed his arms, livid, and Sam knew he was walking a delicate line. He decided, long after Gene fell asleep in his arms, that he was not going to use Gene for this. He was not going to use Gene at all, not to bring down Warren and not to get laid, but he could not explain it like that to Ray without it sounding more queer than it already did.

"Actually, I do trust him. I talked to him this morning…he's got a fucked up life, there, Ray, and he wants out. But he is too close. There's undercover, and then there's Stockholm Syndrome, and…"

"S'what syndrome?"

"…I mean, he might clue Warren in without even meaning too. He's been with…worked with Warren for five years now. They know each other."

"If yer sayin' what I think yer saying, I'm calling you a goddamn liar."

"You're the one who called him a homosexual, if I remember." Sam rolled his eyes.

"That's the rumors, but Mary, she's a greedy girl. My cousin, yeah? On my mother's side. She'd call the Pope a bum bandit if she thought it would get her summat. Said she got photos of…it…but no one but her saw 'em. You know birds. Lie 'bout anything."

Sam shook his head, the convolutions of Ray's mind beyond him. "I'm jus' sayin', lets not use him until we have to. For his sake as much as ours. Think, Ray! If Warren suspects Gene's been talking to us, we're pulling 'is body out of the canal tomorrow…if not his son."

"Would 'ave to be both, I reckon there, Guv. Warren lays a hand on that kid and Gene'll gut him."

"I'd rather NOT go in that particular direction with this."

"Would solve one of our problems…hate to see the kid hurt, though," Ray said practically, as if considering one of many possible avenues for their inquiry. Sam shook his head again, this time in disbelief.

"Let's get back to the case. Joni. Gene thinks Charlie Edwards killed her…"

"Bring 'im in, beat ten loads of shite out of 'im, get a confession." Ray smiled in satisfaction.

"Won't quite bring down Warren, will it? And we know that she was murdered on his word."

"We do?"

Sam sighed. "Yes. Let's just say we do. Now you say you've got a witness who saw 'me' around her flat that night?"

"One Mr. Edgerton. Retired. Says he saw you 'round 'er flat."

"Did Mr. Edgerton tell you how he knew it was me?"

"Don' remember him, Guv?" Ray gave a look that screamed 'duh' and Sam tried not to roll his eyes yet again.

"No. Enlighten me."

"One o'the victims of that rash of robberies centered around Mayfield St. You interviewed 'im yourself about three weeks ago."

"Shit. Harry."

"Wot? No, Phil, I think. Phil Edgerton." Ray nodded and blew smoke out the window.

"No, Harry Woolfe. He…no, Geoff found someone who could ID me, and lined him up for Warren to buy."

Ray stared at him. "Bloody 'ell, Guv…yeah! No other way!" Ray looked genuinely astounded by the deduction, but as Sam put it together he thought it was blatantly obvious. The problem was, it was not blatantly provable. In fact, there was no way to prove it at all. Sam felt like he was running into this whole thing half-cocked, waiting to find something with evidence behind it to stick Warren and Harry on, but it was two different fields of play with minor overlap and very smart players.

"Chess."

"You okay, Guv?" Ray looked at him with an annoyed expression.

"Chess. You don' go in blind. You think three moves ahead, all the time."

"Prefer cards." Ray shrugged, still annoyed.

"No…no, Ray, I'm saying we need to decide what we want, and then make it happen. Neither Warren nor Harry is going to screw up just for us. We need a plan to take them down."

"Like I said, fit them up…"

"No, not entrapment! But we know what they do, and all we have to do is prove that they are doing what they are doing and then we can do what needs to be done." Sam nodded, exited, but Ray scooted nervously away from him.

"What?"

"A plan, Ray. We need a plan."

---

As the days of the week ticked by, and Gene watched Mary and Stu, and fucked Warren, and got the plumbing fixed and hired a new bartender to replace the one he fired, Gene was oblivious. He waited for Sam to contact him, half expecting him not too. Sam did not particularly trust him, and Gene understood why. He would not trust a man like him either. So Gene kept his nose clean and his dick hard and counted his pennies and lived a life of oblivion, because within days he was going to be gone gone gone. He and Stu were leaving the country and starting over. He did not need Sam to do it, and the fact he even bothered to tell himself that made him angrier than the bill for the plumbing had.

He came into work on Thursday and found Charlie outside of his office.

"Boss wants ya." Charlie shrugged. Gene narrowed his eyes, displeased. Warren never sent Charlie for him, especially not if he wanted Gene for sex. Warren was at least predictable, so this whole arrangement set off warning bells. Charlie followed him up to Warren's office but stopped at the door, closing it behind him.

"Gene."

Gene froze at Harry's voice. He had not seen the man except from a distance since the day he walking into his office and begged for a job, and it took every muscle in his body not to pounce on the son of a bitch and throttle him. Harry looked much older than he remembered, much older than five years would account for, and Gene realized the man was up for retirement soon. Not soon enough.

"Gene, this is business. Sit down." Warren's voice filled the room, the velvet trills of his speech calming but firm. Warren was behind his desk, and Harry was comfortable in one of the chairs in front of it, a cigar and a glass of whiskey in hand. To do as he was ordered, Gene had to sit next to him, and the only way he could do that was to not look at Harry at all. He stared straight ahead and kept his thoughts on Stu, a plane, and America.

"We've got a problem, Gene." Warren was not smiling, not trying to play nice or kind, and more alarms went off. He cocked his head.

"Tyler."

"Always were a smart lad, Gene," Harry said approvingly, and Gene gripped the arm rest to keep from hitting him. He looked at Warren, who motioned off to the side, and Gene looked to the corner.

Ray stumbled forward, looking uncomfortable. Warren nodded at Harry.

"DI Carling here came to me last night. Seems our fresh young DCI has some kind of vendetta out for us. Wants to take us both down. Seems fit to frame us for Joni's murder, among other things." Harry spoke with a resigned tone his voice. Ray was nodding dumbly.

"First I knew she was murdered." Gene took the risk, not looking at Ray, with a sense of foreboding. Gene knew he was there for a reason, and was probably damned no matter what he said.

"She was. In fact, we believe that Tyler was the one who killed her."

Lies upon lies, and finally Gene looked over at Ray. The man's expression was one of smashed humiliation, but he was not contradicting Harry, and he obviously had not mentioned to Warren that he visited Gene earlier himself. Gene decided to keep pushing.

"Don't seem like much of a problem to me. Fit him up for the murder, send him off. He'll get shanked in prison anyway." Gene shrugged, and saw Harry smiling out of the corner of his eyes. Ray continued to not react to anything.

"Absolutely what we intended to do, but he caught on. He's suppressing the evidence we put out there. Ray here did not even know what was going on until Tyler confided in him."

"Misplaced loyalty there. Tyler's an arse."

"You've met him?" Harry sounded surprised, but Gene knew that Warren would have told him that already. They were playing him hard, and he wondered what they were setting him up for. Gene decided to play it as straight as he could.

"You know I 'ave, Harry. Warren told you." Gene turned a level gaze on Harry, knowing he looked furious, but Harry was hardly one to flinch. He just nodded in acquiescence.

Warren laughed. "Told you he was too smart for those games, 'arry."

"Yes, yes, just seeing how he stood."

Gene seethed at the way they talked over him, about him, and he snapped. "Don' give a fuck about Tyler or his plans for ya. Not my problem, never was. I know what you'll do to him, Harry, I know damn good and well. So do it, ruin another good man, and move on. Leave me the hell out of it."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Still a bit bitter, I see."

Gene stood up and towered over Harry, and the entire atmosphere changed. Warren rose from his chair slowly and Ray tensed, but Gene did not make a move.

"You destroyed me, you bastard. I got nothin' to give you, nothin' to owe you. You sold me out and sent me up. You think six years changes that? It don't." He turned and started to walk out.

"Gene, stop." Warren demanded and Gene stopped. "Gene, Tyler is a problem for all of us."

"Fuck off, Steve. I think you can 'andle him on yer own. Probably what you got in mind anyway, you fruit picking sodomite."

"Get the HELL OUT!"

Gene ducked as an ashtray went sailing at him, then he turned and looked Warren square in the eyes. "Just like a girl to start throwing things instead of fighting like a man."

Ray and Harry both leaned backwards, waiting for the clash, but it was long past that and Gene knew it.

"I'll deal with you later, sweetheart, and remind you of exactly what sodomite means."

Gene walked out.

---

Ray looked destroyed, and Sam wondered why. Their plan was not fool proof, and while Ray was certainly a fool and the weakest link in the chain, he was Sam's only ally. Chris was involved by default, not someone Ray could avoid tripping over for more than five minutes, so Sam did not think about him much. The boy would do what Ray told him, in fact would think exactly what Ray told him to think, and while Sam did not approve of hero worshipping in general, this time it was working to his benefit. Nothing they were doing was elegant – the plan, as it was, did not hold a lot water at this point anyway – but it all had to be done 'just so' or Harry and Warren would up the ante and more people would end up dead. People like Ray, and himself, and Gene.

Time. They needed to buy enough of it for everything to work, but Sam felt like a noose was around his neck and he could not figure out why. He left work and skipped the pub, again, letting Ray go alone to play it all regular and normal. It was important that nothing look different for either of them. Sam was sure Geoff, if not others, was reporting on his actions, and he wanted to hold the cards to his chest as long as possible.

His stomach was sour from stress and lack of sleep, and he did not want another dinner of cheap whiskey but food sounded worse. He walked into his flat, dazed and tired and the sun was not even down yet.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked stupidly, staring at Gene sitting his one semi-comfortable chair.

"Shitty flat, Tyler. I thought DCI's got better salaries than this."

"Not really my choice…kind of landed here. Aren't you supposed to be at the club?"

"Warren an' I had a little falling out this afternoon. I don't think he expects to see me tonight."

"Lover's quarrel?" Sam asked, then shook his head. "Sorry, didn' mean for that to sound quite so…"

"Bitchy?" Gene pursed his lips.

Sam nodded. "Yea, I guess. I need a drink."

"Thought you'd never ask." Gene held up the bottle that he was drinking out of.

"No, please, help yourself." Sam snorted and went to retrieve a glass for himself. "You often run out after a fight?"

"Often as in, run out, or often as in, fight?"

"Yeah."

"No. Don' fight with 'im much, no point to it, he holds all the cards. But when we do, I leave for a few days. Works out best. He'll fuck it out with one of his boys, I'll drink myself into the gutter, then everything goes back to normal."

"Good to have a plan." Sam said as Gene filled his glass.

"He does. I think he was working up to have me bump you off."

Sam stalled and stared at him.

"Sommat about you, Tyler, got both him and Harry scared. Maybe because they know they can't buy you, and they got nowt to hold on ya. I got Stu and Warren will hold my leash for the rest of my life because of it. Far as I can see, you got nothin'."

Sam nodded. "I got nothin'."

"Your days are numbered, Sam. And…they got Ray in with 'em."

"No, they don't."

"Don't argue with me. Christ yer annoying. Yes, they do."

"No, they don't. I know Ray was there today, I sent him. He already told me everything you just said."

It was Gene's turn to stare at him.

"I looked surprised when you told me because…well, because I'm surprised that you told me. Honestly I was trying to keep you out of this." Sam rubbed his head, trying to figure out how to fix everything now.

"You don' trust me. I don' blame you." Gene took a swig from the bottle and stared at the wall across from him.

Sam shook his head. "No, I trust you. That's the problem. I didn't want you to know too much, in case it didn' work. Then you could claim ignorance to Warren, possibly save your life. You've been through enough; I didn' want to push you into worse. Anyway Ray is angry enough to put it all on the line."

Gene stared at him, suspicious.

"Ray really loved Joni. Won't say it, but actions speak louder than words. And…I think he feels guilty about you. I'm not askin' about what happened there, when you went up against Harry, but I'm bettin' that Ray was in the middle. He's the only reason I went to you in the first place, because he said I could trust you."

"An' you believe 'im?"

"No, actually. I believe you."

"Givin' me enough rope to hang myself, are ya? Holdin' out a carrot, thinkin' I'll trot to the finish line on your word?" Gene sneered.

"You know, you're the one sitting 'ere in my flat. If you are so convinced I'm out to use you the same way Warren does, then why the hell are you here?"

Gene did not answer and they sat glaring at each other.

"You know every time I see you, it's a fight. I don' know why, and honestly, Gene, I don't need the hassle. So jus' be straight up with me, so I can finish that bottle you're killing and go to bed: Why are you here?"

"Jus' givin' you a warning, Tyler. Thought you deserved that much, 'fore I leave."

"So you're still planning on running?"

"Got no choice."

"Five years later, and suddenly you decide to pack up and haul out." Sam crossed his arms, and turned so he was sitting cross legged on the cot, facing Gene.

"Yeah." Gene took another swig out of the bottle and looked straight at him.

"Okay. Okay, then. What do you need?"

"What?" Gene snorted and looked around, as if he smelled something bad in the room.

"What do you need? What can I do to help you?"

"Why?"

"God you really are jaded. I'm offering to help you. Period. No strings attached. If you need help, I will help you."

Gene leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "There's always a price, Sammy Boy. Always."

Sam sighed. He wanted to help and Gene was not telling him 'fuck off' so he was open to the offer but fighting about it anyway because that, apparently, is just what Gene Hunt did. "Fine then. What's the price?"

"What you on about?"

"You refuse to believe that I am willing to help you for your own sake. Okay, fine. I'll help you, and in return, what do I get?"

Gene laughed.

"No, I'm serious. What's a fair price for helping you? You get my help, and I get…say, a fiver? A bottle of whiskey? You've damn near drunk that one anyway."

Gene studied the bottle and put it down, then got up and stood by the bed. Sam was confused until Gene started undoing his belt. He scrambled backwards in shock. "No! No no no. Not accepting sexual favors."

Gene sat on the cot, looking at Sam with hollowed eyes. "My dick or nothin', Sam. I don' think I can fit up Warren for you, not enough to do any good, an' I got to save my money. We'll need it."

"Christ I'd never take your money, Gene…wait, 'we'?"

Gene stalled and sat back, anger flashing, and Sam immediately knew why. "You're taking your son with you. You're going to kidnap him and take him with you."

"Fuck!" Gene stood up and began pacing. "Your picky arse brain! To damn smart for your own good."

"You bastard, I don't want anything from you, I'm not here to turn you in! Get that through your skull! If anything I understand, I sympathize. I don' approve but I'm not in your shoes Gene, and if I was…"

"You'd be dead first." Gene stood his hands on his hips. "Any man would be dead first." He lowered his head and stared at the ground, his fight dissipating in self-loathing. Sam heard it in his voice, saw it in his stance: Gene was defeated, emasculated, and he believed that running was his last option to get anything like pride back. Sam stood up and walked over to him, putting his hands on his chest.

"Running won't change the past, and once you start running, you'll never stop. You'll spend every hour of the day looking over your shoulder and worrying about Stu. You're not escaping, Gene, you're just trading one hell out for another."

Gene shook his head. "The longer I stay, the worse my chances get. Warren likes the fight, the feeling that he's taking on a man, not some poofter fairy boy, but I got no fight left. It's gone. Even when I do fight 'im, I know where I stand. Once he's got you, I'm out, on the street, jobless and homeless with the shirts on my back. I seen him do it before to men 'oo been with him ten years or more, thought they could count on 'im, but he turns them out an' within a year they're strung out on drugs or in jail for petty theft. He ruins people; what he enjoys, the sick bastard, is the breakin' of 'em. He's worse than a bastard, Sam, he's evil. I got to go while I got a chance to make it out at all, before he sees his job is done."

Sam stalled in shock at the speech, then shook Gene until they were both rattled. "Fight! Damn you, fight 'im! Help ME fight 'im! Don't let 'im do this to you! FIGHT!"

Gene reached out and grabbed him, pulling him into his mouth. Sam tightened his grip on Gene's arms as the man attacked him, holding onto Sam as if wrestling a cat, smothering Sam's breath with his lips. Gene finally locked a hand on Sam's neck and fell backwards, a controlled fall that dragged Sam down until they were on the floor, rolling over and on top of each other in a determined power play, back and forth across the room. It was a replay of their fight in Gene's living room, this time with tongues and groping hands instead of fists. They finally ended up smashed up against the largest chair, Sam on top, straddling Gene, thrusting his hips down so their erections rubbed against each other. He sat up when they broke for air, pushing his hands into Gene's chest.

"We don' got to do this, Gene. You don' owe me this."

Gene reached up and fisted his shirt, balling the material in his hands, but only stared at him, as if he was deciding what to do.

"I don' need you to fuck me, I don't need that."

"Funny thing to say to man yer humpin' on the floor."

"Yeah, okay, I want this. No secret there. But what do you want?"

Gene let go and closed his eyes, dropping his hands to rest on his chest. "Don' know. Nothin' left that's mine."

Sam could only imagine what that meant, but he thought he had a fair idea. Gene gave everything at some point, to Warren or the kids who worked for him and then worked him, and he had probably been seduced and sucked and got off in every way. Sam wanted to give Gene's sexuality back to him but he could not figure out how without making Gene feel like he was just being used again. He realized that he simply wanted to make love to someone who did not know how anymore. He stood up.

"Where you goin', y'daft sod?" Gene laughed, confused, reaching up and tugging at Sam's pant leg.

"We're not doin this; I'm not a bloody customer. Get up." Sam walked away, straightening his shirt, frustrated -- again -- then kicked the leg of his cot. He heard Gene slap the floor with his hands as he got up. Sam turned just fast enough to see Gene storm out of the flat, and watched silently as he slammed the door behind him.

---

From Sam's flat, Gene went back to the club. Warren would not expect him to be there, but it did not matter. The club was his home, in a very basic way, more so than his flat ever could be. Or Sam's. He understood what Sam tried to do, but in the end, it did not matter. He simply could not give Sam what he wanted and Sam was not accepting what Gene had to give, and there the road ended. It was breathtaking, for those moments when Sam was crushed against him, to feel like a man again, a proud man who someone believed in and trusted and it was that feeling that powered his hard-on, that feeling of worth. It was all an illusion, though, and Sam was not the kind of man to accept a dream world at face value. Gene reminded himself of the long string of club girls and rent boys who traipsed through his life, promising love or adoration or just affection, and how they all turned on him when it came down to money, drugs, or Warren. They all grabbed for the dream and hated him when it broke, but Sam was having no part of it at all. He called it like he saw it, and Gene respected that, even as it crushed him, because at least with the others he got a few spare fleeting moments of happiness that he would never see with someone like Sam Tyler. There was no dream world to even humor with Tyler, there was nothing, because Gene Hunt was nothing. He was a ghost of a man who could not even remember how to make love when someone asked him to, a shadow of the cop who was once willing to risk everything to take down Harry Woolfe in the name of righteousness. He was nothing and as he remembered Sam letting go of him, pulling away from him, he understood why: Sam could not be bothered with the lie. Sam saw through him and did not want what he saw. Gene walked down the street in the fading light, smoking and concentrating on his plan to get Stu out of the equation, because his was really the only life left that Gene thought he could save.

No one was surprised to see him, most wondering only why he was so late. Isaac gave him a questioning look and Gene shook his head. Isaac nodded and went back to setting up. The club officially opened at seven, to take in early drinkers there to get a buzz on before the night started, so the staff was generally busy and self-sufficient for the time being. Gene went to his office and within ten minutes, one of the dancers dropped in and told him Warren wanted to see him. Sighing in resignation, Gene trudged up the stairs, figuring out how he was going to convince Warren that a hard-on was out of the question tonight. Warren was not graceful at accepting 'no' for an answer.

Gene walked in and stopped cold. Warren looked up at him, smiling, pleased with himself, as little Stu sat on the edge of the desk, holding a football and looking confused.

It was not Stu's presence that kept Gene from killing Warren in that instant. No, Gene would not have thought twice about killing a man in front of his son right then, not at all; what stopped him was Charlie Edward's presence in the room, because Gene knew Charlie would get to Stu before Gene got done with Warren. He stood still, staring at the boy who did not recognize him, and Warren kept grinning.

"We've arranged with his mother to keep him for a few days. She's going to report him missing in the morning, and she's going to accuse you of kidnapping him. She's very…accommodating."

"She's a greedy bitch. 'Ow much you payin' her for this?"

"She's simply planning for her son's future."

"…What's the deal, Steve?"

Warren nodded to Charlie, who dipped out for a moment and brought in Leslie, one of the dancers. Stu brightened up when he saw her, and Gene knew she must have gone with Warren to pick him up from Mary. She cooed at the boy and promised him some ice cream and they walked out, Charlie trailing them. When they were alone, Gene crossed his arms.

"You want me to off Tyler."

"What a good idea. Wish I thought of it myself."

"No deal."

"I've got yer son, Gene, I'm the one deciding on the deal. You belong to me, remember? Or has Tyler already convinced you of his…sincerity?" Warren's eyes narrowed dangerously, and in that moment, Gene knew the game was up. Ray really had turned on Tyler, and now there was nothing left to try for, nothing left to hope for, and nothing left to lose.

"I get the boy, and I get gone. I disappear. You forget I was ever here."

Warren leaned back, his only concession to his surprise a raised eyebrow. "No money?"

"Don' want that much from you. Want my son, and a clear path out of town. I can figure out the rest."

"Willing to break the poor mother's heart, are we?" Warren grinned and Gene barely held himself in check.

"You want Tyler dead, I can give you 'is head on a plate. I want my son and I want out, that's all."

"Two lives for the price of one? Hardly a fair deal." Warren settled back in his chair, concentrating on negotiations.

"One life. Stu's. You already took mine to the bank."

"And such a pleasure it's been. But that's a lot of heat for me to…absorb. Dead cop, missing boy, disappearing club manager."

"You'll manage."

"I will, in fact." Warren smiled, and Gene's final deal with the devil was sealed. He glowered but did not argue, and pursed his lips as he looked at the ground. "One final requirement, though, as I think of it. Since I'll be losing my favorite toy forever."

