realityshifted | (no subject)

Then don't abandon us now. If you leave CID... [hands in jacket pockets] So. Where are we going to talk?

I'm not leaving CID, Tyler. Not like you think. [gives him a dark look] Does it really matter?

It would be nice to know the destination, yeah.

You're a bloody piece of work, you know that? But I'm not having a 'chat' anywhere someone else can see me and I don't fancy getting stuck alone with you. The pub's fine. At least I can drown you out with the noise.

Gene.

What?

[flinches, but he looks down instead of snapping back and, softly, speaks]

You're not a murderer.

[stands very quietly for a very long time before pulling out a flask, uncorking it and holding it lightly in his hands as he stares off into space. after what seems an interminable amount of time, he takes a drink, back to Sam and voice rough] You've some interesting definitions of scum, Tyler.

Interesting or not, they don't include you. And I---I trust you, Guv. You're not that sort of man.

Do you now? [turns on his heel and walks right up to him, chest to chest, invading Sam's personal space and all but obliterating it] You trust me? Let's see you prove it, Dorothy. [and he clasps a hand on Sam' shoulder]

[Gene Hunt has a very distinctive scent. It's a strong scent, and it's the scent of death, now. In fact, it probably isn't any good for Sam's mental health to go face-to-face with it so soon, and he visibly shudders, a foot sliding backwards so he can turn and flee.

But he doesn't finish taking that step away. Oh, sure, he's terrified of Gene. He wants to run. But he's more afraid of the consequences of running, so he stays]

You know, Guv, if it was me doing this, you would've called me a faerie by now.

[snorts, stepping away and taking another drink before corking the flask and shoving it back in his pocket] You still are, so don't think it changes much, Gladys. [gives him a steady look] You're also a liar. You don't trust me. And you're right not to. So now either grab your jacket and get your arse to the pub with me, or I'll go get myself pissed without you.

[grabs his arms and yanks him back] I trust you, Gene. If you weren't being such a damned idiot, you'd see that.

[lets him go and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back] It's normal for individuals who have suffered extreme trauma to express an aversion towards those things associated with the trauma. Situation, people, scents, places... But I trust you with my life, Guv. Anything you want me to do to prove it, I will.

[you're being quite touchy-feely there, Sam, and Gene doesn't much appreciate it. also, well, you called him an idiot. he doesn't much appreciate that, either.] Running blindly ahead and being chummy with your murderer isn't trust, you ponce, it's being a git, and you need to see that.

[glares] You wanna prove you trust me? Drop this bullshit nonsense about 'chatting' and let me handle this the way I want, Tyler. When you're DCI, it's a different story, but for now, you can bloody well listen to me, got it?

You're not my murderer!

I strangled you in the backseat of the Cortina, Tyler! What the hell more evidence do you need? I'm bloody scum, twice over now, but this time it was against one of my own, against my own DI. Wake up, Tyler!

You're not responsible! It wasn't of your own free will, Guv! [runs his hands over his face and through his hair] Why can't you believe that? You're always telling me to trust my instincts---well, fine! I do trust my instincts, and they're telling me that you're not a fucking bastard murderer!

And mine are saying I don't deserve to be DCI anymore. Mine are saying I'm not better than Woolfe.

Harry Woolfe was running heists for years. He executed Dicky Fingers deliberately, premeditative murder. You were hypnotised by some bastard alien into doing something you would have never done in your life.

If you step down, who's supposed to be DCI? Me? The smell of CID makes me sick, Guv; I need you to help me get through this. I can do this, Guv, but not on my own.

[stares him down angrily, jaw set, then looks away.] Fuck. Just...fuck, Tyler, what am I supposed to do? CID makes you sick, you can't trust me -- you can't do your job if I'm around, you stupid git. And staring at my mug everyday isn't gonna help you get over the fact that you died. You don't bloody well hang around with the man that offed you, Tyler!

I've been doing pretty well avoiding the Masters, yeah.

You're wrong. I can and do trust you, and I can and will do my job. Nothing could help me more than being forced to face this, and you, Guv, are pretty much twisting my arm in that regard. I can't run away from it if you're here.

The Masters didn't kill you you nonce. [sighs, running a hand through his hair, then over his face. this is frustrating] Know what, Tyler? Fine. You trust me. If that's the case, we can cut this 'chatting' bullshit and go get ourselves right and fully pissed. Agreed?

Except that they did. It was the new one who did it, I know. And one of the Doctors is going to teach me how to fight hypnotism off.

You've spent the weekend getting drunk. Getting hammered isn't an healthy reponse to trauma, Guv.

Edited 2008-02-26 02:21 (UTC)

You don't know what you're bloody well talking about. [glares and takes another swig] I don't need a lecture from you, Gladys.

[nods to the flask] That's not going to help you. It's another type of cowardice. [because Mother Knows Best]