didorothy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
didorothy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
realityshifted2008-01-21 09:01 pm
didorothy) wrote in realityshifted2008-01-21 09:01 pm
Entry tags:
★★★5
[Sam is having a friendly encounter with one of the astral monsters! This friendly astral monster is about six-feet tall and looks like it can tear a normal human into pieces.
Unfortunately for Sam, he is indeed a normal human being.
They've been fighting for some time; it's gotten a fair number of hits on him, and he's littered it with bullets. Sam shoots the monster again, and it falls back - fortunate, since his gun is out of bullets. He manages to get two bullets into the barrel (revolvers are so annoying) before the monster swipes a claw at his chest, sending his Sam and his gun flying and tearing through his shirt to mark up his chest. (Fortunately, his leather jacket is safe at home)
Sam scrambles for the gun, but the monster's lovely clawed hand scrapes into his leg, dragging him back. He kicks out at it and manages to get hold of the revolver, but the monster catches him around the neck and lifts him up into the air. Sam tries very hard not to choke or get his neck snapped, since he doesn't think either of those options are condusive to life, and he lifts the gun, firing into it twice.
This only serves to provoke the monster, which tightens its grip around Sam's neck. The gun falls to the floor]
Unfortunately for Sam, he is indeed a normal human being.
They've been fighting for some time; it's gotten a fair number of hits on him, and he's littered it with bullets. Sam shoots the monster again, and it falls back - fortunate, since his gun is out of bullets. He manages to get two bullets into the barrel (revolvers are so annoying) before the monster swipes a claw at his chest, sending his Sam and his gun flying and tearing through his shirt to mark up his chest. (Fortunately, his leather jacket is safe at home)
Sam scrambles for the gun, but the monster's lovely clawed hand scrapes into his leg, dragging him back. He kicks out at it and manages to get hold of the revolver, but the monster catches him around the neck and lifts him up into the air. Sam tries very hard not to choke or get his neck snapped, since he doesn't think either of those options are condusive to life, and he lifts the gun, firing into it twice.
This only serves to provoke the monster, which tightens its grip around Sam's neck. The gun falls to the floor]
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plethora of words that could describe it -- disorienting, nauseating, unnatural, terrifying, even -- but the first thing Gene Hunt really, truly considered as he lurched off the cold slab of a table, dry heaving and aching all over, was that he damn well needed a beer. Or two. Or six. Hell, the whole pub would do, really.
And Gene Hunt never hit the pub up without his mates, which, in this
looney bin of a world, consisted of a certain Sam Tyler. Who was
probably sitting in a corner somewhere, lamenting the loss of his DCI (which, quite frankly, Gene did not want to think about, all things considered. It was bad enough he could vaguely remember the circumstances surrounding the moment -- Goddamn bleedin' Frenchie was so gonna become acquainted with the business end of Gene's fist, so help him -- but the thought of actually being dead and someone mourning him? No.)
Either way, that was neither here nor there. And Gene would deal with the very, very odd feeling in his gut and his lungs and his head later. Once he was good and pissed, at the very least. Everything made more sense when he was right and fully cocked. But to do that? He needed his DI. SO.
After stumbling around the precinct for a little while and not finding Sam, Gene finally gave in and took himself to the Astral Whatsitcalled to look for him. Figured the nonce would be there, where it was moodier. Bleedin' faerie, crying over nothing. But as Gene stepped into the darkness, he was rather surprised (or not, considering it was Tyler) to see his DI currently fighting for his life. Against a monster. A very large, very ugly monster.
Gene hadn't got to shoot the bastard that killed him, so the feel of his gun in his hand, the sound of the chamber loading and the blissful scent of gunpowder and searing metal was like Heaven as he let loose a string of shots aimed right for the beast's head. If nothing else, maybe it'd let Sam go. And would make Gene a Big Goddamn Hero for being the cause.
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Gene Hunt. Gene-bloody-Hunt, his DCI, the bastard who was stupid enough to die. Had Sam not been fighting for his life, he would have either tried to hug or punch Gene. Fortunately, Sam is well occupied in trying to reload his revolver (how he hates revolvers), watching the monster weaken as it tries to cope with the bullets]
It would be helpful, Guv, if you could distract it a bit.
[in pain? Yes. That doesn't mean Gene is in his good books. Even if he saved his life. It's not like Sam hasn't saved Gene before. Right now, he really wishes he had that fishing rod for that jewel on its arm]
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What the hell are you doing fighting something like this alone, Tyler? The damned thing would have killed you. [tact: the Guv doesn't have it] Is your head honestly that thick? [loads another round, takes aim, fires. And then scrambles out of the way, faster than he remembers being able to move, with significantly less pressure on his lungs, but he doesn't have time to question it lest he get stomped on] Tyler! I suggest you do something before I shoot you, instead!
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And it's not like I went looking for a fight, unlike some idiot coppers I know! [while Gene is merrily attacking the thing with his gun, Sam moves forwards, ignoring how his injured foot gives out. He's just out of range of the monster, hoping beyond hopes that it will find Gene as distracting and annoying as Sam finds him so Sam can have his chance to get the damned jewel and kill the thing]
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So what, it just showed up looking for you? Bullshit, Tyler! [if only Gene knew how much Sam cared, he'd probably be meaner. as it is, he just thinks his DI is an insufferable git at the mo'] And I'll have you know I wasn't looking for a fight! The sodding bastard had it coming, though, the Goddamned faerie. [notices Tyler, fishing rod and all, and has to stop a moment, regardless of the fact that there's a ginormous monster standing about ten feet away from him, angry and wounded, and about ready to chomp down on him in retaliation for the multitude of gunshot wounds Gene has inflicted upon its being. because...really, a fishing rod?] ...what the hell do you think you're doing? Hitting up the local loche, you bleedin' pansy?
