A Travesty of Dreams by Clonesgirl
This was originally written for the Life on Mars Anonymous Pornfest on LJ and has since been re-edited. The request was "Sam/Gene - one of them has amnesia, the other one takes advantage." Since it was written for a pornfest it should have had sex in it - lots of it. However, it didn't quite turn out that way, try as I might, and it still doesn't have any more sex in it either. Sorry about that. It was also my first attempt to get inside Gene's head.
Please note: At my request, Fiandyfic has withdrawn this fic from the Pornfest site. This is because I was unhappy with the version there as, being written to a deadline, it was on the rough side and not as good as I felt it could be. This is the finished version.
The technical stuff:
RATING: PG-13 Green Cortina
PAIRING: Sam/Gene
WORD COUNT: 5,830
WARNINGS: Slash - now you all know what that is - and a bit of angst as well.
SPOILERS: None
ARCHIVE: The Motley Collection
DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed from BBC and Kudos strictly for fun, not profit. No offence intended.
BETAING: Not betaed so if you spot any goofs please let me know.
FEEDBACK: Would be lovely, not to mention encourage me to scribble some more fic.
NOTE: If you wish to link to this story it would be much appreciated if you could let the
author know.
* * *
If only he could remember, Gene Hunt thought as he lay in his hospital bed in a private room. He'd been injured, he knew - badly - and he knew that too. Bashed with a cricket bat, they said. And Sam had seen to it that they'd caught the bastards, a man named Alex Pearson and his twin brother, Jimmy, who'd given him a severe kicking. If only he could remember. The doctors said his memory would most likely return with time.
He remembered snatches of things. He remembered who he was. He knew he was a DCI. He knew he'd been married 'cause Sam had brought in pictures of his former wife in order to jog his memory. Other pictures too. Newspaper articles about him and the rest of the CID team. He'd even taken to bringing in case files that they'd been working on prior to his assault and going over them with him one by one, but none of them rang a bell either. Other members of the team had come to see him of course - Ray, Chris, Annie, Phyllis, Vince and the others too - and while their faces seemed vaguely familiar he just couldn't seem to place them. But Sam said not to worry. Sam said it would come back to him in time. And Sam had come to see him every day. He remembered that on about his fourth day in hospital when he was still in a lot of pain Sam had come that night and - it somehow seemed startling to him - held his hand and reminded him that they were lovers and how he missed him very much as he gently massaged his sore neck and shoulders.
Lovers? he'd wondered, leaning back against Sam. And Sam had ruffled his hair and whispered how he couldn't wait for him to get out of there. "You'll be all right, Gene," he'd said. "I'll take care of you." And he'd asked Sam if they lived together 'cause he couldn't remember but Sam said he still had his dingy, little flat, mostly for appearances sake, but he spent most of his spare time now in his house, especially on weekends, and as soon as he was discharged he'd go home with him and look after him.
Sam's words had warmed him to his heart and it had felt nice knowing someone cared about him that much. He'd looked out of the hospital window at the bitterly cold February night and thought it would be pleasant not to have to go home to an equally cold and empty house. Then he'd asked Sam if he could cook, apologizing for the fact that he couldn't remember, and Sam smiled and said he could and not to worry about it and he'd said "Thank God for that!" because he was sure hospital muck was pure poison. And every night Sam would bring him one of his own hip flasks. "Only one," he'd say. "The doctors have said no alcohol so that's all you're getting." Sam had lain down the law on that. He'd persuaded Ray and Chris to bring him in some more but Sam had found them and confiscated them. Sam could be mean, he decided.
