realityshifted | (no subject)

Entry tags:

life on mars (d1) gene hunt

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[Nelson has long since closed the bar so the Guv is sitting at CID, on the wrong side of the Lost and Found table, the floor littered with beer cans and empty whisky bottles, a pile of used cigs crowding the table. for the most part, he's just got his head in his hands, but he does, on occasion, get up to pace, or punch the wall or, like this time, shove the table halfway across the room, spilling its surface contents across the floor when it overturns]

Fuck. Fuck. Bloody fucking hell!

[and proceeds to punch the wall some more in-between binge drinking]

[ooc: Ref: here]

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[walks in, because this is, after all, CID, and Sam pratically lives there. Innocent and unaware, Sam spots his Guv in distress, and stops just at the edge of the shelves, trying not to sound concerned - not because he wants to be nonchalant, but because he wants Gene to talk to him, and coming over sympathetic certainly doesn't help for that]

Guv.

[ooc; hope this is okay?]

[throws a chair into a stack of boxes, watching them tumble across the floor, then takes another drink, tossing the empty bottle into the mess. he dosen't look at Sam, standing with one hand on his waist, the other pressed to the wall as he leans heavily against it. his voice is slurred and rough with restrained emotion]

What do you want, Tyler?

[glances over the mess, a distinct frown on his face]

I could do for a treacle tart with custard, actually.

[dares to step further into the room, resting his hand against the wall]

[snorts, pushing away from the wall and turning to face Sam, hands in his pockets and a dark look on his face]

You inviting me out for a date, Dorothy? You Goddamn faerie.

You don't strike me as the treatle tart sort.

[curls his fingers in, and then presses that fist against the wall to push him off. He walks casually, idly, slowly, and he stops by the overturned table. His eyes flicker to Gene, gauging whether or not Gene would stop him, and then sets it back in place]

[watches Sam pick up the table, expression growing more and more sour the longer he's there] Then why bloody well say it? You're here for a reason, Tyler, so I suggest you stop playing at being the housewife and say what you want, or get the hell out.

Right then. [puts his hands down on the table, looking across to Gene] What the hell happened that's so bad you decided you had to get yourself hammered in the Lost and Found?

That's none of your Goddamn business.

Sure it is. What happened?

My mum got offed in the streets when some scum tried grabbing her bag at the grocer. Wait, wait, no. Some sodding plod drugged me and had her jolly way with me and left me high and dry. Either of those work for you, Gladys?

No, they don't. Try again.

[glares, fumbling at his jacket for another flask] You do not tell me what to do, Tyler. I am DCI here, not you, and I will bloody well not take lip from you, especially today. We understood?

No, we're not.

[has just about had it with you, Sam, and it shows because he's just grabbed you by the lapels and slammed you into the stacks, nose to nose] You are trying my patience, Tyler. Just what the hell do you want, you simpering little twit?

I want you to tell me the truth.

[lets him go, stepping back and lighting up another cig, turning away] No, you don't. Just let this one go, Tyler. Trust me.

I can't, Guv. You know I can't.

Then you're gonna have to find out some other way, Dorothy, because I'm not telling you. [takes another swig, then offers the flask to Sam, still not looking at him] What are you doing here, anyway?

[accepts it, clearly worried now, and takes a drink] I heard you. Heard the table, too.

[snorts] Don't you ever go home, Tyler, or do you only do that when some plod's pulled the wool over your eyes?

I like to think I'm very dedicated to my job. And I'm not tired. I already took a kip on the astral plane today.

[gives him a look, then shakes his head and downs the rest of his flask] Dedicated. Right. You're something else there, Gladys. Why don't you put that 'dedication' to use on something other than bugging the hell out of me?

[doesn't respond, just picking up the chairs and putting them back in place by the table, then nudging all the bottles and cans away with his foot. He sits, slumping forwards and sighing] I have to say, Guv, we are sorely missing you in interrogations. Well, CID is. Can't say the same for our suspects.

[watches him silently before taking a seat opposite him, leaning back in the chair] Then why don't you do something about it, Tyler? You were the ponce who kept calling 'regulations' and 'rights' and all that other bullshit. Think you'd prefer it without me.

[snorts, shaking his head] Then maybe I've just gotten used to something I shouldn't have. Lots of red tape, in, uh... [glances up, uncertain whether to say 'Hyde' or '2006'] ...where I'm from. You just can't do what we do here.

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