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[now all that energy turns on Gene Hunt] Yeah, because I go looking for monsters that can kill me. He did not have it coming - you picked a fight with him. I warned you. I told you he was dangerous. But you provoked him into killing you. How the hell can you walk with so little intelligence?
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...
[and the momentary lapse is over as Gene strides right on over to his DI and shoves a finger in his face] You don't have a bloody clue what you're talking about, Tyler! Beyond the fact that I don't believe in monsters you damn ponce, I did not provoke the Goddamned bastard, you hear me? How was I supposed to know he was gonna rip my bloody arm off and eat it? [and crap, there's those memories again and, for a moment, the Guv turns really pale, eyes wide, before scowling and stepping back, arms crossed over his chest] And even if I did provoke him, what's it to you? I don't need you looking after me, Dorothy. You got that?
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[Sam puts a hand to his calf, wincing as he feels the blood. At least there are medics in this place. He looks down, and then back up to his DCI] You aren't feeling any different, are you? They said...
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[frowns, then puts an arm around him and grunts, lifting the other up as best he can. which is surprisingly easy, all things considered] Bloody hell, Dorothy, you weigh a tonne. Did you put on some kilos? [narrows his eyes] And what do you mean, different? Who said anything about me being different?
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[takes in a slow breath; he speaks as if delivering a report] How I saw it isn't important. I haven't put on any weight. I asked Lapis and Lazuli and they said they have a standardized process for revivals which does cause some alterations. Your charming personality, obviously, has remained the same. I took your coat when I- [a moment's hesitation, his fingers curling in, and then he returns that same bland tone of voice] -when your murderer directed me to your body. I felt that it would be best to take your coat and your warrant card some place secure, rather than leaving them unattended or delivering them into the hands of untrustworthy individuals. Is there anything else you would like answered or clarified, sir?
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[keeps walking, half-dragging Sam with him, as he listens to his DI's report. it's somewhat...uncanny, being told the circumstances around your death (Don't think about it, Gene, don't think about it.) the fact Tyler says it with such detachment strikes the Guv as odd, especially if he actually saw him die. not really because it was gruesome and cruel for Sam to have seen it, but more that it's embarrassing for the Guv to have to admit he lost in hand-to-hand combat with some sodding freak of nature]
I don't need your charity, Tyler. [honest, this is him trying to be nice] What I wanna know is, if you actually talked with that bleedin' bastard, why didn't you take him out for me? I should be dead and here I am, learning that my DI didn't even have the gumption to revenge me? What did you do, go cry in a corner instead?
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[clinging to procedure because it's what he has, so here he is, a DI reporting to his DCI. That the circumstances were traumatic - that Gene is ignoring his death, ready to drown it in alcohol if it gets to be too aggravating, that Sam has had nightmares and wants Fumie to keep staying with him at night, in case the test card girl visits to taunt him over it - is irrelevant. Sam Tyler will wear the mask of professionalism, his own personal single malt to carry him through the pain]
I am not offering charity. I am a police officer, not a vigilante. It is my duty to collect evidence and make arrests. Unfortunately, the crime scene had to be interfered with for your revival, and the Master is beyond our jurisdiction. To take personal action against him would be unlawful and suicidal. A dead DI is of no use to anyone. [muttered, and perhaps less professional distant than resentful] And it wasn't a corner.
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[and Gene can't take the professionalism, he can't take the stoic, businesslike way in which Tyler addresses his death -- his DEATH -- as if it's nothing but another body on the street that some scumbag bastard brought about. like he's nothing, like he doesn't matter, like he isn't anything but his DCI and not a friend, even if Gene himself would never admit to being anything more than Tyler's Guv. he can't stand Sam's drink of choice and it shows when he stops moving, spinning Sam in his arms and yanking him close, face to face]
This isn't some poor bloke on the street you're talking about, Tyler. It's me, you little shit! I died and this is all you give me? I am not a bloody statistic, you hear me? I don't give a shit about protocol and jurisdiction! You should have been out there taking down my killer, Tyler! And I don't care if it was a corner or the bloody Vatican, you bleedin' sop, I deserve more than that!
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You think I treated this like any other stiff we find, Hunt? You think I lose sleep over every body? You think I sell myself for every dead idiot who picks a fight with the wrong bastard? I didn't just sit in a corner and sob! I got you back! What was I supposed to do? I can't fight him - I couldn't do anything against him, and I still can't, no matter how much I want to rip his arm out and hear him scream! I can't!
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Don't try to fight him again, you bloody idiot! [and he takes a swing at the Guv's gut]
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[and a swing and a miss, Tyler! note that Gene could care less you're all ready injured and retaliates by grabbing you by the hair and shoving you to the ground] I suggest you not try that again if you know what's good for you, Gladys. I do what I like, you got that?
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[tries to get out of the Guv's grip - gerroff me!] I can get help on my own. It's not that bad. [gives him a smirk] You're not worried, are you, Guv? I'm just being a girl about it.
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