Gene's head snapped up and he stared into Warren's dark, wanton eyes.

"No. I'm done with that. This clears the books." Gene shook his head and tried to back up, but fury and helplessness rooted him to the spot.

"Not at all, love. No, not at all. I made a promise earlier today which I intend to keep." Warren picked up the phone. "I'll let Isaac know you won't be available for the rest of the night."

They stared at each other while Warren held the phone in his hand, waiting for Gene's defeat. Gene knew there was never 'one final job' with Warren, there was always the 'next thing you owe him' and this was it. Five years of buggering the man, letting him suck Gene off, avoiding Warren's mouth and taking the money he earned for playing 'daddy by the hour' with Warren's 'associates' was now down to this. Gene did not much care for his arse, he sold that a long time ago in principle if (not yet) in fact, but he did not want Warren's tongue in his mouth. He simply did not want Warren in him, at all.

"My deal, Gene."

"Deal was Tyler."

"The deal is whatever I make it. Still fighting me, even after all these years?" Warren's eye softened and he looked at Gene like a lover. "I can get anyone to handle Tyler. No, the deal was never Tyler, that's just a bonus. It's always been you, Gene, and you know it. It had to happen on my own terms, and it has, hasn't it? I never even had to harm a hair on that charming boy's head. Just the thought of never seeing him again fit you up right good, and the idea of getting him all to yourself made you sell your…soul." Warren rolled the word carefully and laughed as he dialed the extension at the bar. "I get you just the way I want you, they way you were always meant to be: under me. My dear fruit picking sodomite."

"You bastard."

"You'll never forget me, Gene. Even after Tyler's dead and you're long gone out of this city, you're arse will still be mine." Warren smiled seductively at his complete and utterly devastating win.

Gene wanted a drink. He wanted to be dead. He wanted his son. He wanted to be free. He wanted to be back on the floor with Tyler feeling worthy and proud but Warren was right: he sold his soul, and the only thing left for him to do now was seal the deal with this devil.

---

Sam sat in the chair Gene was in earlier as night fell. He knew he made the right choice, calling off the sex before it happened, but he suspected he did not handle it well. No, he knew he handled it pretty damn badly. That was a Sam Tyler trademark, to fall back on brutal honesty when careful consideration of his partner's feelings was called for. He was highly skilled at reading things wrong in such situations, and he deliberately relived the exact moment in every past relationship he ever had where he mangled the meaningful emotional bond beyond all repair.

Then reminded himself that he was not in any way, shape, or form in a relationship with Gene Hunt.

Still, it went pear shaped, and while he thought he had Gene's best interests at heart by ending the physical interaction, he did not replace it with reaching out in any other way. He gave Gene nothing to hold onto and unsurprisingly Gene walked out. Sam leaned his head back and cursed. Gene was a product of Harry's corruption and Warren's deprivations and he needed someone to believe in him about something. Sam offered to help then ravaged his mouth and then pulled back completely, and he could not have crossed his signals better if he had tried. Sam contemplated what to do, if anything could be done, and he realized there was.

He waited until well after dark then snuck out of his own building and spent forty five minutes skulking his way across town to Gene's flat. He broke in again through the back and a settled down in the living room to wait. He waited in the dark, on Gene's broken couch, all night, but Gene never came home in the morning. Sam was no fool and he knew he drove Gene right back to Warren. Probably right into his bed, where Gene would know his role and his job and his place, and forget that Sam ever wanted to help him at all.

Sam kicked the couch hard enough to break it for good before he walked out.

---

8:00 AM
Gene woke up with Warren. They were tangled together, tangled in the bed sheets, and dirty. It was not the first time Gene had a dick up his arse, and that probably saved him some damage, because Warren was not considerate. Gene got off on bottoming, but it was a weakness to admit or indulge it, and Warren could do so only because he always held the upper hand in everything else. For someone like Gene, a reputation as a bottom would lead to disrespect and humiliation, so he took it rarely and usually anonymously and those nameless fucks were a good deal better at it than Warren.

Gene shifted uncomfortably, trying not to wake the bastard. In all the years Gene worked for him and fucked him, he never once spent any time in Warren's bed. That was not his role, that was for the rent boys, the pretty, disposable toys who Warren fucked. Just like Warren fucked him, because now Gene was disposable too. It was a long night and a full bottle of lube between them, and the worst of it was when Steve kissed him as if he cared. Gene barely returned the attention, and Steve did not fight him for it, accepting some kind of limitation there, willing to sacrifice tongue for the one-time chance to bugger Gene into the mattress. Gene knew that Steve waited for that chance, not knowing when it would arrive, not knowing in advance the set up it would take to get Gene to literally bend over that far, but he waited for it knowing that one day he would win the fight. Steve was insane and ruthless but he was, above all, patient, and now that he broke Gene all the way down he did not need him anymore. In that sense, the books were balanced and the table cleared. Gene was being cast out but unlike the others who went before him, he was not being left with nothing. One final favor, one self-sacrificing job, and Gene got the only things that mattered to him: Stu, and absolute freedom.

Gene was on his back with Steve's arm slung over him. He knew Mary was probably already at the station, reporting her son missing, and most likely making that report directly to Tyler. Tyler, whose days were numbered. Gene and Steve talked shop during lulls, and Gene knew he had a week to get the job done. Warren gave him the details on how Gene would bow out, in a stolen car with fake passports arranged by Warren. Which Gene did not intend to use. In fact he planned on driving the car Warren gave him exactly one mile before ditching it and stealing a different one, and Gene knew two small time forgers who could whip up fresh passports within an hour when pressed with the right incentives. Everything Warren arranged, Gene mentally held to the side as tainted. His only concern was grabbing Stu free and clear. Once he had the boy, the rest was just follow through, but he did not trust Warren even that far. It would be just like the bastard to give Gene the keys to his get away car and then apologize because Stu was unexpectedly detained by the police. Yes, Warren would do that, just because he could, and just because he was done with Gene.

Gene was not a murderer, not yet anyway. He thought about the deal and he closed his eyes, imagining killing Tyler. He had to think it out, or in the clutch, he would not be able to do it, because he did not want to do it. Tyler was a good man, ruthless in his own way – Gene knew where he stood with the DCI – but good. Pure. Strong. Everything that Warren was not, and everything Gene wanted Stu to be, and Gene tried to turn off those thoughts as he directed his willpower to the job at hand, which was simply to kill. The idea turned his stomach. Once that line was crossed it would not matter what Gene did anymore, because there would be nothing left of the man he once was – the cop he once was – and in a way it did not matter who he killed or why, because cold blooded murder was a sin he could never clean off his hands. Gene tried to think of Stu, of getting his son out, but the thoughts kept crumbling back to the matter of Sam Tyler and murder and the loss of his soul and the evil bastard who raped his life and fucked his arse and was next to him – naked, asleep, and vulnerable.

-------------
8:30 AM
Everyone knew her. She walked through the door and was swarmed by most of CID, and Sam looked out the windows of his office in confusion. He saw Ray talking to her, then give her a hug before peeling off for Sam's office. Chris went to follow but Ray shoved him towards the clutch of people swarming the woman.

"Mary Hunt."

Sam shook his head. "Why she here?"

"She says she saw the Boss 'anging about a few times this week, and now little Stu's gone missing." Ray gave him a meaningful look and Sam cursed. Gene jumped the gun and now Sam was going to have to pursue Gene for kidnapping, and if the bastard had not planned this out carefully, it gave him only a few hours lead time. Sam hoped he stole a car and was headed for London, for the international airport there, because if not, then chances were someone would find him and Stu before he could make a clean break.

It was absurd to be on the side of the kidnapper, especially with the child's distraught mother going into hysterics in the middle of CID, but as Ray stared at him, the only thing Sam gave a damn about was Gene getting out alive. Giving Ray an exasperated look, he stalked out to talk to Mrs. Hunt, and tried not to think about the fact that the night before he was trying to shag her ex.

The boy disappeared sometime that morning, stolen out of his bed. She last checked on him at eleven pm, right before she went to bed, and when it was time to wake him at seven thirty am he was simply gone. She was convinced Gene kidnapped him and she screamed about his perversions and her fears for the 'innocence' of her child and Sam had to stop himself from slapping her. While he silently agreed with her that Gene took the boy, he did not for an instant believe anything else she said.

That bothered him.

She was a distraught mother in fear of her son's well being and the suspected kidnapper, the father, was someone Sam could hardly say he knew well. He was supposed to follow the facts of the case, whether he liked them or not, and the facts pointed one way.

He stopped everything and everyone, put the case at the top of the docket, and just after nine am put an APB out for Gene Hunt.

---

9:3O AM
Gene walked down the stairs, pulling the black turtleneck over his head. It was Warren's, but Gene needed something clean and took it. He found Charlie at the bar, barely awake. Gene tapped him and Charlie nearly fell off the stool.

"Asleep. Don' bother 'im until opening time." Gene jerked his thumb behind him, and Charlie smirked.

"Wore 'im out, did ya?"

Gene stared at him. "Plenty left if you'd like me to demonstrate my legendary prowess, Cherry."

Charlie backed up uncomfortably. "Naw. I hear you. Go on, then."

"Need some info first."

"Not me. Joe Morton got the info you need for the…job."

Gene nodded and went to his office to make the phone call to Joe and get all the information he had on Tyler. It was not a lot, and Gene knew a good bit of it already, such as where Tyler lived, but he played the part and joked with Joe about coppers and rent boys and generally kept the conversation short and too the point. Joe was professional and polite, and wished him luck with 'whatever it is Warren got you into now.' Gene just grunted and hung up, and stared at the phone, debating the next call, because for all intents and purposes, Gene needed to reach the contact Joe gave him.

He was too surprised at finding out who that contact was, though, to pick up the phone. It was the person in CID who would give him the lead on Tyler's movements and whereabouts, the one bent cop both Warren and Harry felt could be trusted with something as dirty as this, and it was not Ray, in fact it was not even someone Gene knew: DC Chris Skelton.

---

9:50 AM
Ray put down the phone carefully. Sam noticed because it was not the kind of calculated and thoughtful move Ray made, ever. Ray stared at the phone for a second, then got up and walked over and leaned into Chris' ear, saying something that made the boy twitch. It was all odd and Sam wanted to stare, but he was ostensibly listening to Geoff while they planned out the investigation into the disappearance of Stuart Hunt. Sam sent forensics over to the house to corroborate the mother's story, which already felt wrong to Sam because of the timing. She knew the boy was missing at seven thirty, but did not inform the police until 8:30, and in fact did not call the police but drove herself to the station to make a report in person. Every single point rang alarms bells but he did not know why, because he knew without a doubt that Gene took the boy. WPC Cartwright was assisting Percy with interviewing Mrs. Hunt in Lost and Found, and Sam was anxiously awaiting to hear what they had to say. Cartwright apparently had a degree in psychology, information she offered up when Sam was waffling on who to send in to do the interview. She squinted at him when she said it, and it was a peculiar look, and Sam decided that she thought the mother's story was as suspicious as he did. Or, he hoped so. In the meantime he was just waiting.

The plods they sent to Gene's flat turned up empty handed, as Sam knew they would, and were en route to the night club to see if Gene was still there. They did not have a warrant for the club yet, just Gene's flat, so if no one was there to let them in they would not get far. Past that, no one including Sam could think of a place where Gene might go – other than steal a car and head out of town. Sam studied the map on Geoff's desk, already knowing all the roads and thinking that the map looked very sparse and unpopulated, trying to figure out if Gene would try to be fast or circuitous, because there was no room for both on the run.

"Guv."

Sam glanced up from the papers in his hands and saw Ray standing there with a cast iron grip on Chris, who was looking nauseous.

"Guv, I think Chris ain't feelin' too well. Mind if we set him down in your office for a spell?" Ray looked distinctly unconcerned with Chris' well being as he smacked his gum. Sam put the paper down, and hoped to God he read this right as Geoff looked on impassively.

"Yeah, he looks a bit pale. Let me help you." He took Chris' other arm and they walked towards the office, Ray nodding at him fractionally. When they got there Ray tossed Chris onto the sofa and closed the blinds.

"Problem."

"Such as?" Sam leaned against his desk.

"Go on. Tell 'im."

Chris looked between them and shook his head. Ray stepped over threw a fist into his jaw, and it was not much of hit, but it caused Chris to ball up in shock. Sam bounced over and grabbed Ray, who shook him off.

"Bloody traitor! Been reportin' on us to Warren!" Ray hissed, trying to whisper but not doing a good job at it.

Sam let go and stared at the boy. "Shit."

"It's me baby sister! She's just a kid! He said…he said he'd bring her in an' make her…do things!" Chris gasped, scrunching his eyes in order to keep the tears back. He gazed at Ray in genuine terror.

Ray glared at him, pointing. "Yeh know they're settin' up to off 'im? The Guv? You know that?"

Sam stood back, waiting for the response, to find out how deep Chris was in it, but the saucer-like wide eyes told him everything he needed to know before Chris opened his mouth.

"No! No…I'd never…no…Guv!" Chris looked at Sam, shaking his head, hopelessness wrapped around every movement he made.

"Liar!" Ray hissed, advancing on him, and Sam held out his hand to stop him.

"No!" Chris nearly shrieked and threw out his arms. "I didn't! I swear! They just wanted to know what information you found out about Joni! They jus' wanted to know who you thought did it! I didn' know…Guv!"

Ray snarled but Sam pulled him back, having a few of his own questions to ask.

"Ray, how did you find out?"

"Hunt called me." Ray looked away, his guilt transparent.

"Just now?"

"Yeah."

Sam shoved Ray back. "You better start talking yourself, Sergeant."

"He said he made a deal with Warren about something, and that they gave him 'is contact here in CID to work with…HIM." Ray threw an arm out to slap Chris but Chris ducked.

"Where is Hunt?"

Ray pursed his lips.

"Carling…"

"I tol' 'im to go to your place. Not like it isn't easy to break into."

"Oh my God." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Did he say if he has Stuart with him?"

"Yeah. He does. Said he didn' kidnap him, though, swears he didn'." Ray nodded. "I believe him, Guv. He sounded mad, kept goin' on about fixin' up Warren for good, takin' 'im out permanent, like. An'…well, when I was there, with Warren and Woolfe an' him…well there's real bad blood there. Hunt looked murderous."

Sam looked between the two officers. He felt sorry for Chris, to a point, because he probably did not really know how deep he was in it, he was just trying to protect his younger sister. And now Sam had a wanted man hiding out at his flat.

"Chris, I want you to sit here and tell DS Carling everything – EVERYTHING – you have done to aid and abet Warren. You will be honest, you will be thorough, and you will be precise. Everything! And if you do this, I might find a way to save your arse from going to jail. You understand?"

Chris nodded. "Guv, I didn'…I mean, me baby sister!"

"I heard you the first time. Ray?"

"Yea, Guv?"

"Take his statement. I'm going out to make contact with Hunt, but I want this all under wraps. I won't call in to my own phone, I'm not sure it's clean…"

"I saw the cleaning ladies wipe it down yesterday…" Ray said, confused.

"No, I mean…never mind. Look, when you're done, make some kind of excuse and go out to the chippie on Westhaven. I'll call you there. Never, ever let Chris out of your sight, you understand?" Sam pointed at him, and Ray nodded grimly.

"Yea, Guv. Will do."

Sam walked out, made a passing comment indicating that he was going out to the Hunt residence himself to check up on how the forsenics team was doing, and went to Lost and Found. Mary Hunt was still in tears sitting between Annie and Percy. Annie looked very put upon, but was trying to sound sympathetic.

"WPC Cartwright? A word." Sam waved her out. She followed and kept following as he went to the lift. "Get your purse, we're leaving."

She gave him a double take but did not say anything, running to the locker room for her purse. Sam held the lift for her as she raced back. She asked a few times what was going on, but Sam just shook his head. He knew he was crossing the line with this, but it was Gene, and he did not know why but he trusted him. Warren asked Gene to do something and instead, Gene squealed on Chris. That was meaningful, but just what it meant, worried Sam to no end. What worried him more, though, was the fact that Gene had his son, but not left town. Sam could not guess what was going on, but his stomach clinched with the idea that a series of events were now set in motion that might mean ruin for them all.

---

10:00 AM
"Not leavin' until I see Stu."

Charlie shrugged. "Warren didn't say you could."

"Didn' say I couldn't."

Charlie's dim brain chewed on that, then he shrugged again and got up. They went out the back door and down the alley to the rear entrance of the flat house Warren owned and used for his boys and the girls, mostly, and the odd genuine tenant. They went up to Leslie's and Gene made sure Charlie went in first, closing the door quietly behind them.

---

10:45 AM
"Sir?" Annie sat on the chair uncomfortably. They had been sitting in Sam's flat for over thirty minutes, and still, Sam could not bring himself to explain anything to Annie. If Gene did not show, there would be nothing to explain, and the less she knew the better.

"We're here until eleven. Then we go back to the station." Sam said, sitting in a dinette chair, tapping the table with his fingers, staring at the door.

"Does this have anything to do with the Hunt case?" Annie asked tentatively, clutching her purse to her. Sam glanced at her, but still did not answer.

"Because it is a bit…odd…for a superior officer to drag a WPC back to his flat in the middle of the morning…" She frowned at him.

He shifted uncomfortably, just then realizing how inappropriate his actions might look. "No, Annie, no, it's not…"

They stopped and looked at the door, which swung open to reveal two striking blonds, one very tall, and one very short.

"Tyler. Y'got my message."

"Yeah."

"'Oo's the plonk?" Gene did not move from the doorway, and he held one of the boy's arm in a vice grip. The child was clearly terrified.

"Gene, let the boy go. He's scared shitless."

"Sir!" Annie rebuked him, then blushed. She turned to Hunt. "You let him go. He's upset an' you're hurtin' him."

Gene looked at her with an expression that could melt polar caps, but let the boy go, pushing him into the room ahead of him and closing the door behind.

"This is WPC Annie Cartwright. Annie, this is Gene Hunt. And progeny."

Annie shot both men withering looks then got down on her knees to face the boy standing the in the middle of the room.

"Stuart?"

The boy looked around uncertainly. Gene retreated and stood with his back to the door, his arms crossed, as he watched. The child glanced back at him once or twice, and looked nervously at Sam, then turned his attention to the nice woman sitting on the floor. He shuffled towards her while the two men looked on. Sam was nervous here, because it was obvious that the child had no idea what was going on and was scared out of his mind. Sam hoped that Annie's good nature and her very official uniform might calm the child, and it seemed to be working as Stuart stood next to her. She reached up and patted his shoulder, and the boy flinched. Sam cast a look over at Gene, whose already dark expression turned to pure fury.

"Gene…" Sam whispered.

"No reason for him to act like a girl scared of her own shadow with the plonk. Thought 'e was jus' scared of me. Boy!" Gene said loudly and the child spun around. Sam and Annie flinched and exchanged looks, but Gene did not move other than to speak. "Your mam hit you?"

Stuart looked like he was caught in a lie without ever opening his mouth. Sam turned to Gene.

"She ever hit you?"

Gene snorted. "Depends on who you ask started it. Right strong fighter, is Mary. Fierce temper on that one, an' she don't take well to bein' put out." Gene eyed the boy levelly, who shrank backwards. Annie reached out to gently touch his shoulders, and finally it was too much and he collapsed, crying that he wanted his mommy, which only made Gene snort again.

Annie gave both men severe looks, and Sam shook his head. The family dynamics here were beyond him.

"What I don' get, Gene, now you finally got your boy, is why you are still here."

Gene glared back and Annie flitted looks between them as she tried to comfort Stuart.

"I did not take 'em, Tyler. Mary sold 'im off to Warren for a few days."

"Oh my god!" Annie gasped, which was exactly how Sam felt.

Gene shook his head. "He's a corrupt bastard, but he ain't a peddie. Only reason he wanted Stu was to hold 'im over me for…other favors." Gene folded his arms and looked at the floor. Annie took one look at Sam and then led Stuart into the bathroom, cooing at him about cleaning up his face and telling him he was a strong, brave boy.

Sam turned on Gene. "What's goin' on?"

"Don' know. But something tripped Warren's wire, and he's done with gaming you. Pulled Stu to blackmail me into knocking you off."

"He was 'olding your son to force you to assassinate me?" Sam stalled, incredulous. Gene kept his head down but looked up with his eyes and nodded. Sam rubbed his hand over his face, stunned, and wondered what in the bloody hell pushed Warren to this. The only thing he could think of was DC Skelton, who almost certainly had informed Warren of Sam's every move, including his induction of Ray to the cause. "I'm sure Skelton was tellin' them everything I was doin'. Probably got the party started early."

"Whatever the reason, it's been brewin'. That meeting Warren held with Harry…they were priming me for it. I tol' you that. Now we know."

"Still don' know why you didn' jus' skip once you got Stuart." Sam crossed his arms.

"I don' want to be stitched up for a murder rap. Joni's murder still hanging out there, and at this rate, Warren was going to have someone bump you off, one way or another, and if I skipped I'd be the one everyone looks for."

Sam did not buy it, but could not explain why. It still made more sense for him to run. He shook his head, and Gene shook his own head back at him.

"Kidnapping's one thing, Sam, murder another." Gene shifted uncomfortably and refused to look at him. Sam studied him for a second, and his stomach dropped.

"…Gene…how did you get Stuart?"

"I bought me some time."

Sam bowed up and pointed at him. "Tell me you didn' do something stupid."