As the days went by he found himself getting more and more depressed over his lack of memory and found that he lived for Sam's evening visits and Sam would tell him about all the happenings in CID, who they were investigating, who they'd arrested, the snouts they'd spoken to, and of course the evenings at the pub, though of course Sam never stayed long now as he was coming to visit him, and he loved to hear all about it. Sam told him how he was keeping his chair warm until he came back, and the Cortina too. The mention of the Cortina had jogged something in his memory. "What model is it? What colour?" he'd asked eagerly. Sam had said it was a 2000E, the most powerful one of the lot, and it was an orange bronze with a vinyl roof. All he could think was that he couldn't wait to get out to drive it, to feel the power of it. "Oh, Sammy, I wanna drive that car!" he'd said and Sam had smiled and said, "Don't worry. You'll be driving it again as soon as your ankle's better." Sam always said that he'd be back on the job soon, and with his memory intact - and he believed Sam. Sam was his DI and Sam said they were a good team. He trusted Sam, so that's how it would be.
Sam was good to him in so many ways. Sam would bring him things - the newspaper, clean pyjamas, toiletries, books, a deck of cards, a small chess set, a drafts set, even a radio. He'd even brought him chocolates and sherbet. Heaven! And at least he was in a private room and Sam had hired a telly for him, but the days were long and the nights were longer, and when you couldn't sleep hospitals were the noisiest places on earth what with medical staff walking up and down the corridor at all hours of the day and night, cleaners who came around at five o'clock in the morning, squeaky, rattling trolleys being pushed up and down, nurses who chattered endlessly about this, that and the other patient. Never seemed to be a moment's peace and having to use a bedpan 'cause he was in no condition to get out of bed and having to be bathed by nurses was downright humiliating. Hospitals were hellholes. More and more though he found himself wishing that he could remember Sam as his lover, but Sam assured him it would come back in time, and he would pull Sam close and offer him a kiss and there was nothing strange about it. It was warm and it was so good. He'd also noticed what a sexy little sod Sam was too in his leather jacket, body shirts and arse-hugging pants.
One night as Sam was leaving he'd said to him, "I wish I could remember us. I mean I wish I could remember us... together. Hell, Sam, you know what I mean." And Sam said it was all right if he didn't remember 'cause he would soon enough, but that wasn't good enough and he'd said so. "Tell me," he'd said, and Sam had sat down again and just held him, running gentle fingers through his hair while he rested his cheek against Sam's leather jacket, and then Sam had whispered in his ear, "Shall I tell you what it's like? I love feeling your dirty great cock in my arse and you groan that I'm tight as a virgin and you love my sweet little arse and it's the best arse in the whole of Manchester and nothing else could possibly satisfy you any more. And I tell you you're a horny sod and I squeeze your cock some more and make you come, and you know what? It's fucking gorgeous watching you, seeing you like that with your head thrown back and surrendered to pleasure." And he'd breathed hard at Sam's words, feeling the tiniest stirring in his cock under the stiff hospital sheets in spite of the severe kicking it had received. And Sam continued "And sometimes when we're watching telly you pull me into your lap and you run your hands over me, stroking me everywhere so I get all hard and swollen for you and you just stroke me and won't unzip me and you go on like that, touching me very tenderly, touching me everywhere, and you're tongue's in my throat and I come like that - God, yes! - and you watch me and you whisper that you love to see me come in your arms, both of us still fully clothed. We miss a lot of telly like that." He'd whispered into Sam's ear "And do I come too?" and Sam had smiled and said "Yes, you do, you great, sexy beast. And then you complain that now we have to shower and change our clothes and we've missed the end of the film." And he'd said, "Christ, Sammy, wait 'til I get out of here," and Sam had grinned and winked at him.
Finally came the day he was ready to be discharged. He still limped quite badly where one of the bastards had kicked his ankle hard enough to fracture it badly and it was still swollen. His bruises were mostly going away though and his two cracked ribs, bruised kidneys and fractured collarbone were on the mend. So was his poor, abused cock. Sam had come to pick him up and take him home. The hospital was supposed to give him a cane to go home with but didn't have one ready and he didn't want to hang about, especially when he'd set eyes on the Cortina. So Sam had helped him out to the car. It had felt familiar but no matter how much he complained Sam wouldn't let him drive on account of his still-swollen ankle and told him he'd be his chauffeur for the time being and he'd said "As long as you drive fast" and Sam had grinned and said "Some things don't change". He was happy just to be out of hospital even though the frosty air and cold wind outside had hit him with a wallop after being in a heated building for so long. Still, it felt good sitting in the car and he looked around at the streets as they drove along and they seemed kind of familiar too and he hoped this meant that he'd remember things soon.