Gene shook his head slowly. "Depends on yer point of view...I tied Warren up, locked him in his own closet, tol' the staff not to bother him until opening time. Stuart was at Leslie's – one o'the dancers – and Charlie took me there…I don' know if he's dead or not, we got into it hard. Locked Leslie in her bathroom, gagged her. She'll get one of the kids next door to find her after enough kickin' the walls. Trussed Charlie up on her bed, just to be sure but he wasn't movin' when I left with the boy. Came right here like Ray suggested." Gene let go of himself and put his hands on his hips, but looked determinedly at the floor. "If I'm right you put out an APB on me over two hours ago. Everyone knows 'oo I am, I wouldn' get two blocks without bein' pulled in. Hard enough to just fuckin' get here with the kid. I can't run now, Sam. If Warren hadn' pulled Mary and Stu in, if he weren't dead set to get yer head on his desk, it would've worked. But not now. I know me chances better than most." He looked up. "I got nowhere and no one. Half the cops in this town think I'm bent, the other 'alf think I'm a bender. My ex is accusing me of kidnapping and if I know Harry, he'll nail me for Joni and even for you if he can."

"Why would Harry do that?"

"Should know by now, Sam, that Warren don't play clean or fair. He gets what he wants, by blackmail or worse. Harry's covered Warren's arse one too many times for me to think it is just the nature of their friendship. He's got sommat on Harry, more than he even got on me. Sam, you mark my words, once Warren is out of that closet I stuffed him in, his first call will be to Harry. An' then we'll both be on the run, if your smart grey custard upstairs don't come up with something, fast."

Sam stared at him, the depth of the unpleasantness just starting to sink in.

"I want Stuart safe, first. I'm going to take Annie and Stuart to her place, so she can look after him there. You, stay here. I'll be back in an hour and we'll find a new place to hide, neither of our flats will be safe…"

"Safe from who?" Annie asked, walking back in with a slightly fresher looking Stuart in front of her. The boy glanced at Sam but then gave Gene a defiant, chin-jutting stare-down. Gene's eyebrows went up in surprise, and Sam thought possibly pride, but again Gene did not say anything or move towards the child.

"Warren. And possibly Harry Woolfe." Sam looked at her, judging the reaction.

"Woolfe!" Annie went wide eyed for just a moment, but then collected herself and nodded knowingly, and gave Sam a serious, committed look, and he knew that she was aware of Harry's corruption. Not a huge surprise, it was an open secret, but Sam had been worried about which side she might fall on.

"Yer in this, girl, or yer tied to the plumbing," Gene said simply and Annie turned her gaze on him.

"My concern is the boy. Not you, not Superintendent Woolfe, and not Warren." She turned back to Sam under Gene's slightly approving stare. "So are we taking Stuart back to the station?"

"No. Your flat. You'll stay there and I'll have Ray check on you regularly, but I think you'll be safe."

"Ray? He involved in this too?" Annie said, surprised.

"He was involved in this before I was. Now let's go." Sam snapped, and Gene gave him a displeased glance but did not speak up.

"Don't you think we should at least tell Mrs. Hunt that her boy is safe?" Annie pushed, looking uncertainly at Gene, who continued to glower silently.

"I'll tell you what you need to know, and when. Now follow orders." Sam rounded on her impatiently. She squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to argue, but Gene broke in.

"Bitch handed our son over to Warren, love. For money. You tell her anything, it goes straight back to the source. It's the boy's life on the line, and I think you should be doin' what the DCI says," Gene said, calmly, with a leaden authority that brooked no argument. Annie stared at him wide-eyed for a second but then nodded and turned back to Sam.

"Okay, sir. But I deserve to be kept in the loop on this."

Sam studied her, wondering if he could trust her but knowing it was too late not too. He nodded. "Don' know when we can call. Just listen to Ray, do what he says."

She nodded again. It took a few minutes to collect the boy, who was still rattled. As she herded him out of the door, she turned to Gene.

"Don' you want to say goodbye to him, sir?" She held her hands gently on the boy's shoulders as he looked at the ground.

"He don' know who I am. Get him out of here." Gene said, looking at her, his arms folded up against himself.

Annoyed, Annie turned Stuart. "You want to say good bye to your daddy?"

The boy squirmed, still looking at the ground, and shook his head. Defeated, Annie cast a sorrowful look towards Sam and led the boy out. Gene stood still, staring out the doorway, a blank expression on his face.

"Can't expect him to know you, Gene." Sam walked over and put a hand on Gene's shoulder, but it was like comforting a block of granite.

"I don't. I 'ope he never does." Gene shrugged off Sam's touch and walked over to a chair. "Don' suppose you got a drink in this…pit." Gene snarled at the wallpaper.

Sam waved at his cupboards. "Somewhere in there is the bottle you didn' kill before. I'll be back." Sam walked out, closing the door. He followed Annie, wondering how dead he and Gene would be before nightfall, and wondering if the key to waking up from his coma was to get killed, or save Gene, or take down Woolfe…or anything. It felt like a petty concern in the midst of this, but as he buckled Stuart into the back seat of his car, he wondered just how far his brain was going to go into make believe, and why it seemed so real, and why he felt so alive.

---

Gene could not kill in cold blood, he knew that now, but there was very little else he would not do to save Stuart. He sat smoking in Tyler's scummy flat, knowing that the only real way to save Stuart was to make sure that the boy could never be used as leverage against him, and there was only one way to ensure that. Gene would do what he could, destroy the men who destroyed him, and then have the grace to leave before his son could ever know what kind of man his father was. Gene smoked, and drank, and waited, but for him it was over. He was already dead.

---

Noon
He called the chippie from Annie's place, and told Ray to head over to Leslie's apartment, and find out the status of Charlie Edwards. It was a mark of Ray's familiarity with Joni's life that he knew who Leslie was, and which was her flat. Sam did not give him too many details as to why Charlie might somehow have gotten himself beat up and tied down there, but then, with Gene in the picture, it probably was not necessary.

He called his own flat, and told Gene to stay tight. Sam needed to show his face at CID and catch up on events, and most importantly find out what was going on with Geoff. Once he was clear on the status of things for a few hours, he would be back to collect Gene and find them both safer accommodations.

Back in CID, Mary Hunt was screaming to high hell and demanding to speak to Harry Woolfe, claiming that Sam was not giving the case his full attention, which he thought quite ironic as his life was on the line at this point – but objectively, he could see her point, because he really did not give a flying leap about her. Geoff was not around, which bothered Sam more than he could let on. With Ray running errands off the radar and Annie playing guardian for Stuart, Sam was alone in a shark's den. Sam agreed that Mary should talk to Woolfe, if only to have some idea of where Woolfe was, so he had Percy shuffle her up to Woolfe's office. At this point, no one was questioning whether Sam actually went to the Hunt residence or not to check with the forensics team there, and Sam figured he had another hour before he would have to explain his disappearance. At this point Warren had not surfaced, no one was answering the door at the club, and no serious alarms were raised for anything other than Gene Hunt himself. Sam felt like it was the calm before the storm, knowing that once Warren got in contact with Harry and informed him that Gene was a loose cannon, all bets were off, and Sam's own life was not going to be worth good odds. To the men in the know, Sam was the only possible ally Gene had, and if they could off Sam and pin it on Gene, then they would have everything sewn up without breaking a sweat.

Whether he was in a coma or not, Sam did not want to die just yet. As he stared at the files on his desk, he realized he was breaking out in a cold sweat, and his breathing was difficult. He clutched at his phone, waiting for it to ring, for his mother or someone to tell him what was going on, but it was silent.

---

"You look like crap." Gene said as Tyler tripped into the room. He was drenched with sweat and looked feverish.

"Meds, maybe…maybe they changed…meds…" Sam fell onto his cot. Gene stared at him for a moment, then got up and rinsed down a rag with cold water, pressing it to Sam's forehead before retreating to his chair.

"You sick? What meds you on?"

"I…dunno…" Sam winced, rubbing the towel over his face. "Thank you."

"You go fallin' out at the office?"

"Made like I was sick…"

"Weren't too 'ard to do, I imagine." Gene sucked his teeth. Tyler did look beat up and for a DCI, he was not spending a lot of time in CID on the case. "You got to know what meds you're on."

"NO! I don't! Okay? I don't. Shut up." Tyler got up and walked to the sink to wet the towel down again. "Nothing going on anyway. Mrs. Hunt is upstairs yelling at Woolfe about me, everyone is just waiting for someone to spot you sneaking out of town, and not a peep from Warren or his people."

"Ray get to Leslie's yet?"

"I think he's there by now. Told…told him to c-c-call here."

Gene nodded and watched as Tyler crumbled. He was by the sink, shaking, leaning into the counter to keep standing. Sam went down to his elbows, holding himself up, and Gene stood up and walked over. "This come on sudden."

Sam nodded with slow, exaggerated movements. "Does…when…they…change things. Just don'…want to black out…"

"Bad timing, that." Gene said gently, lifting one of Sam's arms up over his shoulder and wrapping his other arm around Sam's waist. It was like hauling a drunk off the bar, and not a heavy one, as Gene lead him to the cot. "Heart's goin' like a race horse…"

"Yeah…yeah…just bein' this close, you know, set's…me all a flutter…" Sam sniped, leaning over to catch the bed frame when Gene lowered him down.

Gene snorted. "Catty little bitch you are."

"Unhhhh."

"And clever too." Gene finally got him laid out and Sam shook his head. Gene sat on the edge of the cot, which did not feel like it could hold him, and fought with Sam's hands, drifting aimlessly through the air. "Hey, hey, what are you doin'?"

"Trying to catch you…" Sam smiled, grabbing Gene's wrists, and it was a genuine smile of the unburdened soul, wide and happy and pleased with his conquest. Gene stared at him as Sam squeezed his wrists. "I think…I'm floating. Like I'm in two places at once. You're here, and you're not…" Sam closed his eyes.

"…Where d'you want me?" Gene asked softly as Sam pulled his arms aimlessly through the air.

"Home…I want…you…home…" Sam's eyes opened but were unfocused and dazed.

"Don' fall out on me now, Sam, I need you here."

Sam's body went rigid, and Gene held his breath for no reason that he could figure out.

"Here?" Sam breathed out, his eyes closed but the smile long gone, and his hold on Gene's wrists went vice-like.

"Yeah, here. With me. I need you here. I can't get Stuart out of this, I can't DO this, on my own. I need your picky pain arse to help me."

"I'm not dead." Sam's eyes snapped open and he looked at Gene.

"No, but we will both be floatin' in the canal if y'don' pull together."

"Here?"

Gene pulled his wrists free. "That's what I said! You deaf? HERE. Stay." Gene pointed at the floor, trying to make this clear, hoping that the light he saw in Sam's eyes was consciousness and not drug-addled madness.

"Stay…for you?"

"No, you stupid sod, for Raquel Welch." Gene rolled his eyes and got up.

"God I'm a piece…"

"Right you are. Gettin' over your fit?" Gene sat back down in the chair and fished for the nearly-done bottle of whiskey.

"I think…I'm not sure. Damn." Sam laid down in a languid pool of soft, sweaty flesh and Gene reminded his willfully ignorant dick that this was not the time. He re-focused on the bottle for the time being, as Sam petered off into silence. He continued to sweat and mutter nonsense, but did not pass out or fall asleep, and eventually his breathing evened out and his eyes began flicking around the room in that hyper aware, slightly disturbed way that Gene noticed the first time they met. Sam did not add anything to their conversation and they sat in silence, waiting for Ray's call.

---

1:30 PM
Gene was pacing.

"Stu's safe with Annie, stop fidgeting." Sam sighed, rubbing his temples, feeling a small wave of normalcy wash through his brain. This was worse than being drunk, because at least then you could expect to sober up. He tried to think optimistically but his heart was still racing and his skin felt cold and he kept gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

"We need a plan."

"I got one." Sam tapped his foot excitedly on the mattress, then tried to stop it, and looked around for a pack of gum he thought he left in his jacket.

Gene frowned at him, disbelieving, and casting a critical glance at Sam's happy foot.

"We get Charlie to turn on Warren, we can nick 'im for Joni's murder. Then we turn on Geoff to give up Harry, for providing a false witness to frame me for the murder." Sam shoved the gum in his mouth and chewed it ruthlessly.

Gene snorted. "Their briefs show up, accuse Charlie and Geoff of masterminding the whole thing, Warren and Woolfe walk and we are hitch hiking to Mexico."

"No. Because as soon as we get one, we got the other. They'll squeal on each other to avoid a murder charge, anything we get them with will be less time than for murder."

Gene nodded, impressed. "Then what we doin' here?"

"Once Ray confirms where Charlie is, and IF Charlie is still alive, we go pick 'im up. But either of us just walking around town right now is a liability, given that we do not know exactly where Warren is."

Gene shrugged and sat back down, looking away, his hands clasped behind his head. "Rather be out there."

Sam sighed, killing the gum with his teeth and trying to keep his foot still. "Yeah."

"You been a DCI long?" Gene looked at him.

"Two years before I got here."

"Young."

"Ambitious." Sam smiled and laughed at himself, because his ambition was misplaced in 1973.

"I remember that," Gene said softly, looking carefully a Sam, as if he recognized something. Sam could not think of anything to say and they sat in silence a while.

"Why didn' you come 'ome last night?" Sam finally asked, curious despite himself, feeling impatient. Gene looked at him in surprise.

"'Ow you know that?"

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "I know I pissed you off, an' I didn' mean to. Couldn't show up at the club, so…camped out on that broken sofa until it was time to go to work."

After a very long pause, or it felt long, Sam opened his eyes and saw Gene looking at him, stricken, and Sam regretted bringing it up.

"Never mind, never mind…jus' bein'…"

"I was with Warren." Gene said, closing his eyes again, spitting it out and looking as if he hoped the matter was closed.

Sam tried to say something, but failed, and ended with "Oh." He could almost see the wall between them. "Gene, I don't care."

Gene snorted but otherwise did not move.

"I really don't. I know you hate the man. If that's where you were, then I believe it was because you had no other choice."

Gene opened his eyes slowly, and then dropped his head to the side to look at him. "I'm a whore. No better than a rent boy on Canal. Reasons don' matter, Sam, the only thing that counts is what you do as a man. An' what I do as a man is sell it. So I don' count, do I?"

"Warren wasn't paying you for that. You would not do it for money, not with him."

"You don' know that. Maybe did it to get a decent stake before I turned on 'im. Right grateful bitch, am I."

"No." Sam sat up in the bed, defiant. Gene stared at him for a few moments, then shrugged, picking up the bottle.

"Part of the deal."

"Deal?"

"For Stu. Off you, and…stay with 'im. For the night."

Sam watched Gene's throat muscles rippling as he fought out the words, his entire body clinching in the admission.

"Shit."

Gene did not respond, tense and still, obviously trying not to break. Sam felt helpless, watching Gene get himself under control, but finally he pulled in a long breath, and returned to his drink. "So tell me I'm not a whore, Sam."

"Never said you weren't." Sam said critically, and Gene snapped a fierce look on him. "True. Never said you weren't. You were. You sold your dick an' I don't want to know what else. Your soul, maybe. What I said was, I don't care." Sam looked at him and Gene looked amazed, as if Sam just said pigs can fly. Sam stared at the ceiling. "Gene..."

"Don't bait me, Tyler."

"No, I jus' want to know. You agreed to kill me?"

"Yes."

"You're not that man, Gene."

Gene's laughter barked out. "Thought I was. Thought I could do it. Couldn't even kill Warren."

"What?" Sam sat back a bit, turning to put his feet on the floor, confused.

"Tying him up wasn' the plan. I was…there. With him. Thought, hell, kill one man or kill the other, best kill the one most deservin'. Had me hands around his throat, he was halfway to dead an' I should've finished it…but I couldn't. Not in cold blood." Gene began drinking again.

"So. Now you know you're not that man." Sam smiled. Gene leaned forward so he could rest his arms on his knees.

"Didn' want Stu growin' up knowin' his dad's a murderer. Bad enough I'm a corrupt ex-cop an' a prozzie." Gene tried to say it casually, as if it was a joke, but it churned Sam's stomach, and he suspected Gene's as well. They sat in silence again, and Sam marveled at how comfortable they were, like that, sitting quietly together in the middle of a crisis.

"You were never a corrupt cop and the rest of it don't matter. You did what you had to do. You're a survivor, you're strong. Stu will know that." Sam sighed and looked at Gene, whose eyes were boring into him. Sam shifted backwards, then locked eyes with Gene again. "I'm sorry."

"For?" Gene snorted, confused.

"Making passes at you, trying for you. You don' need that. I'm sorry for making you doubt my integrity…my friendship. I don't have many friends and…"

"Uptight prick like you, I can see why."

"Oh, thanks." Sam snarled and got up to retrieve the bottle from the floor at Gene's feet, pouring himself a small shot into a glass he retrieved from the cupboard.

"Twat." Gene growled as Sam shook his glass at Gene, mocking him. Before Gene could get out a reply, the phone rang, and Sam went to answer it, knowing it had to be Ray or Annie, and if it was not, they were already caught.

Sam listened in disbelief to Ray's report. Ray was incredibly nervous, and Sam did not blame him, but at this point, the whole house of cards was blowing up and the only thing they could do was wing it: the worst of all Sam's skill sets, and now his life depended on it.

"Bad news?" Gene asked as Sam held the handset and stared at it, smacking the gum and failing to control the tapping foot with a mind of its own.

Due to a hospital error, he was given an overdose of medication which placed him in extreme clinical danger, but we have it under control. However it's caused some peculiar reactions in his brain activity…

Sam tried to ignore the voices from the phone, and focused on what he needed to say. "Ray says Charlie's not dead, but not very alive. Man's been broken to pieces, unconscious. They're waitin' on an ambulance."

Gene let his head fall back. "That last clutch by the door. Slammed him into the frame. Out cold."

"Maybe out permanent." Sam tapped the handset again.

The adrenaline is working, though…however it might be twenty four hours before we know definitively what is going on…

"Christ it was like he was hyped up on adrenaline. Didn' mean to rough him up so hard; he wouldn't stop fighting, even after I got his gun off him." Gene closed his eyes.

"…Ray's got Leslie, will be takin' her in for questioning…going to look bad on you."

"Warren couldn' ask for better if he planned it." Gene snapped, then looked up at Sam. Sam stared at him, and Gene shifted nervously. "What?"

"You told me you tied Warren up in his closet," Sam said, looking back at the phone, but was genuinely silent now and Sam did not know which news report was worse.

"I did." Gene's movements slowed down as Sam's tone and posture registered. "I did, Sam." Gene repeated, and Sam looked up at him.

"Warren was found dead in his bed an hour ago, not long after I left CID to come here. He was garroted."

Gene looked at him in utter shock, and shook his head. "No."

"You told me you nearly strangled him."

"I did. But he was still breathing when I left him in the damn closet. I did not kill him, and I sure as hell did not leave him decorating the bloody bed like a mortician's centerfold pinup!" Gene yelled. There was a moment of confused silence between them, then Gene advanced on Sam and poked him in the chest. "You trust me?"

"What?"

"Do. You. Trust. Me."

Sam lowered the phone and stared at him, amazed at the answer that came from his mouth. "Yes."

---

It was Harry. Gene was not sure how, but it was. He did not doubt for a second that Warren called Harry the moment he got free, however he got free, and that Harry saw an opportunity and took it. Now he could frame Gene for Warren's murder, seal Gene's reputation as an arse-fucking queer, and with any luck tie Tyler's murder onto the list of fit-ups. Of course Tyler was not dead yet, and so it worked to Harry's advantage for Gene to remain free until that detail could be rectified.

Sam's plan, which was not a bad one in the main, was shot to hell. There was no getting Charlie to roll over on a dead man, providing that Charlie even had the good sense to wake up from the beating, and no getting Warren and Woolfe to give each other up. Nothing that clean or neat or righteous. Gene wanted to believe he could kill Woolfe, but he was not able to kill Warren, so he knew his limitations. Charlie was a mistake, a few bad hits in a bad fight that would not have happened if Charlie was smart enough to know when he already lost. Gene did not feel sorry for Charlie, feeling he deserved what he got, but it was just damned inconvenient for him to get it right now.

Gene told Sam to call Annie and have her take Stuart to the station. Sam disagreed, but Gene knew that the boy was safe now, with Warren dead. Harry would be more than pleased simply with framing Gene for a murder or two, but he never brought Stuart into it the way Warren did. Both men were brilliant and ruthless but Harry lacked the cruel, sadistic streak that ruled Warren. No, Gene knew that Stuart was safe, at least on the whole. He would deal with Mary's ways later…or Sam could, if it came down to that.

Annie was smart for a bird; she suggested meeting up with Ray first and claiming that they found the child in Joni's old flat, which was still empty. Ray could figure something out as a reason for checking the flat, and with Warren dead, none of the girls or boys in the building would be interested in arguing with anyone about it, if they were even still there in the morning. Hopefully no one – least of all Harry – would question too quickly why Gene would bust into Leslie's to get the boy, beat the hell out of Charlie, and then dump the kid alone in a murdered girl's flat. One crisis at a time.

Harry would not go after Sam himself. It now rested on catching whomever was sent to kill Sam, and getting that person to offer up evidence against Harry. If that somehow included getting Geoff to roll over (if he was not the one sent to do the job, and Gene had his suspicions about Geoff's role in Warren's death), then it might actually work well enough to get the ball rolling with internal affairs. There was still the sticky matter of evidence, which Harry was smart enough not to leave lying around. Not in plain view, anyway.

In the meantime, he had to keep a lid on Tyler, and keep him alive. There was one sure way to do that.

"What?" Sam looked at him, incredulous. "Back into that nest of vipers?"

"Sam, when you're in the middle of CID, no one – other than my damn ex – is going to try to kill you. In fact you bein' there is the best place for you for you during working hours. And you can keep a lid on the investigation, figure out what Harry is trying to pull next. Go!"

Gene manhandled him out of the flat and pushed. Sam chattered away but they both knew Gene was right and finally Gene shut the door and turned to the phone. He needed evidence against Harry, he needed something solid on the bastard or any charge they fired at him would never stick, despite Sam's optimism. Right now, he needed a bargaining chip. Anything would do, and only one man could help.

"Front Desk."

"Yeah, love, transfer me to DCI Gareth Dixon. No, jus' tell 'im it's Genie. He'll take the call."

-------------
2:45PM
Sam rolled back into a chaotic CID with an explanation of food poisoning, which at least explained why he was still dripping sweat and bumping into the furniture, and made Ray stand in front of the lot of them to give his report on the status of the investigation, just as he would normally do. Chris still looked pale and was smoking incessantly, and Geoff was back from his own MIA status, and all in all everything looked perfectly normal. Annie was off taking Stuart's "statement" – without his mother around, and despite her protests about it. Mary did not seem the least bit pleased to have her son back, and nearly fainted when informed of Warren's untimely demise, but she pulled together quickly and returned to 'ballistic' when Sam told her she could not be present for the statement. She marched out under her own power and went directly back up to Woolfe's office, and Sam was actually more glad to be rid of her than not.

The kidnapping case effectively closed with Stuart's timely return, Sam steered everything towards Warren's murder. He was going on the assumption that Gene was not the perpetrator, because he already put his money on that horse and it was too late to back out now. However, he was alone in his opinion, as everyone – including Ray, although more from an admiring angle – believed Gene did it. In fact it looked very much like Gene kidnapped his son, went on a killing spree, then locked his son up in an empty flat while he went to track down Harry Woolfe. Geoff supplied that last idea, and Sam wanted to strangle him, even though it solved the problem of how Ray and Annie 'found' Stuart at Joni's. The only person who could argue any of this was Leslie, who was there when the boy was picked up by Warren and knew exactly what the deal was and who was absolutely, resolutely refusing to talk. At all. Sam knew Harry's fingerprints were there, his thumb at least holding her down, although why he could not quite figure out.

The gears started grinding up on the murder investigation and nothing was going right and Sam suspected he would be shot the second he stepped outside of police headquarters if he did not fall down in a faint first from what ever drugs the hospital was pumping into him…if they were at all, and if this was a coma-dream, as he was beginning to doubt. He sat in his office as the day dragged on and forensics released Warren's body to the morgue, wondering what he was going to do. Now, everything hinged on bringing down Woolfe, and without a shred of evidence, that was not going to happen.

"Sir?" Annie was at the door.

"Yes?"

"Well…sir, we've got the boy's statement and…well, I'd…you know, because, see, just a hunch, but it might buy some time, and…if you…"

"Annie," Sam said flatly, and she went quiet. "What is it you came here to tell me?"

She crept in closer to his desk, leaning over. "Well…earlier, you know, when we were at the flat an' I helped Stu wash up, he had some bruises around his upper arms and chest…"

"You think he manhandled the boy?" Sam asked, making it clear he did not want any names used. She shook her head.

"These were older, sir, not fresh. I'm thinkin'…might be a good idea to keep the boy in custody, yeah? For his…er, own safety."

Sam sat back, pleased, but wary of the idea. "One hell of an accusation to throw at a mother who claims her son was kidnapped and just now got him back. Abuse? She'll throw the book at us."

"With all due respect, sir, I'd not bring it up if I didn't think it was legitimate." Annie said, squaring her shoulders defiantly, and Sam liked her a lot more in that moment than ever before. He nodded.

"Do what you 'ave to do. I'll sign whatever paperwork needs to be signed, just find a way to keep him here in the building rather than off to a home for the night. Be good to keep him away from prying ears anyway, I'm sure his statement is damn confusing."

"I tried to steer Stuart clear of the obvious points of contention, but…sir…can we trust him?" She asked quietly. Sam leaned over his desk and nodded.

"We have to. At this point, Annie, our lives might be on the line."

---

5:20PM
Sam called him at five and told him to leave the flat, go out the back, and find a way to the intersection of Harper and Mills. Not exactly low-profile, but Gene managed, and Sam picked him up on the fly, barely stopping the car before plowing down the road at high speed.

"Where we goin'?" Gene asked, gripping onto the hand hold for dear life.

"Dunno. Ideas?"

"Yer jokin'!"

"No. I have no idea where to stay. I'm a DCI running for my life with a wanted man in my car, and I'm really, really open to suggestions." Sam spun through an intersection and Gene held his breath. "Being brilliant on the fly is not a personal strength."

"Oh you're more a 'plan it out with a map and a stopwatch' man? HEY!" Gene yelled as Sam steered clear of a woman pushing a pram.

"Yes. With revisions signed off on and an operation snapshot available at any level." Sam nodded grimly, and Gene wondered how this man ever made it to DCI.

"Turn!" Gene yelled, pointing, and Sam twirled the wheel as if he were a sports car driver. "Bloody! This isn't a Porsche!"

Sam grinned like a school boy. "I'm just pretending I'm on Top Gear."

"Yer in top form, alright! Christ! Watch them bins!"

"So where are we goin'?"

"Yer askin' ME?"

"Your city, Gene. I'm the new boy in town."

"Your in a right fit this evening. Change your meds again? TURN!" Gene pointed and Sam skidded through another intersection.

"Maybe, actually…seems a lot going on lately. I certainly feel surreal," Sam said thoughtfully, and not for the first time, it occurred to Gene that the man was insane.

"That's no help!" Gene yelled.

"So where are you taking me?"

"This isn't a bleedin' date, sweet cheeks! Right now I'm takin' you on a big circle because I got no idea where we can go."

"That's no good."

"I KNOW! Shut up and let a man think."

They ended up four blocks away from police headquarters. "Not sure this is your best idea ever, Gene."

"Every cop is out scouring the docks and the canal and low-rent dives looking for me. Every crim on Harry's books is camped out at your flat or the pub waiting on you. The last place anyone will look for either of us is the Carter Hotel."

"Still, going in an' renting a room – might look dodgy for me."

"Yer daft. Not renting a room. C'mon."

Sam parked in the alley, and followed along as Gene artfully piled boxes in front of identifying marks. Sam grabbed a duffle bag out of the boot before they walked away and Gene steered them into a lonely doorway and led Sam up four flights of very old, dirty stairs at the back of the hotel. It had been years since he used this entrance, back when being sneaky was important to his job, but nothing had changed. He let them out onto the fifth floor and then turned down the hallways until he found a suitable door which he picked and opened quickly. There was one bed and one lamp and one chair, and it was obviously the 'budget suite,' but luck of the draw, it was better than nothing. Gene sat in the chair. "Don' use the phone, and no one will know we're here."

Sam studied him critically. "Unless of course the room gets rented out."

"Like as not. But we'll deal with that when we have to. Now, sit yer boney arse down and fill me in with what's goin' on in CID. I want to know where Harry is."

---

It was going to be a long night. Gene grilled him as if he was a first-day-on-the-job detective and both of them were in foul moods by the time he was up to date. Gene snarled and uncoiled on the bed while Sam paced. He was finally, at last beginning to wind down but he worried about the whole episode, wondering if accidental overdose was going to wake him up. He never thought he would consider it bad timing, but right now, he did.

"We've got to get something on Harry."

"Workin' on it. Siddown."

Sam slammed down into the chair, crossed his arms, and fumed. He wanted to ask what 'workin' on it' meant but part of him suspected that involved sitting around doing nothing in a hijacked hotel room for the night. Gene's idea of working a case, no doubt.

"You're high maintenance, you are. Relax. Nothin' to do until morning."

Sam rolled his eyes in aggravation.

"God, wish I had a drink to shove down yer throat." Gene sighed, putting his hands behind his head. Sam nearly smiled.

"Bag."

"No, throat."

"In. My. Bag." Sam pointed to the duffle. Gene bent down and turned it over. Sam grimaced, hoping the bottle would survive. It did, and Gene held up the whiskey triumphantly.

"Yer a ruddy genius, Tyler. Fetch us some glasses."

They drank in silence, which was amicable, but Sam was antsy. He tried to think about why, but it always spiraled back to Gene, stretched out and languid on the bed, drinking with his eyes closed and his head tilted back, a doomed man on a mission.

"So you never seen your son, at all?"

"Christ, I was getting' to doze. Now yer all chatty cathy." Gene fixed him with an intense, displeased stare that Sam was certain caused others to tremble in fear. To him, it was simply mesmerizing, so he forced himself to focus at his glass.

"Not tired." He shrugged.

"…I was there when he was born, right bloody mess he looked after. Nasty. Why people think newborns are cute…with him the first six months. After that...no. Mary couldn' prove nothin' but I wasn' going to fight her on the custody. Don' need the boy growing up around a night club, even part time. Didn' want him anywhere near Warren."

"Think Warren…?" Sam raised his eye brows, hoping to God he was wrong..

"Told ya before. Warren likes…liked 'em young, but not that young. No. Just…bad for a kid, seein' his dad doin' something off color. Yeah? Not like I was a banker or a brief, or even a brick layer. He'll hear enough, growin' up, don't need to be seein' it first hand."

"Hard. Never getting to see him grow up." Sam stopped, thinking of the reverse, of Stuart growing up with a father in spitting distance but forever out of reach. He tapped his head against the back of the chair. "My dad…left. When I was four."

"Crim? Sent up? That's why you became a copper?"

"What? No! No, not a criminal. Just…left. Walked out. Never heard from him again. Broke my mother; she never remarried." Sam sighed. "But that's why I become a copper. Thought…when I was young, I thought I could grow up and find him. Silly."

"No. Jus' a boy's dream." Gene said, and when Sam looked at him Gene was gazing at the wall, lost in thought.

"What was your dream?"

"Clean up the streets. Make this city safe. Be a cop other men admired, someone who could walk proudly into his home at night so his sons got someone to look up to."

"Good dream."

"Dead dream." Gene refilled his glass. "Dead."

Sam could not think of a suitable answer, because as dreams go, it was a dead one. He could not change it, and did not know how to soften the blow of that kind of insight.

"…I jus' hope Stu never knows the worst of it." Gene breathed out quietly, and quickly finished the fresh drink, pouring another on its heels.

"No reason for him too."

"No. But Mary…she'll make sure he knows. She hates me. Turned on me 'fore Stu was even born."

"She know about you and Warren?"

Gene glared at him, malevolent and furious, and it made Sam angry. It was an honest question, and it was not as if Gene could even pretend to be straight at this point.

"Are you even gay? Or do you just close your eyes and think of England?" Sam snorted and finished his own drink.

Gene refilled his glass, his eyes flitting back and forth between it and Sam.

"You're a strange bird, Tyler. Most people don't ask sommat like that of a man."

"I do."

"Obviously." Gene slammed the drink, set the glass down, and walked over to Sam. He grabbed him by his arms and by the time Sam had his feet under him, Gene tossed him onto the bed. "I take what's on offer, and tonight that seems to be you."

He crawled up on Sam, who was too stunned to react quickly enough to push him off. Gene crouched over him, pinning his legs, and began unbuttoning Sam's shirt as he leaned in and delicately bit Sam's ear.

"NO!" Sam shoved and lifted his leg to push Gene over. "Fuck, no!"

Gene grabbed his shirt and slammed him down. "You want it."

"I don't want 'it', I want you!"

"Good." Gene began sucking on his neck.

"NO!" Sam pushed him off again, and this time, Gene rolled off all the way and propped himself up on an elbow.

"Don't get you, Tyler."

Sam put his hands over his face. "I know. No one does."

"So what is it, then?"

"I just…crap…don't want some anonymous shag while we wait around."

"Don' seem like such a bad idea…"

"Gene, please. Shut up." Sam pulled himself to a sitting position and crossed his legs. Gene was looking at him without any expression at all, just looking and waiting. "I really want you, don' you get it?"

"I get that you don' know me, we aren't friends, we don' work together, and we both want to get off." Gene shrugged, still expressionless, but it was not hollow. Gene was not emotionless, he was closed off, and Sam knew it. He stared at Gene directly, wordlessly, until his eyes watered and his mouth went dry and finally, Gene looked away. "Always an argument, with you."

"Yeah."

Gene reached out and put a hand on Sam's thigh, and Sam could not tell if it was a pass or Gene trying to communicate something. Interpersonal communications was another set of skills he never quite mastered and usually he railroaded over these situations just to get out of them, but this time he stopped himself. He ran his fingers over Gene's hand, but Gene did not move or react.

"You feel so real…"

"I am, believe it or not. I wonder about you, though…"

"I don't belong here. No one gets me and I don't think I want to get them. I got nothin' except my job and I feel like I'm…I'm in a coma. I don't feel anything. But you make me…feel. You fight me, you argue, you bring out the worst in me and I don't know why but I care. I want to care. I can't change what your life has been for the last five years, I can't reverse anything, but I want to show that it can be…better. I want you to feel that. I want to feel that." Sam rubbed his hands together, aware that he was babbling. "…I wish you were still a cop. I could use a man like you in CID…"

"You know what I was doin' for Warren, Tyler. Can't be a cop, now…even if they erased the charges off my record, which they won't. I ain't what I was. You got to know that." Gene fell back, folding his hands over his belly, his legs hanging off the bed at the knees. Sam felt the cold seep into him from where Gene's hand had been on his leg.

They sat in that comfortable silence again, which grew steadily more uncomfortable as Sam tried to think of something to say, but completely at a loss as to what Gene needed to hear.

"Not here to rape you. You want it, or you don't." Gene said, finally breaking the weight between them.

"Do you?"

"Think I made that clear."

"No, I mean…" Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking out the side of his eyes at Gene. "I mean, me."

"You mean, better."

"What?"

"Do I want better. That's what you said, that you want to show me better."

"I really don't think I have any special sex tricks that will impress you. I suspect you're a bit more experienced there than I am." Sam rolled his eyes.

"That I am. Not the point, was it?"

"…No. No, it wasn't." Sam sighed and rubbed his face, wondering how many different ways he could get this wrong. He got up and walked back over to the overstuffed chair, turning off the lights as he went. "Good night."

"That it, then?" Gene snapped out in the darkness.

"That's it. Get some sleep."

He heard Gene shuffling back on the bed, grumping and fussing with the pillows. Sam grimaced as he sat down, knowing that he was not going to get a minute of sleep on the chair.

"'Nuff room for two here."

"Gene, go to sleep."

"Won't touch you."

"Gene…"

"Yer shining virtue will remain intact."

"Gene…"

"Get yer arse over here, Tyler."

"No. Now go to sleep."

"You always got to argue with me?"

"Only when you are wrong."

"Meaning, all the time."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"…Get yer fairy nancy gay boy arse in bed."

"You really know how to sweet talk a man, Gene."

"I can…"

"Cost extra?"

"You self-righteous fuck. I should ream you up the arse for that." Gene snorted, his voice betraying his amusement.

Sam tried not to laugh. "Go to sleep."

He woke up later to see Gene standing by the window, looking out into the street-lamp lit darkness outside. Rubbing his eyes, Sam studied him for a moment, then got up. Gene could not miss him moving through the room, but he did not react. Sam propped himself up against the window frame.

"Can't sleep?"

Gene just looked at him, and Sam shrugged. They stood there for a while, silently, until Gene's posture relaxed and he leaned into the wall.

Sam rolled his head to look at him. "Why didn' you run?"

"Told ya."

"Not buyin'."

Gene pursed his lips. "Skelton."

"What?"

"Just a kid. Never met 'im, but from what Morton told me, he was being blackmailed to it. Knew he'd be just another life washed down the drain by Harry. One too many, Sam, one too many…" Gene did not look at him, kept staring out the window, and Sam let the pause sink in. Gene shifted and glanced at him. "Too late for Joni, hell, 'alf a dozen like her I expect…too late for me, might be too late for Ray. But not for that boy Skelton, or Stu, or…" Gene's voice dropped. "Always prided myself in takin' care of my own, best I can."

"Still think of CID in that?" Sam asked, listening to what he was not saying. Gene looked up at the sky.

"Some things about a man yeh can't change, no matter where you put 'im."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Sam nodded earnestly, then sighed. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Not leaving me. For staying."

"Never said I stayed for you. In fact as I remember, I asked you to stay an' help me."

"…I can't stay. When this is done, I'm going home." Sam closed his eyes.

"No. You belong here."

Sam opened his eyes in surprise and looked at Gene, staring back at him with determination, demanding his way and unforgiving of defiance. He was hardly a beautiful man, but he was intense and powerful and Sam was always attracted to powerful men, of one sort or another. He suspected that was one reason he worked so hard to make DCI so young, because he wanted to be one of those commanding, magnetic men who brought out the best in everyone around them. He failed miserably at it – 1973 was nothing if not confirmation of that – but it was what turned him on in a primal, elemental way. It was beyond sex, although that was part of it, and Sam studied Gene carefully as he thought about what it really was: a cast iron belief in himself, a confidence based on the bed rock of his soul. Gene's life was falling apart in a way that would send most men spiraling insanely out of control, but Gene stood in the darkness like a primitive god, unwilling to admit defeat and demanding allegiance from those around him. He might not even feel that way, Sam considered, and would not be surprised to know that inside his own head, Gene believed he was falling apart, but he was held together by a strength that went far deeper than conscious thought.

Sam wanted to be that man, he wanted to be with that man, he wanted to taste that man and he reached out to grab a handful of Gene's hair. Gene was surprised but followed as Sam pulled him into a kiss, then willingly stepped backwards into the wall when Sam pushed him, still clutching painfully at Gene's hair, lowering him down until Sam had the advantage over him by a possibly nothing more than an inch. Sam knew it was acquiescence, not his own domination of the situation, but that turned him on even more. Gene was letting him lead, and Sam suspected by the slight tensing of muscles next to him that one thing Gene was not used to was allowing someone else to be in charge.

Gene's legs were splayed out to either side and he was propped up against the wall. Sam pushed the kiss harder, opening his mouth a bit more to snake his tongue in deeper and he pressed the length of his torso against Gene. He rolled his hips instinctively when he felt Gene's erection through their pants and he grabbed Gene's hips to pull them closer together. Gene wrapped his arms around Sam's chest and squeezed, tipping his head up to open himself further to Sam's exploring mouth.

He did not want to break the spell by trying to maneuver them to the bed, or wrestle clothes off, but he needed more. He brought his hands in between them and fought with buckles and zips and arguing hips while they tried to keep their lips locked together, and finally he shoved their pants down enough that their cocks were exposed and aligned. The hot, silken sensation was almost too intense and Sam broke off the kiss, gasping.

"Touch us," He said, looking at the ceiling, pushing his body rhythmically against Gene. He felt one arm move and then Gene's long fingers wrapped around them, and Sam groaned. Gene did not.

"Gene?" Sam brought his hands up to hold Gene's face, and Gene looked at him through lidded eyes, silent as the grave. "Stop. Stop…"

His hand stopped but Gene did not move otherwise. They looked at each other for a moment before he spoke. "Calling it off again, Tyler?"

Gene had shut down again, and Sam was crushed. He shook his head and pressed his hands against Gene's face. "No…you're jus' so quiet, I thought…no, please, please…oh god, please no…don' leave me…" Sam put his cheek on Gene's. "Don't shut down, not now, please… This feels so real…as if I'm actually alive…"

"You dead?" Gene's voice was leaden and he pulled his hand out from between them.

"Close." Sam nodded, pressing his forehead into Gene's and running his hands down his side. "So…close…" Sam turned his face and kissed Gene's temple, then pulled himself up so he was above Gene again. "Gene…please…"

"Can't give you that, Sam." Gene sighed, pushing against his chest with one hand. Sam pushed back.

"You want to." Sam whispered, sighing the words as he ghosted over Gene's lips then pressed in, milking the kiss with his whole body, his hands roaming fast and hard. "You want this. You want us…" Sam nudged at Gene's mouth as he talked and Gene responded, settling as Sam pushed him into the wall. The kiss was long and wet and Sam was nearly shaking with excitement, but Gene had gone quiet again.

"Talk to me, let me hear you…" Sam asked, begging in Gene's ear as his tongue swiped over the folds of skin there.

Gene shuddered but shook his head. "Can't."

"Come on! Why not?"

"Need me to spell it out? Can't. Won't."

"…you mean, Warren didn't like it." Sam slowly pushed back, looking down at Gene who had closed his eyes and placed his hands on Sam's hips.

"I shagged Steve a long time, Sam. Years. I was backed into a corner; I did what I was told."

He was breathing steadily but his mouth was a thin line and he was not moving. Sam was overwhelmed with pity and anger and frustration and shook his head, hard, to clear it.

"I don' care. I don't FUCKING care. This is real. This is what I want. Don't let that bastard take the last of you from ME!" Sam slammed a fist down on his chest, and in the next moment he felt Gene rear up and grab him and Sam thought he pushed it too far, that Gene was going to throw him off and pretend this never happened, and everything would turn unreal again and he would be alone. Instead, Gene shook him like a rag doll and Sam hung on to Gene's shoulders for balance. Gene stopped and dragged Sam into him then kissed him, hard, unforgiving, pushing his own back into the wall as he hugged Sam in a merciless hold.

"I don' know how to do this, Sam. Not like this. Not with you. I can get you off twenty different ways but you don't want that, do you?" Gene broke his hold and began pushing Sam away again.

Sam slammed his body into Gene's, taking the breath out of them both. "I don't want your arse or your mouth or your dick, I want YOU. If you can't give me that then this ends now."

Sam felt Gene melting away from him, pulling back, and Sam could not think of anything else to do, other than fight it.

"FUCK!" Gene curled up as Sam's fist collided with his stomach and he looked at Sam in shock. Sam leapt into the pause and kissed him, smothering him with his mouth and body. Gene pulsed with conflicting instincts for a moment then grabbed Sam's hips and pulled, grinding them together and their cocks started swelling again with the renewed friction. Sam dug his fingers under Gene's shirt and moved up to pinch one of his nipples, causing Gene to both break off the kiss and bang his hips forward.