When he'd entered the house it had somehow seemed very familiar and he'd looked around and it was all quite neat. It was warm too where he'd expected it to be cold and he'd said as much and Sam said that he'd come over earlier and turned on the large heater to warm it and done a bit of cooking too. His ankle was hurting and Sam had urged him to put it up but he'd wanted to see upstairs. Shunning Sam's assistance, he'd slowly, one step at a time and holding on to the banister, made his way upstairs and into the bedroom.
It was already dark outside when he entered so he turned on the light and pulled the curtains. The whole room was tidy as was the neatly made bed. Far... too neat... He could swear he remembered it unmade...
He remembered.
Gene Hunt remembered. The acute mental picture he got was of the bed rumpled, unmade and altogether untidy. He remembered the floor littered with dirty laundry as it had been since his missus had departed. He remembered the downstairs being just as bad - the kitchen sink piled high with dirty dishes, the living room littered with empty beer bottles, old newspapers, overflowing ashtrays and everywhere a layer of dust coating the furniture. And Sam... Sam Tyler was his bloody DI, not his lover! Sam was his picky, poofy, poncy, evidence-obsessed, Man United-supporting DI and he was going to beat shit out of him for lying to him and pretending they were lovers. Lovers, for God's sake! Making him into a poof? Taking advantage of the Sheriff of Manchester when he couldn't remember? Making the Gene Genie into a friggin' nancy queer?!? How dare he! The little bastard would suffer for this. He'd make him pay for it, for this... this travesty of domestic life. By God he'd make him pay!
His ankle was hurting more from putting his weight on it so he sat down on the bed. And then he looked at it again, sitting there all neatly made. He turned down the covers and looked at the crisp white of the pillowslips and the clean white sheets that smelled nice and fresh and not like hospital sheets at all. The wood of the bedhead was shining now too, not covered with a layer of dust like it had been. The quilt was nice and clean too, and the blankets. Sam, what have you done? And why? Why did you lie to me? Why did you pretend we were lovers? Why did you have to do that? He felt sick.
He sat there and remembered all the times Sam had come to see him in hospital and how grateful he'd been for those visits otherwise he was sure he'd have gone out of his mind with boredom. He was equally sure there were no more depressing places on earth than hospitals, well except for gaols. And then he remembered all the times Sam had kissed him on those visits and what it felt like to kiss him and, hell anyway, he'd loved it. He'd loved kissing those wonderful, soft lips. Christ, but it was good. He hadn't been kissed affectionately like that since... since... before the missus had gone if he was honest. He remembered the way Sam had described them making love... Just plain fucking like rabbits more like, he'd thought at the time. But the way Sam had described it it had sounded like the way it had once been with the missus, like... Hell, say it! he thought. All right then - like love. How long was it since he'd had that kind of sex anyway? The kind that was wonderful and powerful and satisfied you like nothing else ever could and you felt like every cell in your body must be glowing bright enough to be seen from Skylab. He couldn't remember. But none of it was real. Nothing that Sam had described of their home life - their sex lives, for God's sake! - had been real. It was just... a fairy tale. He almost laughed at the irony in that. Sam had made it all up. Had made it sound so good. Had made him want it - hell, long for it. Sam had bloody brainwashed him and if his memory hadn't returned then tonight they'd have... slept together... in this bed. It would have been nothing more than that really 'cause he was in no condition yet for anything more. Just as well 'cause he didn't want Sam and he never did. And he wouldn't in the future either. Flirting with pretty nurses was more fun, wasn't it, he told himself, and if he needed a bit of relief, well there were plenty of women who found him attractive... only pretty nurses and anonymous shags didn't drive you home, cook dinner for you and, most of all, clean up your pigsty of a house and make it look like a home once more, his thoughts reminded him. Goddamn Tyler and his nancy ways!