"I want to hear you…I want you…" Sam gasped, licking and nipping at Gene's neck. He place his hands against the wall and slammed in again, their cocks colliding painfully. Sam plowed his feet into the floor as he canted his hips and began banging into Gene's body, reckless of erections or hips bones. Gene answered with a surprised gasp and it was a battle to see which man could pound the hardest but for all of Gene's weight and mass, Sam was a runner with strong legs and he had the leverage of being on top. They hit each other agonizingly hard and Sam grunted, clinching his teeth, amazed that his erection was still in force through this, but he kept giving back what Gene was trying to hit him with.

"Oh god…god damn…" Gene gasped and ground out the words, followed by a low, breathless groan as he dropped his head into Sam's chest and closed his eyes. Sam felt the sweat pouring off of them and saw rivulets streaming down Gene's neck as he kept fighting everything, inside himself and between them and in his whole life – Sam could feel it in Gene, something breaking apart, more real and powerful than any sensation Sam had ever known and it was Gene reaching for something better through Sam, with him, and because of him. That knowledge drove Sam past exhaustion or pain into elation because he had to do this for Gene, stay with him no matter the cost because it was, in so many way, Gene's life on the line and Sam never wanted to wake up from this. They finally found a rhythm but it remained fierce although the sweat and, Sam knew on his side anyway, pre-cum added some lubricant to their heated cocks. The pounding was broken by rubbing, then sliding as they fell in, their chests pressing together.

"I believe in you…you are so real, I need you so much, please Gene…please…be real for me…" Sam whispered, curling his shoulders up and over so he loomed above Gene, rubbing his face in Gene's hair and kissing along his forehead.

"Ohhhhhhhh jesus, Sam…" Gene grunted, gasped again, and Sam went at him even harder, and finally they were lost together. Gene began panting and groaning, flexing his muscles as his body strained and twisted against Sam, and Sam knew they were both close to it. He let himself go, closing his eyes and falling into Gene's embrace, moaning as he felt Gene's cock rubbing against his. He forced his hands down and quickly wrapped both around their cocks, holding them together, and it tripped Gene over. Sam could barely hang on as Gene crashed into his orgasm, gasping and cussing as he came and his cum shot out, covering Sam's hands. The sensation of the hot liquid on him, and seeing Gene roiling under him and feeling Gene's cock throbbing in his hands brought Sam into his own and he cried out for Gene, over and over, until Gene took his mouth and swallowed his own name. They collapsed in a breathless, slow motion sprawl onto the floor, with Gene on top, still panting.

Gene did not move as they recovered, just laid on top, breathing, and he weighed a ton but Sam could not bring himself to shift them. Their groins were still pressed together, cum seeping between them and smeared everywhere. Gene lowered his head.

"Not the best of ideas."

"No." Sam nodded, not feeling the least trace of regret.

Gene pulled back onto his knees and Sam followed him up. Sam grabbed a hotel towel and they wiped down quickly, shoving themselves back into their pants as they fell into the bed. Sam wallowed on his back, pleased with himself.

"You great girl, stop squirming." Gene rolled over to lay mostly on top, pressing down on Sam, who sighed in pleasure. "Sam…" Gene kissed up his neck lightly and Sam tried not to gasp like the girl Gene said he was.

"Yeah?...Yeah?" Sam asked anxiously, feeling alive and hot and dirty and real and not wanting it to end.

"Time for a kip." Gene grunted, and huddling Sam protectively, went to sleep.

---

They awoke automatically before dawn, showered down quickly and left silently. They did not discuss intimate matters, and Gene was relieved. He gave away a part of himself every time he was with Tyler, and he wanted that to bother him. It did not, though, and he could not shake the feeling that there was something too good to this…whatever they had. Not friends, not co-workers, not lovers – Gene had too many of those to tar Sam with that brush. "Peer" was the word he settled on, as he watched Sam clean up, although that rang hollow because Sam was a good cop and a DCI, an honorable man who seemed to carry no conflict with his station and his sexuality. Everything Gene had reached for in life, and failed to grasp.

The wise move was to get Sam back to CID while Gene camped out somewhere 'safe,' and that is exactly what Sam insisted on when they got in the car, complaining as Gene took the driver's seat.

"No. Breakie."

"To risky. Need to get you undercover."

"Yeh took care of that last night." Gene smiled, starting the car and driving off. Sam threw him an annoyed look, and Gene wallowed in it.

"I mean, get you somewhere safe. A public restaurant is not exactly low profile."

"Summat to do first, Sammy Boy. Trust the Gene Genie." Gene peeled out and Sam grabbed the hand hold over the door. He drove them to the edge of Manchester proper, to a dive that smelled of grease and fried flour. Sam grimaced as they walked in and sat at the back. Gene ordered a full meal of sausage and eggs, and Sam did not.

"Can you make an all-white omlette?" He asked the waitress with a put upon air. She looked at Gene, who was too incredulous to formulate a response. "Never mind, I'll 'ave two eggs. Scrambled."

"What you on about there?"

"I always ask. Hope springs eternal." Sam sighed and leaned back.

"So you spent some time in France?" It would make sense, in fact it would make a lot of sense if the little weirdo spent part of his life in that nancy country. Would explain much.

"No, aside from a school trip when I was twelve." Sam looked confused. Gene dropped the subject when the tea showed up, and they sat in silence again. Gene enjoyed that almost more than the sex the night before: amicably sitting with someone who treated him with respect, whom he could talk to. It occurred to Gene that years had gone by since he last knew someone he could openly discuss his life with, problems and plans and all. In the club he was 'the Boss' who could not afford to get pally with the staff, and everyone else he knew was tied in to Warren or Harry. There were no safe shadows in that world, and it was hard to believe that world was gone now. It was with an absently considered thought that Gene realized he was now officially out of a job. When the food arrived he ate quickly, then sat smoking, watching Sam pick at his food.

"I need to get back to CID."

"Patience is a virtue," Gene said theatrically, blowing smoke into Sam's face just to annoy him, because it was fun. The ponce made it too easy to amuse himself, sometimes. Then he saw Gareth.

The man was making a play for 'incognito' and he almost made it. The hat was too large and hung low on his head, the glasses were typically plain sunglasses and everything was non-descript except the man himself, who was a walking bean pole. He had five inches on Gene but weighed significantly less, and loped like a puppy with legs too long for it's body.

"Here we go." Gene said, nodding towards Gareth as he made his was back to them. Sam gave Gene a puzzled glare.

"Gene."

"Gareth."

Gareth sat down next to San and took off his sunglasses. "This Tyler?"

"Yeah. Tyler, DCI Gareth Dixon. Gareth, DCI Sam Tyler. Now kiss and make nice."

"Ain't queer, you…"

"Shut it, Gareth. I know what you are, remember? Anyway I'm sure you know we got a bit of a problem here."

"Heard about Warren."

"Yeah?"

"Harry called to tell me in person." Gareth leaned back and crossed his arms. Sam studied him and turned to Gene, but did not break into the conversation. "So, Genie, you do it?"

Gene took a long, considered drag on his cigarette, waiting to build the tension to bring his point home. "No."

Gareth nodded. "Didn' think so. Not that you don' got cause." He sighed. "But I can't 'elp you, mate. You know what Harry's got on me."

Sam quirked his head. "Honey trap?"

Gareth glared, but nodded.

"I don' get it. According to rumor, you were Harry's golden boy. Why set you up and transfer you out?"

"If you're trying to imply I'm a bent cop…I can't argue." Gareth took off his hat and ran a hand through dark brown curly locks, which made him look boyish. "Never seemed so bad. No one ever got hurt in the blags, and Harry was always generous in sharing the profit. Called it our Benevolence Fund. In return we got real leads, tips on serious offenders. Crime rate was down, pockets were full, and the public loved us."

Gene watched as Sam's expression turned darker and darker, and he knew this was going the wrong way.

"Point is, that wasn't enough for Harry." Gene broke in, and Gareth nodded.

"I balked when he started getting into the drug running…"

"WHAT?" Sam slapped the table and both men stared at him. "Balked? You BALKED? Why didn' you go straight to internal affairs?"

"Where the 'ell this one come from?" Gareth looked at Gene, who shrugged.

"Mars."

"Yeah." Gareth stared and Gene tried to get back on topic again.

"Gareth, I ain' here for my health or the food. You got sommat on Harry, you need to put it on the table now, or go down with him."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself on that point. From my perspective he's got you stitched up good. I should call in and report the two of you. Anyone in Division A know you're harboring a wanted murderer?" Gareth turned to Sam, who nodded.

"In fact, yeah. An' I don't care how it looks, Harry is goin' down. For corruption, and possibly murder." Sam said smartly, and Gene marveled at the pride and arrogance. He thought, for a brief second, that it was almost like a drug for him, some kind of medicine that was resuscitating him, bringing him back to life. He tried to ignore the thought that if Sam was a drug, then Gene was going to be his junkie, because that was more than he needed to deal with right now.

"You guarantee you get those photos of me, I'll hand you his arse on a silver platter." Gareth said vehemently. "He tol' me to be grateful I got a transfer and blackmail, and not 'the Hunt treatment', but 'ell, it's like livin' with an ax over my head. One wrong move…Christ, look, Harry's been into the drugs for a few years now. Warren got 'im hooked an'…"

"Wait…Harry? No." Gene sat back, appalled.

"Look, Gene, rumor is, Harry's sick. Somethin' serious, and painful, from what I've heard. You seen Harry lately?"

Gene nodded, thinking back.

"Tell me the man didn' look bad off. When we first started, a few of the runners told me – off to the side, yeah? – that Harry was becoming a good customer. That was all I needed to know, and tol' Harry I wanted out. Warren didn' like the idea of jus' cutting me loose, though." Gareth snarled and accepted the cigarette that Gene handed him.

"We want what you got. We'll do what we can."

"Wish I could take you at your word, Gene. Not that way anymore." Gareth said quietly, staring at him, and Gene knew what he meant. Gene was part of Warren's operation for too long to be trusted, even with the man dead on a slab.

"Then take my word. We'll do everything we can to get those photos. In return you stop with the backhanding, and you give us something solid on Harry's operation." Sam tapped the table and Gene remained silent, staring at his old co-worker with cold hearted disdain.

Gareth was silent for a long time, then nodded. He held the cigarette in his mouth as he pulled out his notebook and wrote something down. When he was finished, he tore out the paper and set it on the table, then stood up. He left without saying another word, and Gene looked at Sam with something like pleasure. They were finally on their way.

---

Sam walked into a noticeably unhurried CID. He called a quick meeting to get updated on Warren's murder case, which essentially boiled down to everyone waiting around for Hunt to be dragged in. He pulled Annie into his office, and told her to make sure Stu stayed in custody. Not the most ideal of situations, but Sam knew that if everything went down the way he hoped, Mary might be one to try and run if she had the kid in her possession. There was no reason to hold her, yet, but if he kept Stuart out of her reach, he figured she would still be around when the time came. Annie nodded with a frightening look in her eye and marched out, and Sam almost wished she was already on his team because right now, short of Ray, she was the most solid back up he had.

Charlie Edwards managed to live and was still in critical condition, but not lucid, and for the time being that worked to Sam's advantage. What he really needed was to make sure the man lived long enough to talk. Ray gave him the names of two plods who were known for being straight arrows, 'real self-righteous bastards' as Ray described them, which sounded just like Sam's type. He assigned them rotation duty watching over Charlie, which was playing his hand a little but Charlie's testimony was worth the sacrifice if he got it.

As matters stood, Warren was dead, their best witness to Warren's crimes was comatose thanks to Gene, there was probably a hit out on Sam thanks to Harry, and half the population of Greater Manchester was on the wary lookout for assumed murderer Gene Hunt thanks to Sam. After Gareth left them at the diner, Gene took one look at the note and told him to get Ray and Chris on it, especially Chris. Sam had to trust Gene's instincts, so he confidentially gave the info to them. Chris looked surprised.

"Guv, these names…well they…" He stalled, terrified.

Ray smacked the back of his head. "Out wit' it."

Chris looked crestfallen as he talked to Ray, obviously trying to pretend that Sam was not in the bathroom with them. Sam thought it was the only safe place in the whole building, which was a bit paranoid, but he knew for a fact they were all out to get him. He felt like an idiot, but anyway that was nothing new to his life in 1973 coma-land.

"Boss, this…got to do with Harry's new deals with Warren."

"Drugs." Sam supplied. "You know about it, then?"

Chris shrugged. "Not directly, Guv. Jus'…told to keep things under wraps, when a few dealers got brought in, ya know?...me sister…"

"You're sister is fine. Shut it." Sam snapped, earning a hard glare from Ray. "Just track this down, okay? If we can nick these men, then we might get them to turn on Woolfe."

"They won't, Guv. Not without…"

"Ray, just do this. I've got other irons in the fire."

"Hunt?" Ray chewed his gum and waited, but Sam did not reply, just waved them out. When he finally left the loo a moment later, Annie was standing waiting for him.

"Edwards woke up."

"Anyone else know?" Sam asked quietly, watching as people walked by them.

"No. But the staff…Woolfe could easily get one of them to keep tabs for 'im. I dunno…" Annie stared at the wall in confusion.

"Fine, a risk we 'ave to take. Call the hospital, tell the guards not to let ANYONE in that room but me or the medical staff. Not even Harry Woolfe."

"If he finds out…"

"I'll take the heat, either way yeah? Do it."

Annie met him in the garage a few minutes later and Sam drove quickly to the hospital, risking the chance he might be offed on the way, driving defensively and checking for tails. If there was one thing he figured out about Harry Woolfe by now, drug addict or no, the man was smart and he was patient. Gene was relatively safe until Sam was dead, and it was best if Sam died at home in order to pin it on Gene, but nonetheless, Sam knew that his window of opportunity was closing fast. Charlie Edwards was going to be a critical component, and he needed him to crack, and he needed him alive.

The man was a broken wreck. Gene said the fight went sour, but just how bad Sam did not expect. His head was taped and wrapped and the three breaks in his right arm were set under a cast slung up in the air to keep the weight of the plaster off his four broken ribs. The only thing that still worked right was, miraculously, his mouth.

"Gene…'Unt…bastard…"

"We know Gene tore you up. No surprises there. You payin' attention?" Sam snapped his fingers in front of Edward's face. Sam brought Annie with him to witness, and she stood to the side with a tape recorder and her note pad.

"Listen carefully, Edwards. Warren's dead." Sam peered at him. Edwards' battered eyes went wide.

"'Unt…"

"I don't think so. But Harry Woolfe does."

Edwards blinked and coughed.

"You're going to own up, Edwards. I know you were in on kidnapping Stuart Hunt, with Warren. We got that girl Leslie stitched and up and she's willing to make a deal. You cooperate, and I guarantee to help you get reduced charges. You don' cooperate, and I walk out of 'ere and take the guards I set up to protect your life with me…I wonder 'ow much of a threat Woolfe thinks you are?" Sam crossed his arms. Leslie was no where near willing to deal with anything, but Edwards did not know that, and Sam was casting his net out in the first of many catches. They would all have to be knit together and it was dodgy like a line of dominoes on a see-saw, but it was the best he had going for now. "Warren's dead, Edwards. You got nothin' left, and at the very least yer goin' down for assisted kidnapping, if Woolfe even lets you live that long. I've got a few irons in the fire, and with luck, I can pin Joni's death on you too. Cooperate."

"I didn' khill Jonah!" Edwards gasped. "That were Wahhren! He did it!"

"Likely. Good story, man's dead, easy to fix 'im for her murder."

"No! No! 'E did it! Woolfe…Woolfe was there!"

Sam and Annie both stalled, and Sam blinked. "What?"

"Ww…Woolfe was there! That night…Warren sat on 'er for a while, trying to get 'er to wise up but he lost 'is tempah! Lost it wit' 'er, yeah!"

Sam tried not to fall down. This was it, the lynch pin, definitive evidence of Harry and Warren working together, and more than enough motive for Harry to kill Warren. Charlie was oblivious to Sam and Annie staring at him in shock, and just kept talking.

"Harry called that man o' 'is…"

"DC Skelton?" Sam's stomach dropped.

"No...no…othah..othah one…"

"Geoff Parker?"

Edwards nodded. "I dumped the body, Woolfe called Geoff to tell 'im where to find it. Big…big mess…" Edwards closed his eyes, exhausted.

Sam shook his head and looked at Annie, who was shell shocked. She checked the tape recorder to make sure it was working and nodded at Sam. They had it all.

"Fine. This will help you…"

"Hunt…"

"Don' you focus on Hunt, he can't get to you here…"

"No, the motheh…"

Sam frowned. "Mary Hunt? We know she sold her son to Warren. We'll have charges up on her soon enough."

"Damn…bloody…idiot…no…"

"What, then?"

"She…she knew about it."

"Knew about what? Mr. Edwards, I'm on a tight time frame here, and unless…"

"YOU!"

Sam stared at him, and Edwards glared back with livid eyes. "I'm in it now, you got Leslie talkin' but I ain' going down alone! You…you take Woolfe down and it all comes out anyway."

Sam nodded as if that was the certain outcome, although at this stage it was nearly a pipe dream.

"Knew the plan…to frame Hunt for offin' you. She…she's one of Harry's mules…for th' drugs…Harry set her up with Warren, to take the kid, to hold over Hunt."

Sam's foot started tapping again, but he barely noticed that or his racing heart. He let Edwards finish talking and when they walked out, grabbed Annie by both arms.

"That tape is lethal. Woolfe even suspects we got it, our lives won't be worth nothin'. I want an extra, RELIABLE guard on this room, and when we get back to CID, you are going sit in my office and type this up. Don' tell anyone what's up, don' talk to ANYONE…I might have to leave you alone, but…"

"Sergeant Terry Martin. Old friend of the family, I think I can get him to sit with me. Better than nothin'."

"Good. Smart. And…call your family. Dad, mum, whoever, tell them what is going on. We need people outside with a clue, so if it all goes pear shaped…"

"You don' have to tell me, Guv. I get it. An' I'm on it." Annie nodded energetically, and Sam could have kissed her.

"If we get out of this, WPC Cartwright, I'll see you made a detective. You belong in CID."

"Me? Go on!" She laughed nervously as they walked out quickly.

Back in CID, Sam settled Annie into his office with Sergeant Martin and called Ray on the radio to get the name of any other plod they could use to help guard Edwards. Ray managed to come up with two names, and Phyllis got one of them over to the hospital. Geoff was in the office and eyed him surreptitiously, and Sam knew the clock was ticking. His actions were not exactly awash with ambiguity at this point, and they were still a ways off from nailing Woolfe. He left Leslie – she was too vulnerable, in the cells – and Mary Hunt alone. They did not know the path the investigation was taking and were more likely to hold the line than to run for it at this stage. Particularly Mary Hunt. Even with Edwards taped testimony and even if Leslie and Mary rolled over based on that, there was nothing in the coffers that Sam would call 'evidence.' Not enough to stitch up Harry for drug running and murder.

He went walked around the building until he found an unused desk nowhere near CID or RCS and called Ray's house. The phone picked up but no one spoke.

"Gene, it's Sam. All clear."

"Why you callin'?"

"Edwards woke up, and spilled…a lot. A lot. Enough to get an investigation going, but we need evidence. I'm tapped for ideas…Ray and Chris are tracking down the drug shipment angle, but even if we pull in the runners, it'll still be a lot of words against Woolfe." Sam kept his voice low as confused plods walked by, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Been thinking about that. I think I got the answer, but you got to get me into Harry's office."

"Are you MAD?..." Sam stopped to soften his voice again. "No way. No. You'll either be shot on the way in or arrested the first foot you put through the door…"

"Find a way, Sam. Get me IN there. I know I can find what we need."

"Jus' tell me what…"

"No. Get me in there."

"You're insane, no way…"

"Call it me copper's instinct, Sam. I don' know where or what Harry's hidin' but I'll find it if I'm there…"

Beep beep beep

"No…no no no, not now…" Sam panicked at the sound of the hospital machines drowning out Gene's voice.

"Yes, now. Put that gray goo of yours to work, Sam." Gene hung up, and Sam stared at the handset as sounds kept coming through it.

Beep…beep….beep…

"Increased brain activity…fallout from that overdose, but looks like we may have something on the boards…get his mother…"

"What? What?" Sam yelled into the phone, but the voices dissipated. He looked around, furious, and slammed the handset down before marching off. He did not need this now, but then, he desperately wanted it all the time: home. The only place he belonged, outside of working with Gene. He stopped at the stairwell, considering the thought. No, even with Gene this was not home. Could not be. He did not belong here, and as soon as he fixed everything with Woolfe, surely he could get out, wake up, what-the-bloody-hell-ever he needed to do. Just as soon as he made everything right, he was gone. He clutched that idea as he sped up the stairs, heading for the storage room. He knew how to get Gene into the building.

Late in the afternoon, as CID filtered out, Sam told Annie to go to her parents house with the tape and the transcripts, and for Martin to drive her. The poor sergeant, who had been listening to the tape as Annie transcribed it, was genuinely rattled but brave enough, and they fled under Geoff's watchful gaze. Sam walked out, loudly informing everyone that Geoff was in charge as Ray was still out hounding Hunt, and he was going down to the morgue. The ones who were still there nodded, confused by just about everything, but Geoff only nodded curtly, frowning as he smoked.

Sam picked up his supplies and made a dash for it. He thought at one point he was being trailed, but lost it, and finally got to Ray's house at about four thirty. He walked in and put the box on the floor.

"What's this, then?" Gene eyed it suspiciously from his perch in the living room, where he had clearly spent most of the day smoking, drinking, and eating Ray's food.

"The only way I can imagine to get you in there without being taken down by five plods and the RCS goons."

"Y'don' like Litton, eh?" Gene smirked.

"Man's an eel with bad cologne." Sam said distractedly as he opened the box.

"You bought me a ratty fur coat?" Gene wrinkled his nose, then gaped as Sam unfolded the material. "Yer mad."

"Look, Tufty can walk the halls unnoticed. CID is going to be manned until you're brought in proper or until it all blows up, but we can at least get you into the lift and to Woolfe's office this way. After hours, anyway…"

"A bleedin' squirrel?"

"Gene, it's this, or I go in alone. I'm against this idea anyway and…"

Gene ripped the costume out of his hands and held it up. "You ever tell a living soul and I'll wind yer knickers around your throat an' hang you from a flag pole."

They got Tufty into the car, Gene squashed down because the head of the costume added another six inches to his height. Sam knew that in whatever life he lived, in a coma or in the real world or even dead and in heaven he would never ever forget parading around the station with Tufty. Wanted for murder, swearing, overweight, borderline alcoholic sexy beast Tufy. As they strolled past the front desk wordlessly, Sam nearly broke muscles trying to keep from grinning. This was so far beyond stupid, he began to wonder what was being added to his drip in the hospital. Morphine? Good enough. When the doors to the lift closed, he finally bust out laughing.

"I'll make you live to regret this, Tyler." The squirrel snarled.

Sam could only snort in response, beyond words. He waved a hand at Gene the Furry and snorted again while they rode up.

The hall of the executive offices was empty, as were the offices themselves. Woolfe's office was immaculate, barely cluttered with the knick-knacks of power and social position. When they were inside, Gene took off the squirrel head.

"Hey! Someone might see you!"

"Damn thing makes me skin itch! Anyway I need to see what we're doing."

"We can't leave any trace we were here…" Sam said warningly as Gene picked up a photo frame with intent to maim. Gene gave him a disgusted look but then gently took the back off and pulled out bank deposit book.

"How did…?" Sam stared at him.

"I know Harry. He knows the safest place to hide criminal evidence is in a police station." Gene handed the bank book to Sam.

"Lancashire Building Society. Deposit account." Sam shook his head as he wrote down the account numbers and deposit dates. Gene went digging for more, coming up with three books hidden around the office documenting separate accounts, all under assumed names, and each stuffed with thousands of pounds. Sam was under whelmed, but by the standards of 1973, it was more than enough to retire rich on. Gene was impressed, and kept whistling every time he looked at the numbers.

"Stop it!"

"Plenty of meat for a fat pig like 'im. Damn."

"Gene, we're done. Put the head back on. I'll put the last book back. OI!" Sam jumped, yelling loudly at the pinch. "My arse! Stop it! God, you Neanderthal rodent…"

Gene grinned mercilessly as he put the head back on. They got back out to the lift and Sam thought they made it in the clear when the doors opened to the third floor.

"Ah, Sam, just the…who is this?" Harry looked at Tufty.

"Part of our new public relations initiative, sir…jus'…"

"A big rat?"

Sam put a hand out to keep Gene from walking out the lift to hit Harry. "Squirrel. Tufty the Squirrel teaches traffic safety. It's something I assigned…WPC Cartwright…I was…hoping to show Rathbone but he's not in."

Harry eyed him suspiciously, but the squirrel was apparently Sam's 'get out of being assassinated on the spot' card. Harry shrugged. "When you get done escorting WPC Cartwright around, drop by my office. I'd like to go over the Hunt case with you, about your ridiculous accusations concerning…"

"Yes, sir, of course." Sam interrupted, nodding as the lift doors closed. He did not want Gene to know any more than he already did about Mary's treatment of Stu, because he knew it would turn Gene into a revenge driven berserker and he needed the man working with him, not against everyone. He simply said nothing on the way down, and pushed Gene out the doors when they opened. "Hide in the car, I'll be down as quickly as possible."

The squirrel looked at him. "Don' like it, Sam."

"Neither do I. But standing him up will look even more suspicious. I know Geoff's reported to him about the guard at Edward's room in hospital."

Tufty nodded and Sam tried not to laugh insanely, despite the overwhelming urge. He had parked in the covered garage so Gene was able to strip out of the costume and make a stealthy track to Sam's car. Sam headed back, deciding to stop by CID first just to check in. He was actually considering dragging someone along with him as witness, not thinking that Harry would try to hurt him on his own but that it would keep the conversation official. Anything to buy time. He walked through the outer door and was nearly tackled by Ray, trailing Chris. They all barreled into Sam's office.

"Guv, we got it. Tonight, a regular shipment is being handed over." Ray gave him his notebook with the time and place written down. "Chris did it, played all undercover-like. Tricked them up good." Ray beamed proudly as Chris shuffled nervously next to him. Sam smiled weakly and read the notes.

"Shit. That's in an hour."

"Yeah." Ray nodded, his mood turning grim. Sam copied the information and handed Ray's notebook back to him, then he stood still, thinking. Logic said to go visit Harry, not raise any alarm bells, and send Chris and Ray out to handle the drug deal with some plods as backup. That was the smart, safe thing to do. There were at least three lives on the line but Sam wondered if playing it slow and cautious was playing into Woolfe's hands or not. He simply did not know, the facts were not conclusive and he did not trust his instincts. He stared at the notes he just made, precise and neat and uniform, and wondered what Gene would say. This was Gene's world, his people, and Sam smiled at himself with the thought: What Would Gene Do?

He snapped his notebook closed. "Ray, grab a plonk and go pick up Mary Hunt and charge her with child trafficking and accomplice to murder. Keep her in solitary, and make sure she does not get to see her boy."

Ray looked at him, confused. "Child 'trafficking', Guv?"

Sam tried unsuccessfully not to groan, remembering that child protection laws were very different in 1973. "Ungh. I mean, child abuse. Abuse charges, okay? Then haul Leslie into Lost and Found and you and Chris get a confession out of her, use whatever you got to do it. Annie's safe for now, but so you know, she's at her parents. I'm going to go with…backup…to get these drug runners. I'm also going to put Phyllis by the radio, just in case, and she'll be reporting to you if I call in."

Ray nodded, his expression dark and heavy, while Chris looked confused behind him.

"And…Harry Woolfe is waiting upstairs for me. If he comes down, tell 'im I've gone to get Gene Hunt, that I know where he is and I'm bringin' him in. That should put the fear of God in 'im, and buy us some time."

"Guv…this goin' to work?"

"It might. You've GOT to get Leslie to break, to corroborate Edwards confession. Mary Hunt will drop like a stone if we get Edwards' and Leslie in line. And…" Sam shook his notebook at him. "This. This has information in that will nail Harry to the wall. If anything 'appens, you get your hands on THIS. Got that?"

Ray nodded harder. "Yeah, Guv. Yeah. You…be safe."

Sam stopped, surprised by the consideration from a man he knew hated him. "Thank you, Ray. Good luck." Sam did not wait for his reply, and ran to the armory. He bullied the clerk into giving him two guns and enough ammo to lay siege to London and then bailed for the car.

He tore out of the garage, Gene huddled in the backseat. Sam gave him the run down of what was going on, what he told Ray to do, and where they were going.

"Christ in a casket, you don' mess around."

"I learn from the best. Running on instinct here."

"Thought that was your 'worst character trait'. So you said."

"It is. And your life is hanging on it."

"Now I can sleep well at night."

"We may end up sleeping with the fishes. You know how to shoot, yeah?"

"Been a while."

"Great."

"You plannin' on a big showdown? Left me cowboy hat back at the club…"

"No. We really need these guys alive. The more witnesses against Harry, the better. But it's drugs, Gene, and one thing I know about drug running: it's never clean."

"Right cheerful you are. At this rate yer drivin'll get me killed first, so I don't 'ave much to worry about. Jus' use me body as a shield when you crash into the bad guys…"

"Shut it."

Sam got them to the location, an old warehouse in an battered industrial park. As they parked and got out to look around, Gene stopped him for a second. "Sam."

"Yeah?" Sam looked back at Gene. The drop was due to go down in twenty minutes, and he wanted to be a in a good position for it.

"Why did you have Ray bring Mary back in?"

"We don't got time for this now." Sam started to walk off and Gene grabbed his arm.

"What are you not tellin' me?"

"Look…"

"I don' ask much, Sam, but that you be honest with me. With Warren dead, those charges against Mary won't fly any more than a turd in a kite race."

Sam bit his lower lip, then shrugged out of Gene's grasp. "You won't like it."

"Not much I've liked about that woman from the moment I said 'I do.'"

"There is some…question about her treatment of him. Bruises, that sort of thing; Cartwright picked up on it. So we're investigating that and keeping Stu in protective custody. And…" Sam drew in a deep breath. He knew Gene would not take this well, but if he was going to be honest, if that is what Gene needed from him, he was going to do it. "She was one of Harry's mules. Running drugs for money. Harry set her up with Warren to 'buy' Stuart for a few days. I suspect she was not paid in cash…" Sam sighed as Gene went red. "Gene, we've got to stay focused…"

"I'm focused. I'm focused on ripping her guts out and usin' 'em to strangle her!" Gene was apoplectic with rage and headed for the car. Sam ran and tackled him and managed to cling to him as Gene tried to push him off.

"GENE! GENE! We've got to take Harry down, we've got to get these runners! Mary's in custody and she'll be charged just LISTEN TO ME!" They wrestled as Gene tried to open the car door. Gene gave a little, resting against the car, glaring at Sam. "Gene, we take down Harry, and Mary will fall with him. Without Harry, there won't be much to charge her with at all. Nothin' will stick! You know that! Think like cop, damnit!" Sam bopped him on the chest with his fists in frustration.

"Ain't a cop."

"Bullshit! It's in your blood, it's who you are, and this is your chance to take down the bastard who took that away from you!"

Gene stared at him, hard and angry, then nodded once. They gathered their weapons and silently walked the three blocks to the canal warehouse where the deal was going down. A plain brown car was parked out front, so they went in through a side building, low and quiet.

In retrospect, when Sam tried to remember what happened, he could not place the second when it all went wrong. If nothing else, a lot centered on the semi-automatic rifles the carriers had slung over their shoulders. As the deal took place, Sam and Gene stalked in, cornered the three men as they stood around the small boxes full of 'goods', and then found themselves running for their lives as the gun fire started. They bailed for a series of backrooms, ran down several staircases and ended up in an old alcove at the back of a large storage room, with no way out other than windows twenty feet above them or backtracking. The second option was out, as the dealers with their guns had followed, and were now ducked down on a stairwell, fending off the random shots Sam and Gene tossed off around the edge of the wall to keep them at bay. There was a side door off to their left, but it was a suicide run to break for it.

"Radio won't work inside this brick monstrosity!" Sam yelled over the gun fire, trying once more to radio for assistance.

"Bloody stupid lot we are, walking into this!" Gene yelled back, firing out two shots and getting a barrage of bullets in return.

"Didn't hear you offering up better!" Sam stalked in the back corner.

"Didn' think you'd try to get me killed this quick!" Gene fired two more shots, and then reloaded. Sam kicked the wall, furious with himself, and completely at a loss. They were trapped, the shooters had the drop on them with a lot more firepower and ammo, and there was almost no chance that Ray or anyone even knew where they were, at this point, much less were riding in to the rescue. Sam slapped the wall with his free hand and turned to Gene, who looked at him with cold eyes.

"We're finished, unless you got any ideas," Sam said firmly, checking his gun as he crouched down next to Gene.

---

No backup on the way and Sam's radio was a dead brick inside the warehouses. Even if someone near the place reported shots fired, it would be a while before that information filtered back to Ray. They were in it, alone, up against much better firepower and desperate men. Men who would get 'double bubble' for finishing the delivery and killing off two problems for Harry.

Gene knew it was just that bad. They rushed in where angels fear to tread, and they were going to pay the price. He was hardly much of an angel, but he figured that Sam was as close as he would get in his lifetime. That, and Stu, who was safe now. Safe forever, with or without him. That more than anything decided Gene on what needed to be done.

---

Sam shook his head, thinking that this was the worst way to get out of a coma. They crept backwards under the force of the firepower, shrapnel from the bullets flying hot and fast off the shattering brick walls. They could wait for backup, chancy at best, but since they were bottled up like flies in a jar, all their attackers needed to do was walk down the stairs, corner them, and finish off a job well done. Gene was antsy, and Sam knew that more than anything they needed patience right now. He held out a hand, tapping the air in front of him as if petting a dog.

"We can get out of this." Sam smiled, feeling ironic and just a little bit fatalistic as he tried to talk Gene down from his wound up nerves.

Gene did not smile and did not look at him, shaking his head. "Semi-automatics, Sam. Don't need more than one to mow us down, an' they got three."

"Look, we break for it…"

"Sam…" Gene sighed and looked at his gun, and something about his tone and manner gave Sam a very bad feeling that he simply could not name. Gene took a breath and sighed again. "Stu's free. Even with Mary nicked, he'll be with family, my sister will take good care of him. I got nothin' left after that. I done what I can, and it's better this way."

Discussing Stu's future was not the conversation Sam expected to have at that particular, life-in-danger moment, and he was too confused to reply. Gene looked in the direction of where the shooters were lined up, waiting for them. "But now its done and there ain't much point to it, for me. I can get you out of here, if it's the last thing I do. Take care of my boy, Sam."

Sam's mouth fell open as the words registered and comprehension of Gene's intentions dawned on him. He bent forward to argue, but Gene grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a ferocious kiss, a kiss meant to be their last, and Gene's last, and Sam wanted to scream something at him but Gene would not let him. Gene threw him back so hard that Sam fell down against the wall, and by the time he jumped up Gene was walking around the corner.

"NO! Oh Christ, Gene!" Sam lunged but Gene just kept going, looking back over his shoulder at him.

"Follow, then run," Gene said, nodding casually as he lifted his gun and started firing.

Sam watched in horror as Gene went down. It was a suicidal move, designed to give Sam enough time to get the hell out and Sam should have grabbed that advantage but he did not, still hearing Gene's words and watching the man fall. Everything was slow motion as Gene kept walking, firing, lurching when shots hit his body. Sam knew he was screaming and he lifted his gun, returning fire without thought as he finally started running, not for the exit but towards Gene, because nothing mattered more to him than to stop this, stop Gene from doing this, even if it was already too late.

Sam never made it. A bullet went through his left leg, shattering into his femur bone, and he went down three yards from Gene, who finally toppled, half on his side and covered in blood. The shooting stopped as Sam thrashed on the floor in pain, yelling at the shooters and yelling at Gene. His voice was the only sound in the building, and that's when Sam's overtaxed consciousness realized that it was probably because everyone else was dead. He screamed at Gene's body until he blacked out, the radio crackling to life next to him.

Beep…beep…beep…beep…

"Sam? Oh precious, my dear boy, can you hear me? It's Mum…Wake up, oh Sam, yes, please…Heather! He's waking up!"

---

Sam walked through the doors of the department. He was deskbound, but it did not help, because sitting hurt as much as walking which hurt as much as standing still. His left leg suffered the worst of the accident, apparently smashing into the car roof before serving as his landing platform onto the roadway. Both his right elbow and shoulder needed pins, three vertebrae were fused, and his hips and pelvis were mending in several places. And, of course, the skull fracture. By the time he woke up four months later, he was nearly as healed as he was going to get without serious physical therapy, which was started not long after he regained consciousness. The effort and the agony paid off, because against strong odds he was mobile again and functioning on his own. However, nothing effected the dull aches that haunted every movement he made. Sleep was a rare, hard won battle, even without the Test Card Girl bothering him. Eight months after the accident, he was back at work, in pain, miserable, and under constant psychological surveillance.

That last was his own fault, for talking about his experiences in 1973 almost incessantly when he finally got his voice back. He wanted to know if Gene Hunt was real, if he was real, if there was a Ray Carling and if someone named Steve Warren ever ran a nightclub called the Warren. No one would do the research, thinking it was all insane, and his mother demanded a full psyche profile to be worked up on him. Ongoing. The anti-depressants and the pain management regime complemented each other nicely and created a grey hum in his brain, a shield against the grief and surprise and anger that raged within him whenever he thought about what happened…in his dreams. They were all dreams, his psychologist and his mother and his aunt and his co-workers insisted. Maya insisted, but he could barely stand the sight of her, for no reason he could name and she was more than willing to walk away from his damage, only confirming how disastrously he managed that relationship from the beginning. But the drugs and the weekly appointments did their job and Sam never tried to find out about Warren or Gene or himself, because after all it was just a dream.

A dream more real and more important, in the moments when the drugs wore off and the pain was harsh and honest, than his life was now. He was still a DCI and the service was good to him, finding a place for him to sit and work and keep a job and his salary and possibly even his career. He was now categorized as 'physically challenged' which lined him up for all sorts of special placement services, benefits packages, and retirement options, because quite simply he was never going to be physically fit enough to do quite the same job he used to do. His meds kept him from going out for drinks with the few people who invited him, and they also destroyed his sex drive which, given the still fragile condition of his pelvis, was probably a good thing. Not that Gene Hunt was in the building to shag, anyway, and Gene Hunt was the only person Sam could imagine next to his skin. Next to him, at all, in any way. He remembered Gene as difficult and aggravating but honest, someone he could rely on with his back up against the wall, a friend who could – and did, as far as Sam was concerned – give his life for the people he loved. His psychologist was entirely gay friendly and accepting of Sam's bisexuality but he was not 'dream lover' friendly and kept advising Sam to go on a date. With anyone. Just, anyone.

But Sam suspected anyone would be a waste of time.

He was hobbling through one of the hallways, trying not to use his cane quite so much (on a good day he thought it made him look dashing, with his suit and his cane, but good days were rare, overall), when he heard the commotion ahead of him. It was loud, and it was physical, and it was a sign of Sam's changed status in life that it made him stand closer to the wall rather than leap out to assist the officers involved.

"You bloody fairies geroff me!"

"Sir you need to cooperate! We only want to ask a few questions!"

"I am not under arrest, I can damn well walk out!"

"Mr. Hunt! If you do not cooperate we will be forced…"

"Arrest me or let me out of here, you goddamn copper!"

The argument continued, and Sam stared in fascination. The name caught his attention, but it was common enough and not something to notice. However, the name was combined with a tall, hard looking, sandy blond haired man in his late thirties who looked vaguely familiar, and when the man stood back and crossed his arms and jutted out his chin, Sam knew who he was.

"Stu? Stuart Hunt?" Sam called out, startling himself. Everyone froze and stared at him, including Stuart.

"I know you?"

"I…I knew your father." Sam moved forward slowly, relying on his cane, and the uniforms moved back. Most people in those hallways knew Sam, and handled him with kid gloves. It drove him crazy, but in this case, it was to his benefit.

"No. Dad died when I was five. Who the hell are you?"

"DCI Sam Tyler."

Sam went down like a brick under Stuart's practiced, brutal right hook. Three officers took Hunt to the floor and charged him with physically assaulting a police officer, and the last Sam saw of him that morning was Stuart being dragged down the halls in an incoherent rage. Sam sat on the floor, pain flowing in from every point on the compass, as two DCs he did not know by name coaxed him back up onto his feet and steered him to his office. Sam let the matter drop until later that afternoon, doing nothing out of the ordinary and telling no one exactly why he got involved. After lunchtime he tracked down the DS who pulled Stuart in as a possible witness, and more likely accomplice, to a series of extortion hits on local businesses out in the south side of town. There was no evidence or witnesses against Stuart, so they were playing the card of using him as a witness, but he clearly did not want to play along. Anyone who might have fingered Hunt as being in on the schemes shut up quickly because, it turned out, Hunt's reputation on the streets was brutal and mean. The DS was very grateful to Sam (if apologetic about the circumstances) for giving him a reason to lock Hunt up for a while.

Sam nodded as if he did not care that much, agreed to press charges, made it back to his office, shoved his busy-work aside and started digging into the database.

According to records, Gene Hunt was shot and killed on October 23, 1973 by a corrupt DCI named Sam Tyler during a drug deal 'gone wrong,' although specifically what went wrong was not addressed in the report -- which, Sam realized with a sinking stomach as he stared at the scanned document, was mostly written in Chris Skelton's handwriting. The blood at the scene was not all Hunt's and it was assumed that Tyler was shot in the exchange, then dragged out by his other accomplices, after which he disappeared off the map, presumably running to live a good life on the monies he made from his illegal activities. The reports hinted that DCI Tyler was somehow involved with Warren's criminal empire, and was the most likely suspect (other than Gene Hunt) in Warren's murder. Superintendent Harry Woolfe led the investigation himself, retired the following month heaped in accolades, and died a year later from cancer. Charlie Edwards never made it out of the hospital, dying under 'suspicious circumstances' although no one was ever charged, and again, the specter of "corrupt DCI Sam Tyler" was hung over the death.

Mary Hunt was never charged with any crimes, at least not in 1973. In 1975 she was brought up on drug charges, plea bargained, and disappeared again until 1980 when she was arrested for robbery and drug trafficking. She was sent to prison for five years and lost custody of her twelve year old son, Stuart, who became a ward of the state because no one else in the family was willing to take in the trouble maker. After her release for good behavior in 1983, she dropped out of sight, and Sam suspected she changed her name or found a way out of the country.

The records on Stuart Hunt were harder to pin down at first. Juvee files were locked but Sam knew what to look for, and saw that some history was there even if he could not read it. Stuart's first significant blip on the radar showed up not long after he became a legal adult, when he was brought in for minor theft. From that point on Stuart was in and out of the courts, and jail, and while he managed to steer clear of any truly serious charges it was easy to see that he was a career criminal, and one with a tendency towards violence. Not that Sam needed any proof of that, he considered as he rubbed his jaw.

As Sam tripped through the ancient files, he began to wonder about everything and everyone and just kept going, ignoring his desk phone and his cell phone and anyone who tried to talk to him. He found out that Annie Cartwright married and left the force in 1976, and was probably still out there in the world of 2006 with grandchildren and a missed opportunity at a brilliant career. Ray Carling resigned not long after Hunt's shooting and simply disappeared from Manchester, and a broader search turned him up in a police report from London in 1985, on a club raid where Ray was working as a bouncer. Other than that, nothing. Chris Skelton got up to DS but then was taken down during a corruption sting in 1981 that also nabbed DCI Gareth Dixon, and both men went to jail. Chris was to serve eighteen months, but after an altercation in the cells, which presumably was sexually related, as far as Sam could read between the lines, Chris hung himself in the bogs. His autopsy verified the likelihood of rape, as well as severe and repeated beatings.