The delicious smell of hot food came wafting up the stairs and he could hear Sam moving about in the kitchen below. Smelled like fried onion. His appetite had often been listless while he was in hospital - and dismal, tasteless hospital food hadn't helped. His temper had been bad too and sometimes he'd taken it out on Sam. It had mostly been frustration at his situation though and he knew that. Frustration at being unable to remember. Frustration at his groin injury too. Mind you, he'd been grateful enough when Sam had brought him chicken or a curry, or just hot fish and chips. Hell, Sam had been a ruddy lifeline to the outside world and without him he would have gone stark, raving bonkers languishing in that wretched, uncomfortable bed - more like torture contraption - day after endless day looking at the four walls and the cracks in the ceiling of which he'd counted every single one.
Hell, but that food smellt good. Mind you he didn't much care what it was as long as it wasn't hospital food. Shaking his head, he rose from the bed and limped his way out of the room. On the landing he decided he may as well have a look at the bathroom too. When he turned on the light he half expected it to be as he'd left it - badly in need of a good scrubbing - but it appeared Sam had worked his magic in there too as it was bright and shiny and smelled fresh too. Kind of lemon scented, he thought. There were fresh bars of soap and clean towels on the racks. He looked at the blue water in the toilet bowl and the air freshener sitting on top of the cistern and sighed. Tyler, what am I gonna do with you? Still, he had to admit that the bathroom, like the rest of the place, hadn't looked this good since the missus left. And it did look nice, he had to admit. Good enough for guests.
Carefully, holding on to the banister once more, he made his way downstairs to confront his crazy, mixed-up DI and demand answers. However, his growling stomach decided that food should come first. All right then, eat first, then beat hell out of the shifty, deceitful little bastard after.
"Smells bloody marvellous!" he declared as Sam served up sausages and large mounds of mashed potato accompanied by peas and carrots and garnished with sprigs of parsley. "Is that real onion I see in that gravy?"
"The real deal," Sam said, ladling onion gravy all over the sausages.
"Sammy, you'll spoil me!"
"Just basic. Didn't wanna do anything too spicy on your first day out. Don't wanna give you an upset stomach."
"Don't you worry about my stomach, Sammy boy. It's quite normal. About the only part of me that still is."
Sam had grinned at him over the candles. Candles. The ruddy poof had gone and put candles on the table and a bottle of red wine. Between the air freshener in the bathroom and the candles and red wine it was easy to see there was a poof under his roof. He hid a grimace at the thought.
After dinner they sat nursing beer as they watched the evening news. When it was over he asked Sam to turn it off. Sam decided he'd do the washing up while he was at it but he turned to him once more. "Not right now, Sam." Sam, plates in hand, turned to him.
"All right." He put the plates down again.
"Sit down, Sam."
Sam sat beside him on the couch once more as he turned to him.
"Why, Sam? Tell me why and make it good or I swear I will break every bone in your body. Tell me why you you chose to deceive me."
Sam's eyes widened and for a moment he saw the look of dismay there, closely followed by... sadness? He saw Sam's shoulders slump in defeat. It was almost akin to watching the light go out of his eyes.
"You remember." It wasn't a question.
"Yes, I ruddy remember and what I want from you right now is an explanation."
"Gene, if... if you can't forgive me I'll understand. If you... want my resignation..."
"Tell me why, Sam! Why did you do this? Why did you lie to me? Why did you take advantage of me when I couldn't remember? I trusted you, Sam. You're the last person in the world I would have expected to... to... God, Sam, why? Talk to me. Tell me why."
Sam looked up at him. "Don't you know? Can't you guess?"
"You... You kissed me. You... You told me how we... Sam, you lied to me. You deceived me and you made me believe things that never happened."
"You'll have my request for transfer on your desk on Monday morning."
"I don't want your bloody transfer request! You're a good DI even if you are a picky pain in the arse from Hyde. What I want from you, DI Tyler, is an explanation."
Sam looked at him, his voice quiet, "Because it was my only chance. Because I knew that if I told you I fancied the hell out of you, whether you were drunk or sober at the time, my life would not be worth living. I thought maybe if... if I could convince you we were lovers and your mind accepted it you might come to see that a... an intimate relationship between us could not only be possible but it could be a good thing, a... a positive thing... for both of us. I know it was wrong of me, Gene. I know full well I deceived you when you were vulnerable and you trusted me. I let you down... and I'm sorry. And I'm sorry if I made you want something - even if only briefly - that you could never accept."
"You made me believe I was a poof, Sam. How can I ever forget that? How do you expect me to forgive you?"
"Sometimes I forget, Gene, 'cause you know what? Where I come from that's not a bad thing. It's not something to be feared or loathed and there are senior police officers who are openly gay."
"In Hyde? Bollocks."
"You were happy. Believing that I was your lover made you happy."
He thought back to all those visits from Sam, how Sam would greet him with a smile and a kiss and how happy he'd been to see him - only it had all been an illusion.
"It wasn't real. It was nothing but a disgusting lie. You and I... lovers? Don't make me laugh!"
"It made you happy. Made you want to get well so you could shag the daylights out of me."
"Don't say that!"
"Why? Because it's true? You said you couldn't wait to get me home. And now you hate me. Well I don't blame you. I don't like myself very much at the moment. And I've definitely worn out my welcome."
Sam rose and went to fetch his jacket.
"Sam? Sam, where are you going?" He was out of his seat and after him. "Sam, you're not going out in that." Sam was shouldering his way into his jacket. "It's pitch black, that wind'll freeze your balls off and it's gettin' worse. Listen to that wind."
"I have to go. It... It wouldn't be right for me to stay - I mean under the circumstances. You'll be all right. Your medications are in the kitchen. You're due two painkillers in an hour."
"Sam, I'll drive you."
"Not with that ankle. You'll wreck it. The doctor's instructions were to stay off it as much as possible and definitely no driving for another week."
"Damn the doctor!" Sam was now heading for the front door. "Sam! At least call a taxi. Sam, come back here!" He was limping after him.
At the front door Sam turned to face him. Then he put his hand in his jacket pocket and extracted the front door key.
"Reckon I won't be needing this again." He placed the key on a side table.
It was then that he caught a glimpse of moisture on Sam's cheek.
"Sam! Sam, it's all right. You can stay the night. You've been kind to me and I'm not gonna beat you up. Not now. For God's sake, Sam, I'm in no condition to take on anyone even a girl like you."
"Yeah, Gene, I'm nothing but a silly girl for caring about you. I'll see you on Monday and you'll have my transfer request."
Sam reached for the lock on the front door and he could see that he was crying now. The blast of cold air that hit both men as Sam opened it was like a slap in the face.
"Sam, close that bloody door before we both freeze to death!"
Sam closed the door - behind him.
He quickly limped to the door and opened it again. "Sam! Sam, come back here, you fool, before you freeze your balls off!" Sam was walking briskly down the path to the front gate. "Sam! Sam, don't go!"
Sam was now out the gate and down the street, his shoulders hunched as he turned up the collar of his leather jacket against the cold and slipped his bare hands into his pockets.
"Bloody fool!" he raged. "Stubborn bastard fool."
He grabbed his keys and his coat too, shouldering into it fast before heading out after Sam. However, when he got to the gate he saw that Sam was running and was already more than a hundred yards away and there was no way he could catch up to him with his ankle the way it was. He called out to him in vain as the wind and the night carried his voice away.
"Bastard! Bloody stubborn Hyde bastard!"
He headed back for the house, knowing that by the time he unlocked the garage and unlocked the gates and got the car out Sam would be at least twice as far away again but he had this awful feeling that he had to go after Sam. He didn't want him to go like this. All he knew was that Sam had been good to him. Yes, he'd taken advantage of him but he'd been kind too.