Sam sat back and tried to think carefully about this layered cake disaster that was his doing in 1973. He did not doubt that at all, in a bizarre and comforting way. It went pear shaped at the end and somehow his disappearance or possible death on that day gave Harry the 'out' he needed, framing up both Sam and Gene and walking away from his crimes wearing the glories of a long and respected career. Sam tried not to grind his teeth, because it hurt.

He went down to the cells and arranged a meeting with Stuart. When they brought him into the interrogation room, the whole place filled up with his animosity and hostility, and he glared at Sam with familiar eyes that sent chills down Sam's damaged spine.

"Want my lawyer."

"This isn't an official interrogation. Consider me a friend of the family." Sam crept up to a chair and slowly sat down. Stuart looked from him to the plod by the door then back again. Sam shrugged. "You're in for assaulting me. No way I can get rid of the guard. Just sit your arse down, Stu."

Stu sat down with arrogant indifference. "So this a personal call? Tyler?"

"Yeah, it is. You thought I was the man who shot your father."

"Don' matter. Couldn' be you, yeah? 'Ell yer the same age as me, about…an' Dad was a piece of shite crim anyway."

Sam drummed his fingers angrily on the table, and for the first time got a reaction out of Stuart, who shifted in his chair.

"Your dad was a good man, and I did not kill him."

"No shit. You're too young. We been over this. Can I go now? I miss my nice warm cell." Stuart sucked his teeth and looked sternly at the wall.

"Shit. You remind me of him."

"You didn' know him! What the fuck, you crazy?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

They stared at each other, and Sam let out a huge breath of air. "I thought you were going to stay with your Aunt Rachel. Gene set it all up, after Mary – your mother – was arrested. I'm sorry it didn't work out. I'm sure it was hard growin' up as a ward of the state. You deserved better."

"Fuck, wait…You been checkin' on me?" Stuart stood up, and the officer by the door moved closer.

"Yes, I have. So what are you goin' to do about it? Beat me down? Believe me, I'm broken enough as it is." Sam picked up his cane and shook it. Stuart paused, confused, and Sam motioned for him to sit down. "Jus' tell me what happened, Stu. Gene never meant this kind of life for you."

"You're nuts. Loco. Insane. You did not know my father."

"Career criminal? Fantastic way to honor his memory…"

"Man was scum! A bent cop 'oo got shot running drugs, okay? Got nothin' to do with me. He made sure of that. Not your damn business anyway."

Sam's mind drifted for a second, remembering Gene asking him to look after Stu right before he went down shooting. Right before Sam disappeared, and woke up, and resumed a life of pointless paperwork and meetings and which was now tinged by a drug and pain addled cold oblivion. No one was left to look after Stuart, who grew up thinking his father was a criminal, who grew up…with nothing. Sam looked at him again.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left you alone. I did not shoot your father, he was a close friend, and I let him down. He was a good man, Stu, a good man who got on the wrong side of some very cunning bastards, and if I could change what happened, I would." Sam ignored the incredulous look Stuart gave him and stood up, grasping his cane.

"Yer a nutter." Stuart finally said in wonderment. "Anyway no one can change the past. Me dad got 'imself shot by the same scum he traveled with. Nowt changin' that, or me. So piss off." He glared, sitting back, and crossed his arms. Sam nodded in agreement and walked out.

On the lift back up this office, he thought about what happened. He wanted nothing more, at the time, than to leave 1973 and the madness therein and get home, but now he was 'home' he was in constant pain, lonely, adrift, and – extra new bonus – guilt ridden. The pain reminded him he was alive but he did not feel alive. Dead, hollow, and meaningless were the words he used to describe his life, which always got him an extension on his prescriptions. When he sat down at his desk, he opened the locked drawer containing his medicines, and carefully threw them all away. If he was alive, he wanted to know it, and he wanted to understand it, and he wanted to believe that it meant something.

What it meant was excruciating pain and a listless, restless anxiety. By the third day he was nearly insensible, and he saw flashes of color whenever he looked out of the corner of his eyes. He lost his balance completely to the point of clinging to the walls as he walked, even with the cane. Everyone asked what was wrong but he could not explain and did not want to but his mother was just short of calling an intervention with the doctors. Then it would be back on the meds and back into the numb grey world that was his life in 2006 and Gene would be dead and disgraced and Stuart left living the life of the unwanted and ashamed and it would all still be Sam's fault.

He finally called out sick and turned off his phone and laid in bed, nearly gasping in pain – his leg, mostly, but it was hard to tell based on the migraine. Then the doorbell rang. He willed it away but it rang again and he finally rolled up, relying on his old crutches to move out into the living room, close to tears from the agony of movement. He figured if this visitor was patient enough to wait the whole long time for Sam to walk four meters across his flat to the door, they earned the right to be let in.

"Stuart?" Sam stalled in the door, hobbled on his crutches.

"I looked it up, you fucking bastard. The newspaper reports, they had yer photo. Never saw you before, never knew, but it was you. I don' know how, but it was you, not yer dad or yer cousin or…wasn't it?" He asked, standing in the door, unsure of himself but furious, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet as if he was five years old again, and it occurred to Sam that he might be hyped on drugs.

"Yeah, Stu, it was me, there. I didn't kill…"

"Shut it. It was you. Tell me it was you."

"I did not kill your father. Come in." Sam hopped backwards but Stuart did not move, his eyes darting around nervously and Sam decided that Stu was certainly not sober, but not drunk either. He was on something, and a drug addled man of his size and weight deciding to attack would be possibly fatal for Sam. His mind whirred on how to defuse what was turning into a dangerous situation.

"Tell me."

"…you remember your father. I know you do. He grabbed you and brought you by my flat, you did not know who he was at the time and you were scared. Annie – WPC Cartwright – was there and took you to her flat for a while, then turned you back over to your mother later. She wore a uniform. My flat was ugly and small. I wore a leather jacket. If you remember that, you remember me."

Stuart nodded in shock, then dug in his jacket. "Yeah! I remember….I remember! Fuckin' scum." He pulled out a gun and Sam did not even blink, did not argue, did not protest, because this was exactly how it all needed to end. This was the price of his many failures, and death was a welcome change from the soul killing loneliness and pain and guilt that was ruining what was left of this life. It was not as if he could make a run for safety anyway.

"You killed my dad, an' maybe he deserved it, but family is family and I've waited a long time for you to show up, you goddamn bastard."

Sam refused to argue, and patiently and quietly waited the long, slow second as Stuart raised the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

---

Light filtered in, and his leg hurt, but not a lot. Less than it should. He shivered on the concrete floor and pulled himself up, but not as far as he intended, and he registered that he had just been shot and was probably in shock. Shot. By Stuart. In the head. There was no possible way he could be shot in the head and still feel pain in his leg, or the cold, or…anything.

He looked around and saw Gene sprawled on the floor next to him.

Sam stalled, rattled in pain, staring at the majestic carcass, wondering how this happened and how it could happen and…Gene's eyelashes fluttered. Sam collapsed in agony as he registered that Gene was not dead either but that they were both dying anyway, if he did not DO something. Blood loss alone was going to kill them now. He shoved out thoughts of impossible time paradoxes and pulled at the radio next to him, gasping, and remembered that inside the warehouse it did not work. He was going to have to crawl out, or die trying, and probably both. Gene was likely dead either way, if the pool of blood he was washed in was any indication, and Sam brought his mind back to being shot by Stuart. Stuart was out there, facing down thirty three years of personal hell, if Sam did not do this. He was still alive and he had to stay that way for Gene, whether Gene made it or not, to clear his name and clear the books and make all this wrong to right. He put the radio in his mouth and starting dragging himself, fighting off the creeping darkness of his mind until he did not know if he existed anymore.

---

Noise. Some kind of noise. Some kind of really damned annoying noise and he told them to shut up.

Only he did not, because he could not, because something was in his mouth. No, something was down his throat, and Gene blinked his eyes open to stare at the murderously bright hospital overheads. He tried looking around but everything was blurry.

"Shhh, he's resting."

"He's awake! Lookit!"

"Bloody 'ell…"

"Sir! Not around the boy!"

"Annie, get the doctors, he woke up."

Gene felt something, no, someone hold his hand. "Gene? Gene, it's Sam. Gene?"

Gene looked over and saw a fuzzy, skinny person next to the bed. He tried talking again but it was useless, nothing was working right.

"Gene? Gene?"

Obviously not Heaven, because Heaven would not hurt this damn much, or be filled with annoying creatures like Sam-bloody-Tyler repeating his name over and over and over. Gene grunted, deciding he made it to Hell after all.

"Here, stand here. No no, don't lean on the bed…crap, Stu! Not on me either, I'm on crutches…bloody…stop squirming, yer a big boy, stand on yer own."

Gene blinked again and his focus dialed in a little, just a little, and he saw a giant next to the bed. A really small giant that looked like his boy. His boy, Stuart, his son…in Hell? Gene tried to shake his head.

"Say summat to your dad, Stu."

Gene felt nimble fingers grasping at his hand, and he knew it was Sam.

"Hey." The giant leaned over, peering at him, and Gene put it all together: the boy was standing on a chair.

"Um…tell him something you did today."

"I played football with Chrissy."

"Chris. Don' call him Chrissy, I tol' you that, please." Sam sounded very tired, and Gene tried to look at him, but the room exploded in voices and Gene winced as he faded back out into a pain-numbing oblivion, but right before he blacked out he thought that maybe it was good thing he was not dead yet. For Stu's sake, if only for Stu's sake, and Gene went dark clutching Sam's fingers.

---

Ray was the first to the scene after Sam's final radio call went out. The fact that Sam was alive and the shooters dead gave Ray the confidence he needed to blow the whistle, and he personally stood watch over Sam in hospital recovery for nearly 36 hours until Phyllis found some plods she trusted enough to hold down guard duty. It was a rough week for CID and the whole of Manchester Police as accusations flew back and forth and Ray, as DI, pushed forward an investigation under Sam's authority while Sam floated in and out of consciousness on pain meds. Harry fought back hard but the evidence Gene and Sam and Gareth Dixon collected (and which was in as close protective custody as Sam) proved to be enough to get the internal affairs people involved, and from that point on, it was just a matter of riding out the storm.

No questions asked, after it all came out. Harry went down under the evidence that 'Sam' uncovered along with the testimony of Chris Skelton and Gareth Dixon, among others; Geoff admitted to murdering Warren on Harry's orders that fateful morning; Gene's name was cleared based on Ray's 'undercover' work and the additional testimony of some of Warren's people, who vouched for falsifying records for Harry Woolfe in order to set Gene up all those years ago; Mary Hunt was arrested on charges of child abuse as well as for being an accomplice to attempted murder and drug running; and Sam was given a commendation for his work in exposing the whole sordid mess. So when Gene was eventually released from the hospital over two months later, weak and homeless, no one said anything about the respected and honored DCI Sam Tyler requesting a plod to drive Gene to the now-empty Hunt household (which still had Gene's name on the mortgage because he was – always – the only one who ever paid the bill). No one said anything about Stuart Tyler staying with Gene's sister Rachel until the whole custody issue could be re-addressed in light of circumstances, and neither did anyone question DCI Tyler's regular visits to the house after work in the weeks that followed. No one, except for one Gene Hunt.

"Yeh don' need to be here. I can boil beans on me own." Gene stirred the small pot of canned food on the stove listlessly.

"Yes, I smelled them burning from two blocks away." Sam limped in and sat down, eyeing Gene critically. The man took hits in several major organs and spent three weeks in a coma and while his near complete recovery was deemed a miracle by several doctors – and a damn curse by the rest of the put-upon hospital staff – he was still thinner and weaker than Gene Hunt should ever be.

"Thank you, Florence Nightingale, I won't be droppin' dead jus' yet, you can stop staring at me."

"Maybe jus' can't keep my eyes off you." Sam smiled, ribbing him, but Gene tensed up.

"None of that, Sam."

"Gene…" Sam shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to ask for what he wanted and knowing that he did not want to hear what Gene was going to say.

"Sam." Gene stated his name and turned around, propping himself up against the counter. "Can't be that way."

Sam tapped the table. "Because of Stu?"

"Because of everything, you daft twat. Yer a DCI, which I personally find hard to believe but is, nonetheless, inescapable fact. I'm a former cop with no job an' no money and the kind of reputation that makes whores blush. I ain' getting' Stu anyway, so this ain't about him."

Sam rode the argument until the end, then shook his head. "You're getting Stuart."

"No, Sam, he's better off with Rachel."

"Be that as it may, yer gettin' your son."

Gene frowned, cottoning on. "You seem right sure of that, Tyler."

Sam shrugged. "Can't say I did anything special. But the case is going before the court and I talked to the barrister involved."

"Even I don' know who that is, yet."

"Look, jus' trust me, you're getting your son."

"What did you do, Tyler? I took you on the straight and narrow. Now your backhanding it to some brief?" Gene turned and stirred the pot furiously, sending beans splattering across the stovetop.

"No! Oh for…no, not me. Jus' talked to him. Told him I thought you'd make a good father for Stuart. That you deserved a chance to move on."

"Now I'm some bleedin' charity case." Gene banged the spoon against the pot and more beans flew.

"God, can't even help you without you bitchin' at me about it. I'm just saying that Davidson is willing…"

"Who?" Gene stopped.

"The barrister. Michael Davidson."

Gene smiled, then chuckled, then barked and ended up laughing so hard he had to sit down. He rubbed his fists into his watering eyes and finally caught his breath.

"You put the fear of God in 'im, Tyler. Hhhhheeeeeee…" Gene started wheezing and Sam stood up to rub his back.

"No, I didn't. Just said you were a personal friend and…"

The laughing started again and finally Sam got frustrated and smacked Gene hard on the back.

"Ow! Ya bastard!" Gene straightened up.

"What's so funny, then?" Sam stood uncertainly, his balance still a bit questionable, and crossed his arms.

"Davidson. Mike. Short, stocky, curly hair." Gene looked up at Sam mischievously. "He's likes it up the arse, Sam, and rough. Real rough, don' mind the bruises on his hips."

"Oh…oh god…you…he…"

"One fine customer." Gene sat back, rolling his eyes, still amused.

"How…how can you laugh…oh god, he could ruin you!" Sam paled and nearly fell down into his chair.

Gene shook his head. "Not likely, my boy. He's a coward more scared of me ruining him. Or showing up on his doorstep to explain a few things to the wife. He's probably still thinkin' he's going to get tied into the mess with Harry."

Sam shook his head. "Nothing in the files with his name on it. He stayed clean?"

"No. Warren never needed him, just…kept him happy. Insurance, that one. Too nervous to trust otherwise."

"Gene…you…"

"I'm not one to sit around feeling sorry for what, or who, I did. I don' like it Sam, and I'd never use that against some poor sod like Mike. Fate works my way, that's one thing, but I'm not goin' to hold Warren's torch. It's over and done."

Sam nodded, wondering if he could take that kind of past and live with it as easily as Gene said he did.

"If I get Stu, that all has to go away." Gene turned serious and looked at Sam, his expression blank. "All of it."

They sat in silence while Sam's stomach roiled and curled in agony. He forced himself to remember that his purpose here, if there was one to this whole bizarre mess, was to save Gene and Stuart. Now, perhaps, he could really say that his life was over, that all wrongs were righted and he was not needed anymore. By anyone. He nodded slowly and got up to leave.

"What will you do?" Sam asked, collecting his cane and trying to sound serious and concerned rather than crushed and defeated.

"Don' know. Can't work the clubs or casinos with a boy in the house. Maybe find a wife to raise 'im, land an honest job. Me cousin Tim works in construction, I'm not so rusty. He could use a lead, somewhere." Gene was folded up into himself, and Sam took the hint.

"Good bye, Gene. Good luck, with everything." Sam paused long enough for Gene to look at him and nod in a friendly, impersonal way, then turned and walked out.

---

Gene won custody easily, with Mary sent up for three years and his own case files expunged. The transition was slow, because the boy really did not know him well outside of a kidnapping and the hospital. He stayed the week with Rachel and hers and then spent weekends with Gene, and after a few months of that Stuart finally moved in with his father. It was awkward and Gene was grateful that all the cash he had saved up was remaindered to him – no small favor he owed Sam, for that. The money allowed him to set up the house the way he wanted, buy the boy some new clothes, and pay the bills for a while in the clear while Gene job shopped and took care of Stuart. He was a lousy father and he knew it but the boy at least enjoyed football and Dr. Who and was already into his letters. Small graces.

Sam dropped by a few times, always in the afternoons, always polite and considerate and distant, and always bringing some form of sugar as a treat for Stuart and not a damn thing for Gene. It killed Gene, dropping the man like a bad penny, because of all the people he ever knew, Sam was the only one who believed in him, and trusted him. The problem was that Gene did not trust himself around Sam; Sam was a hot or cold tap, but never lukewarm, and Gene knew better than to believe that he could fold Sam into his life as just a friend, a mate to share a few pints with or talk shop, without trying to drag Sam closer and closer to him. He simply needed him too much, and Gene could not rein that in and knew it.

Instead Gene renewed a few friendships on the force, most significantly Ray Carling. It was Ray's easy acceptance of Gene, and his staunch defense of him, that eased Gene back into meeting up at the Railway Arms for a few drinks on the nights that Rachel kept Stuart. She decided that the boy needed some kind of feminine, civilizing influence, and that Gene needed a regular reprieve from full time fatherhood – at least until Gene had sense enough to find a wife. Gene was not too proud to argue and accepted the twice weekly nights of freedom with well-concealed pleasure, scared of hurting Stu's feelings.

"Where's Tyler?" Gene asked, plucking his darts off the board. It was his second month of spending Tuesday night at the Railway Arms and it felt like he had never left. Some of the men were still wary of him, but most of the people there acted glad that one of their own was cleared and set right in life; Gene figured out quickly that he was the antidote to the catastrophic morale breaker that was Harry Woolfe, and did his best to play everything 'normal' and proud. Ray, particularly, needed Gene's support behind him. He was demoted back to DS for his long term association with Warren, and while the Chief Constable wanted to boot him off the force completely, Tyler argued that he was instrumental in bringing Woolfe down. Ray kept his career and some of his reputation, but it was no secret that he was one of the men 'on probation' and was being watched carefully. Gene was grateful, although he never told Ray, because without Sam's intervention, Ray would be in worse straights than Gene was now.

"Don' know. He never comes out."

"Not true, Boss…er, Ray. He came out…a few weeks ago." Chris, whose final role as agent provocateur saved his career and his rank, smacked his gum thoughtfully. Gene was becoming fond of the div, despite the fact that he wanted to throttle him almost constantly.

"Yer Guv ought to be here. His team, his men."

Ray took aim and was lucky to hit the board. He groaned. "Tyler ain't like that, Boss…er, Gene. He does 'is own thing. Anyway his team ain't all men, is it?" Ray snorted and several men groaned.

"He really brought that bird into CID?" Gene asked, looking around as the men nodded sorrowfully in unison.

"Hunh. Still, should be here."

"Nah, s'alright, I guess. He's more annoying than most birds, anyway."

A round of guffaws attended this comment, and Gene glowered. "He's yer DCI, gents," he said simply and everyone went quiet. He took his own shots at the board and made Ray buy a round and everything lightened up again, but later, when Gene left a drunken, rowdy crowd serenading a very annoyed Phyllis, he headed for Sam's flat.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, confused, as he stood in the door.

"Looking for a drink, and a missing DCI. Thought I might find 'em here."

"I'm…I'm not missing…" Sam frowned, motionless and genuinely confused, and finally Gene shoved him back as he walked into the room.

"Seems like it. Never visit your men down at the pub? Go to work and fly out the door for this crappy flat the minute the bell rings?"

"Not my style. Anyway, mixing work and social life is…"

"Oi, I also wanted a drink. I think I'll need a drink, if you goin' to keep at the lecture." Gene turned to stare at him. "You closing the door, or puttin' on a show?"

Sam slammed the door shut and stalked back to his cot, which was covered in files and paperwork. As was the small pull-out dinette table, and the chairs, and the top of the chest of drawers. The kitchen counter, on the other hand, was immaculate. Gene stood with his hand on his hips, inspecting everything as he turned slowly.

"You know they got this place, called a collator's den. Where they keep lots of paperwork. You should go there, might get you off in all sorts of exciting ways."

"I do my job, thank you."

"This all you do?"

"Gene, why are you here?"

Gene thought about that, and considered saying that he was there for a drink or there to yell at Sam for being a poor leader of men, but he knew better. He looked at Sam, who did not get it, and Gene was not surprised by that either.

"I need a drink, you nancy div. Now own up."

Sam waved a hand at the cupboards and Gene took the invitation. The whiskey was cheap and sour but effective and Gene poured himself a drink, threw it back, then poured two doubles. He handed one to Sam, who looked put out by the prospect of sharing a drink with him.

"I'm looking at some files. Casework. I really shouldn't…"

"Shut up and drink, damnit…what cases?" Gene sat down in the chair opposite, and waited for Sam to catch up.

"Well…I suppose I should not discuss these with anyone outside the force, but…" Sam stared at the file in front of him, sipped his drink, and began talking. Gene knew people Sam did not, and knew more about most people in the city than the entirety of CID put together, and the stone walls that Sam beat his head against for over a week crumbled under the concentrated attention of Gene Hunt: ex-cop, former club manager, and unrepentant gossip. Three hours later, two cases had new leads and one was practically closed.

"Beat a confession out, and it's a done deal." Gene said, refilling his glass from the bottle that had migrated to sit beside his chair.