By the time he caught up to Sam in the car Sam was well over five hundred yards from the house and still running. He'd forgotten how fit Sam was. He stopped the car just in front of him and reached over to roll down the passenger side window.
"Sam, get in!"
Sam didn't bother to stop. "You shouldn't be driving on that ankle," he called out as he ran by.
"Get in! You're comin' with me," he called out after him.
He drove the car further on again until he was once more ahead of Sam.
"Gene, I'm keeping warm by running. I'll be fine. Now go home before you do any more damage to that ankle."
"Shut up and get in. You're not going home to that freezin' flat."
Sam simply ran by him again so he passed him in the car once more.
"Sam, will you for God's sake get in!"
"Go home, Gene!"
This time he sped up and stopped some twenty yards in front of Sam. He got out, limped around to the footpath and waited while silently damning his ankle which was now hurting more.
Sam caught up to him and stopped. "Gene, go home."
"When you come with me."
"Gene, I'm sorry. I really am, but what's done is done. I lied to you and I made you believe in something you don't want. Now go home and get off that ankle."
"Sam, we're both gonna freeze if we stay out here so shut up and get in!"
Sam sighed, the wind whipping at his short hair and the cold air biting at his cheeks. "Stubborn bastard."
"You're a master of the bleedin' obvious, Gladys. Now get in."
Sam gave a sigh of resignation. "All right but I'm driving."
"You are not!"
"You want to go back to hospital again be my guest."
"All right, all right!"
Stubborn to a fault, he had to admit, even if only to himself, that his ankle was hurting quite a lot now. Driving definitely hadn't helped. Resigned, he got in the passenger side while Sam got in the driver's seat and waited for him to get comfortable before turning the car around.
"Where's your gloves?"
"Must have forgotten them when I went to pick you up at the hospital."
The mere mention of the hospital was enough to make him wince. Getting out of the miserable joint had honestly felt like getting out of gaol. Coming home to a warm house and a cooked dinner had been more than he deserved. But then there was the deceit... Sod it anyway! Maybe he could live with it. Maybe. But could he forgive the little nonce? Well maybe. Damn it all! Unbidden, his mind kept remembering what it had felt like to kiss those soft lips, how responsive they were against his own, how good it felt just to have his cheek kissed. He couldn't even remember when the departed missus had last offered him an affectionate peck on the cheek, or any other kind of kiss for that matter. He'd got used to not having them, he supposed. Hadn't even missed them. Well he could damn well get used to not having them again, couldn't he. It's only that the memory was so fresh... He could vividly remember how Sam tasted, how Sam would hold his battered body gently so as not to put undue pressure on any of his injuries and slowly massage his neck and shoulders, and, damn, but it had felt good. He'd been in a bad way and he knew it. Concussion had been the least of his worries the doctors had said. Most of the first forty-eight hours he'd been so doped up he'd been unaware of anything much, but he remembered one or two times opening his eyes and seeing Sam by his bed, a worried look on his face, and Sam had said "Don't try to talk, Gene. Rest now. You're over the worst and you'll get better now." God alone knew how many hours Sam must have kept vigil. Sam Tyler, what am I gonna do with you!
"Forgot your scarf too?"
"Guess so."
Once back in the house he began to realize just how tired tired he was. The doctor had told him to take it easy and not try to do too much.
"Damn it, Sam!" he began somewhat awkwardly. "Don't think I'm not grateful for all you've done for me and I'll reimburse you I promise."
"I don't want your money."
"Well you're getting it and don't argue. Sam, I... I can't believe how... I mean the house looks great and... and all my clothes... I... can't believe you did all this."
"You don't think I did it all alone, do you. Annie helped a lot."
"Annie?"
"Yes, Annie. She was the one did I don't know how many loads of your dirty laundry and ironed it all too. She spent her lunchtime here every day. Did a bloody good job too. You owe her."