"We don' do that. Ray is certainly keen on those methods but…no. Won't 'old up in court, and his brief will get the case tossed out on police brutality charges."

"I can see why the boys beat you up on the playground."

"How did you…oh, funny. Ha ha." Sam slammed his drink.

"But they did, didn' they?" Gene eyed him critically.

"Time for you to go." Sam waved his glass at Gene and then at the door, and Gene realized that the lightweight bird was pissed. Perfect.

"Don' play well with others, do yeh?" Gene got up and refilled Sam's glass under Sam's officially displeased glare.

"I don't play." Sam snorted, trying to look fierce, than laughed. "Never mind."

"Yeh don' bask in your glories, you don' got the pub with your team, you don' date or fuck or…"

"Personal life! That's personal." Sam waved his hand again, motioning Gene off the topic as if he were directing traffic.

"You got no personal life."

Sam stopped squirming and looked at his drink. "Never seem to get it right anyway."

"You got to try first. Date. Take a bird out, see how it feels."

"I know how it feels." Sam said absently, and drunkenly rubbed his crotch before focusing on his drink again. Gene had to close his eyes to stay on task.

"Jus' saying, Sam, you got to try."

"Fuckin' what they said before. 'Forget about him! Jus' a dream! Go on a date! Get laid! Plenty of people out there…'" Sam trilled, slamming his drink, and Gene decided right then to cut him off.

"Who said?" Gene asked calmly, trying to pretend that there was something -- anything -- normal about this conversation.

"My therapist. When I woke up after the car accident. All I could think about was…" Sam stopped, staring at him, and it was clear that a sober thought hit his brain as he realized who he was talking to. "Never mind."

"Car accident?"

Sam shook his head, then took a deep breath. "I'm very pissed."

"Yes." Gene nodded slowly. "So you goin' to try?"

"No. No, never mind. Please." Sam rubbed his face.

"Stand by my advice. Get out. Get shagged, get a missus, get a life."

"OHHHH!!!" Sam groaned loudly, staring at the ceiling, and Gene looked at him in surprise. "This is the only life I've got left, I think."

"Can't tell. You treat it more like your grave." Gene pursed his lips, trying to make his point against a brick wall. Sam stared at him with those passionate, dark eyes, and Gene tried to hold the gaze, but they both broke at the same time and returned quietly to their drinks.

Sam stared at his glass for a long time, emptying it slowly, and Gene let him. The man was a puzzle box, something strange from someplace else and Gene suspected it had nothing to do with Hyde.

And still, Gene needed him, and he never walked through that door with the intention of convincing Sam to settle down, date a girl, and get married. He never wanted Sam to be that normal because if he was, then he might not need Gene, if he needed him at all. Gene trusted his instincts, though, and he was beginning to suspect that Sam did need him, maybe as much as Gene needed him in return.

Sighing, knowing better than to prolong the inevitable, Gene set down his glass and walked over to the dangerous looking cot. Sam stared at him, impassive. Gene stepped over and easily straddled the cot and Sam, and sat down on Sam's lap. He kept some weight on his legs, knowing how heavy he was, but he rested gently against Sam, who held his glass out to the side while Gene took hold of his face and kissed him.

"Oh…uh…" Sam gasped when Gene stopped the kiss to look at him.

"That it?"

Sam let the glass drop to the floor. "No, damnit, do that again."

Gene did, pushing forward with his hands on Sam's shoulders to lay Sam down on the cot. Gene pulled his legs up to lay alongside Sam's legs, kicking files to the floor in the process. Sam pulled away.

"No! Hey! They'll get all mixed up…" Sam tried to sit up and reach for the spilled files on the floor but Gene pushed him back down and kissed him. It was surprisingly cautious on both sides, and Gene realized that their previous sexual experience was taken in haste, for different purposes than this. Gene thought that cautious might be good for now, but Sam had other ideas and after a moment grabbed him a fierce hold, pushing up and shoving his tongue into Gene, forcing them both to make it more intense and Gene responded by grabbing Sam's jaw to hold him still as he kissed him. The nervous ball of energy that was Sam Tyler began to uncoil as their tongues explored each other. For a moment. As Gene shifted to put his legs inside of Sam's, grinding his hips just lightly enough to explain what he intended to do, Sam started shaking his head.

"Don' do this…"

Gene pulled up and settled himself on his elbows. "Sam…"

"No!" Sam pushed at him, drunk and scared, and Gene could not figure out why.

"We both want this."

"I don't…I can't take it again. I've lost you twice now, I can' do it again. Ohghod." Sam closed his eyes and threw his head back, nearly gasping in pain.

"I'm not goin' anywhere." Gene dipped down to kiss the exposed neck under him. Sam hissed.

"That's not what I mean…"

"Yeah, it is, you ignorant prick. I don' know what you're thinking an' I'm right scared to find out but I'm not goin' anywhere, Sam. It can't be normal between us, it'll never be right and it'll always be caught on the fly in your ugly flat but I'm HERE. You said you wanted to show me 'better' -- I found it. Damnit, let me have it." He did not know and could never guess what he said that allowed Sam to give in, but Sam did, grabbing at Gene's arms and rutting up against him as Gene kissed down his neck to his chest. They undressed each other impatiently and finally Gene was resting naked against the only lover he fantasized about these days. Gene prided himself on his imagination but even his most busty playgirls or tightest boys turned into Sam at some point, giving him some good ideas on where he wanted to go with the man himself. Now, though, he wanted inside – he wanted to fuck him and send them both over the moon. He shifted to start turning Sam over.

"No…no, like this." Sam, confused, wrapped his legs around Gene's waist. His cock was red and swollen and Gene reached down without thinking to stroke it, causing Sam to ball up in the sensation.

Gene stalled. Grinding was one thing, but fucking face to face – he avoided it, and had not done it in years, and even then only with the girls, who always closed their eyes for it. He kept stroking Sam, considering getting him off and asking for a blow job in exchange. Serviceable, but not what he wanted. Not what he needed.

"You know it can be done like this, right?" Sam asked, squinting in confusion.

"I've seen the bloody pornos, thank you."

"You want me to sit on you? My leg's still stiff but I can…"

"There's only one stiffy I'm worried about right now." Gene fisted Sam's cock hard, once, to prove his point, and Sam moaned in pornographic abandonment. "You got lube?"

Sam nodded, and crawled up a bit to pull out a bottle from the nightstand. A half empty bottle.

"Sam…" Gene shook the bottle.

"Do NOT tell me you're the jealous kind." Sam laughed.

Gene sat back on his heels, pulling away completely. "Yes."

Sam looked confused. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Shit."

Gene shook the bottle again. "Took a lot to get me to realize what I need, Sam, but not you. No dust on your wheels."

"Gene…" Sam sat up, looking embarrassed, and flinched when Gene threw the bottle at him.

"Takin' what comes along? Or you got a regular clientele?"

"WHAT?"

"I shared everything for years, not a damn thing was mine or for me. Any kid I wanted that bastard made sure to spread around. I'm not here to ask yer hand in bleedin' marriage Sam, but goddamnit! Don' need a tart." Gene hit the frame of the bed as he swung his legs around and sat up.

"You goin' walk out, or let me explain?" Sam sat up and crossed his legs. Gene turned his head to look at him, but could not bring himself to reply. He did not want to imagine Sam running around like one of the rent boys at the club…one of Warren's…

"Gene! I used it by myself, ON myself. Bloody 'ell. All I got to do around here is read case files and wank off." Sam threw the bottle back at him then got up, but as he walked past, Gene grabbed him and slung him back down onto the bed, crawling on top of him as Sam tried to wrestle free.

"You won't?" Gene asked as held Sam down, desperate to know. He was surprised by his own reaction to this but it was an honest emotion, unlike so much he had to play at for over five years. He wanted Sam on his terms or it would not be worth it.

Sam stopped. "I won't. Ever."

"Big promise to make."

"I'm not askin' you to make it. I'm jus' tellin' you how I am." Sam crossed his arms, putting distance between them.

"You will be the death of me, Tyler."

"I already was." Sam grinned.

Gene shook his head, then pulled one of Sam's arms out and down, and Sam's hand instinctively found Gene's erection. Gene held his breath.

"You're here for ME. I want to hear you," Sam whispered and pulled up to kiss Gene's chin. Gene grabbed his wrist, holding his hand still against his cock.

"No, Sam, I'm here for me. For what I want…" Gene grabbed the back of Sam's neck and pulled him up further, unbalancing him so that he let go of Gene's cock and grabbed for his arms. "I want you. And goddamnit I'm going to own every inch of you."

Sam stared back hard. "You talk too much." He slammed into a kiss and they fell down, Gene writhing on top, trying to feel every part of the man under him. Sam's hands ravaged his back, then his fingers drifted lower, and Sam kept pushing himself up to further his reach. Gene stopped sucking on his neck.

"Sam…"

"Please." Sam whispered into his ear.

Gene did not know what to do at the question. No one ever asked before, because most of his lovers knew better than to try. The few anonymous bastards who fucked him took what they wanted in moments of shared drunken passion, and Warren blackmailed him for it. No one asked and that was enough to break him. He nodded, once, and closed his eyes as Sam's fingers pushed in between his arse cheeks, exploring him. Sam stopped long enough to lube up his fingers, long enough for Gene to realize he was going to let Sam do this, and long enough to be shocked by that.

As the tip of Sam's finger pushed in, Gene quickly sat up, straddling the cot again as he put his feet on the floor, trying to escape. Sam followed him and shifted to sit on his knees, never losing contact with Gene's arse. His arm was snaked around Gene's body and Sam's chest was flat against his.

"Gene, I won't hurt you…" Sam's other hand wrapped softly around Gene's dick.

"Don' want get off this way…" Gene said firmly but did not move.

"Fine. Tell me when to stop," Sam said, and pushed the finger through the tight ring of muscles, just the first joint of his finger, and stopped. Gene felt his muscles clinching in panic, and grabbed hold of Sam's shoulders. He sat there trying to remember how to breathe as Sam gently pushed further in, then pulled out and back in again, slowly starting to finger fuck Gene's arse like a lover. Like no one else ever did, or would, or could be allowed. Gene breathed in deeply as the sensations rippled across his consciousness – his freedom, his pleasure all his to enjoy. He was not face down on a filthy carpet or up against a cold brick wall, being taken by men who did not really want or care about him, only chasing a quick release or the feeling of power.

Gene's body throbbed under Sam's touch. "I'm gonna fuck you, Sam, fuck you so…hard…" He closed his eyes and concentrated on Sam's fingers inside of him, probing and pushing and demanding, Sam's hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly and lovingly, and Sam's face against his chest, kissing and licking his skin. Gene could barely breathe but he knew what he wanted. "…wrap myself up inside you…goddamn I will fuck you so hard you won't sit down for a week…come like a rocket in yer arse oh fuck me…Sam…" Gene's words broke down as Sam slipped a third finger in and began pumping, his body surging against Gene's. He knew his grip on Sam's shoulders was bruising and he expected to leave marks, but he did not care, because any mark on Sam was Gene's claim.

He felt Sam moving forward, shoving his knees under his thighs, helping to support him. Gene leaned into him and dropped his head over Sam's shoulder, tucking his chin into the back of Sam's neck, feeling the short hair brush against his ear and jaw. The move closer allowed Sam to push in deeper, harder, finally brushing his prostate and sending shivers down his spine, collapsing his strength. Sam could not hold him as Gene fell forward, unbalanced, and they broke rank trying to catch each other. Sam slammed onto his back.

"Fuck," Sam squirmed under him, frustrated.

"Now yer talkin'," Gene said. He gave Sam a short, hard kiss then sat back, looking for where the lube had dropped to the floor. He casually slapped Sam's legs apart as he lubed his cock, and looked up at Sam's amused eyes.

"So we're at this, now?"

"Damn right we are. Been dreamin' about fillin' up your arse, and my dick is as hard as a rock."

"I'm so glad we could make this such a special moment between us."

"We are." Gene lifted Sam's right leg out, hooking the knee over his elbow. Sam was in full view, his cock bobbing against his abdomen, his balls round and heavy and his puckered hole just below, tight and clinching. He put his free hand over the ball sac, massaging it, the lube on his fingers making the movements slick and fast. Sam closed his eyes and groaned and Gene traced down. He ran his fingers in circles around the entrance until Sam was pleading in quiet whispers, the word 'please please please' rolling over and over out of his mouth, his open, wet mouth. Gene smiled as he carefully inserted his fingers, first one then another slowly until he had three stuffed up inside of Sam, pushing into him and widening him until he was finger fucking him mercilessly, his whole body thrusting into the movement of his hand. Sam on his back, watching him, was strange and unsettling but as Gene stared back, his whole body shook to watch those wide, desperately craven eyes tracking his every move. Gene decided to get to it or come on the spot. He pulled out his fingers and moved in, greedy for the breech. As he pushed his slicked up cock, nudging it into the opening, he bent forward and bit down on one of Sam's nipples. Sam's body spasmed as he yelled out, and Gene thrust hard, popping inside and pushing up halfway before releasing his teeth.

"Always…wanted to do that…" Gene said, pulling back up and bracing himself .

"Fuuuuuck you…bastard…goddamn son of a bitch…" Sam squirmed and argued and Gene smiled as he began pumping his hips softly, pushing in with every small thrust, Sam cursing him three ways to hell and punching his chest. Gene decided he loved this position, because with the right person, watching like this was the biggest turn on of his life. He was not fucking a rent boy whose paycheck he would sign at the end of the week, whose face he did not really want to remember; he was inside Sam Tyler and there was no price to pay for it other than pleasure. Gene focused on Sam's expression as it contorted through pain to pleasure to lust, his punches turning to into an impassioned exploration of Gene's chest and nipples skin. He felt a low groan escape from his own lungs as he finally sank in all the way, his cock completely encased. The sounds Sam loved so much: Gene had to give him that, because they only belonged to Sam, and Gene let his vocal cords relax and tried not to think of how much like a fairy poofter rent boy he sounded, gasping and whining and groaning. He stopped for a moment, causing Sam to reach up and try to pull him in, but Gene repositioned himself with one leg slung off the cot so he was a low as possible, nearly lying right on top of Sam, locking onto his lips while Sam maneuvered to keep his hips canted. It was not the most elegant or comfortable of positions but Gene could not give it up for all the leg cramps in the world as he began pounding into Sam, yelling into his mouth in time with his thrusts until he came, his balls pulling up hard and fast and almost painfully when his body exploded into his orgasm. It was not until his vision returned and he could focus again that he realized Sam had wanked himself off and come as well, under him, while Gene was oblivious.

"Crap." Gene looked at the cum coating Sam's stomach and cock.

"What? Brilliant!" Sam laughed, his smile so broad and honest that Gene had to laugh. He shook his head as he pulled out gently and laid down next to Sam, both of them fighting for space on the cot until they were spooned together, sticky and dirty and utterly content.

"Sorry I left you hanging." Gene said, resting his forehead against the back of Sam's head.

"It's not your job to get me off." Sam sighed, relaxing into the embrace.

Gene's jaw clinched at that, but he forced the feeling away. He knew Sam felt him tense, and they were silent for a moment, and completely still.

"Yeah, it is."

"What?" Sam looked over his shoulder.

"My job…"

"No, Gene, you don' ever have to be here with me unless you want to be," Sam said, rubbing his face into the pillow, sounding sad even to Gene.

"We both got responsibilities, Sam. I'll be here when I can." Gene pulled his man into him, feeling a strange sense of contentment that, if he thought about it, might be something too damn queer to name.

---

Two months later, and a full six months from the time of his shooting, Gene was still without a job. Sam often stopped by during his afternoon break for dinner 'with the boys,' which he constantly hoped would be more than Hoops on toast, but he was always bitterly disappointed. Eventually Stuart started school and adjusted well, suffering some playground taunting because of his mother but nothing that Gene Hunt felt his son could not handle with a few well placed hits. Despairing, Sam took to coaching the boy on non-aggressive tactics in dealing with confrontational situations as well as anger management techniques, which translated poorly into six-year-old-ese but Sam hoped it was a start. Secretly, Sam stopped by the school regularly and had 'off the record' discussions with Stu's teacher about his grades and the importance of not letting Stu bully other students, confusing the teacher to no end about why a prominent DCI would care. On weekends when he had the afternoon off, he would pick up his 'boys' and go to the park and kick the football around with Stu, feeling like his own father, aside from the running critical commentary from the 'sidelines' as Gene sat against a tree, smoking non-stop and coaching his son on how to cheat. That Gene developed a fetish for Sam's football shorts was, in Sam's opinion, worth all trauma involved.

But for all the good news on the home front, Gene was still unemployed and frustrated. He was offered several positions with local nightclubs, but turned them down because of the boy. His sister sent him out on two blind dates that ended disastrously, and afterwards Gene showed up at Sam's place where he shagged Sam like a demon possessed, furious about women and angry at himself. Sam could not find it in himself to point out the obvious, that Gene did not want to be married again. Or that, in moments of blind pleasure and raw passion, he told Sam that he loved him. Sam tried to return the endearments, but they were always brushed off as 'fairy' or 'queer', irony notwithstanding, and those topics were sealed as off limits.

The job front was not, though, and they both tried to brainstorm a career path for Gene. His cousin Tim kept putting him off, mostly due to the depressed construction industry, and so Gene was left with very few options based on his reputation and experience. As the weeks went by, though, Sam began to suspect something like self-sabotage. The accusation went down like a lead balloon during one of their Tuesday evening 'hook ups' and Gene actually walked out, refusing to talk to Sam for the rest of the week. Sam took that as confirmation. Which was just as well.

"Road trip." Sam stood on the stoop, arms folded, as Gene filled up the doorway in his jammies. It was Tuesday and Stuart was already at Rachel's, and usually, Sam would not see Gene until he showed up at the Railway Arms. Sam had started going to the pub after work a few days a week, mostly under threat of death from Gene, who believed it was a crucial missing aspect to Sam's leadership style. Sam believed it had more to do with Gene's straightforward seduction techniques.

"Where?"

"Nowhere, until you get dressed. It's after five, you know that?"

"Yeah. Just getting' cleaned up to go to the pub."

Gene did not look like he was getting cleaned up for anything, and Sam glared at him until Gene let him in. The house was, as always, spotless, Gene's years of bachelor living translating into a near-fetish with military style housekeeping. Sam paced the living room while Gene finally did get cleaned up, then loaded him into his car.

"As I asked before, only slightly louder: Where?" Gene snapped as Sam carefully drove through town.

Sam did not reply, and when the answer appeared in the windshield, Gene cursed.

"Everyone's gone to the pub. We're going up for a moment, I want to show you something."

Gene glanced at him, waggling his eyebrows. "You finally taking me up on that idea about the collating den?"

"Get the 'ell out of the car, Gene." Sam growled as he parked and stalked into police headquarters. Gene followed slowly, looking suspicious, and Sam figured he had the right. They did not talk in the lift up and they did not talk as they walked through the halls.

When they were in CID, Gene stood in the middle of the room, looking around. "I don' belong here, Sam. Not anymore."

"I think you do." Sam pulled some folded papers out of his jacket and fiddled with them, but Gene ignored him.

"Always said you were cracked…what's this about, then?" Gene perched on the corner of the closest desk, his insistence that he did not belong there belied by his comfortable body language and relaxed attitude.

Sam played with the papers in his hands and then gave them over to Gene, who took them, confused.

"Your re-instatement papers. Your old rank back as DI. Clearance of all previous charges. No official apology – I pushed for it, but I didn' think you'd get one. The Chief Constable wants to shove you into the background as quickly as possible."

Gene rifled through the papers, shell shocked, unable to look up.

"They laid out some terms. You can't discuss the case, ever. You cannot give any more interviews with the media or anything. You can't sue the city for back pay or libel. And, your salary matches the current rate for first-year DIs." Sam coughed, embarrassed about that particular point, because it was a horrible salary for a man of Gene's age and experience with a child to support. Gene still did not look up. "You know about Ray's demotion, and they've been clamoring for me to pick a replacement DI. I've been holding off…" Sam shrugged and looked at Gene, who was furious.

Gene shook the papers at him. "Fuckin' pity…"

Sam stepped back, throwing his hands out in shock. "Get off your damn wagon! I don't pity you! I admire you for holdin' together and not killing yourself OR Warren through six years of hell! I respect you! I fought for you to get what you DESERVE but if you are too much a COWARD to take back what's yours, what you deserve, then FUCK YOU I don' need a coward on MY team!"

Gene still held the paperwork out, his gaze harsh and uncertain. Sam shook his breath and worked to calm down, surprised at the fight, and hurt that Gene considered refusing the offer.

"Won't force you, Gene. Got nothing to force you with. Either you want your life back or you go start over somewhere else. But what I want, what I need, is for you to stay."

Gene lowered his arm. "You want me on your team?"

"As odd as it is to find myself saying this, yes, I do. I think I need you on my team. I don't understand these men at all, I barely got a hold on them, and the fallout from Harry's case is going to go on for a long while. They trust you, they don't trust me…and I trust you."

Gene looked at the paperwork again, his expression bleak. "My history, Sam…a lot of people know…"

"Rumors. Bloody rumors. No one can prove anything, any more than they can prove why you drop by my place every Tuesday night." Sam tried not to grin, and Gene huffed out a small laugh. He looked at the paperwork again, his expression clearing.

"Never thought…never."

"I know. I didn't mean to surprise you, but I didn'…well I didn't want you to get your hopes up, in case I couldn't pull this off. In the end the Chief was too happy to sign off on the paperwork to avoid a lawsuit against the city."

Gene frowned, confused. "I'd never file against 'em. The city didn' do this to me."

"Er…yeah, I know. But the Chief didn'." Sam finally let his grin break loose, feeling sneaky, and hoping Gene took it the right way.

A huge answering grin broke over his face and Gene rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "You're a cunning bastard, Sam Tyler."

"That's 'Guv' to you, Gene."

---