"I'll make it up to her."
"Coffee?"
"Sounds good."
"Hey, I just remembered! Annie said she brought a cake over at lunchtime. Wonder where...?" He watched him rummage around. "Here it is. Shit! It's a coffee roll." Sam smiled. "Haven't had one of them in years. Want some?"
"Bird knows what I like. Might as well eat it while it's fresh."
He watched as Sam unwrapped the cake and put it on a plate before getting a knife to cut it. He was suddenly struck by how much at home Sam seemed in his kitchen. He seemed to know where everything was too. Sam noticed him looking at him.
"What?"
"Domesticated, aren't you." Sam merely shrugged. "Know where to find things too."
"Remembered where I put things after Annie washed up."
He thought about that - Annie washing up and Sam drying. "Look right at home there."
Sam ignored him and made the coffee, eventually carrying everything into the living room and placing them on the coffee table where he cut them each a generous slice of cake.
Conversation lapsed once more as he watched Sam bite into his cake. Christ, but he could be a sexy little sod. He remembered how when his memory had flown off to kingdom come he'd asked Sam to describe their sex life, and he had - in great detail. Only none of it had ever happened. Not one single incident. They had never shagged in any of the places in this house that Sam had described. Come to think of it these walls hadn't seen any shagging since... well since... since well before the missus had departed - and he was quite sure about that. There was nothing wrong with his memory now. Nothing at all. And there was nothing wrong with his imagination either, and that was the whole trouble. It insisted on giving him explicit mental pictures of them shagging like rabbits in all the places and in all the myriad ways that Sam had described. In fact, the way Sam had described it their love lives were a regular kama sutra. He decided that he could do with some kama sutra in his life once more. It had been an exceptionally dry six months since the missus had departed with the grocery delivery man. He remembered her departing words: "At least he comes home at night!" He also remembered something else Sam had said on one of his hospital visits.
"'Best arse in Manchester'?" he quoted, timing it perfectly as Sam immediately choked on a mouthful of coffee, then coughed violently as it went down the wrong way.
"You remember that?" he spluttered.
"You betcha, Sammy boy. I remember everything you said in the hospital."
Sam looked embarrassed. "Yeah. Well, I... exaggerated a bit."
"Only 'a bit'?"
Sam's dark eyes looked warily into his. "Yeah. Just a little."
"Tight, is it?"
But there was a definite light in those eyes now. "Yeah, it's tight."
"Reckon?"
"Too tight for you."
"Why should I take your word for it, Gladys?"
"You don't trust me?"
"Nah. Never can trust a fairy boy from Hyde. Touch of the blarney about them. Spin you a yarn. Reckon I need to investigate this for meself once I'm better."
He watched as Sam gazed at him, his head tilted. "Think so?"
"Know so. You couldn't keep up with me, Sammy boy."
This brought a smile to those soft, pink lips. "I find that difficult to believe."
"Oh, you can believe it, Dorothy. You wanna take me on you'll have your work cut out for you."
"You really reckon you could take me on? Got news for you, Gene - you could never keep up with me."
"Gladys, if the old tadger were in good working order I'd haul you upstairs right now and spend the rest of the night provin' you wrong and I guarantee you long before morning your skinny arse would be lookin' like the Suez Canal."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Last of the great romantics you are. And what if I fancy it the other way around?"
"What if you do?"
"Tight, are you?"
"Too tight for you, Marjorie."
Sam smiled, rose and moved over to sit on the arm of his chair, leaning over and kissing him lightly.
"Won't be when I've finished with you."
He wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him down into his lap and Sam proceeded to kiss him some more, those wonderful soft, pink lips stirring something deep down inside him. When they surfaced for air Sam was smiling at him.
"Cheeky little sod. Makin' the Gene Genie into a poof."
Sam's dark eyes were twinkling now. "You're lucky to have me. Best DI in Manchester too, if not the whole country."
"Don't push your luck."
* * *
