Chapter Seven - Changes

Both men were silent, Gene with eyes closed and Scotch tilted to his mouth, Sam watching him. Sam didn't know how to feel; not only had he just come out and openly made a suggestive remark to his boss, his boss had started it. We've got a live one here. All these feelings he'd been hiding, ignoring and denying - could they possibly be reciprocated? This was too much. He had to clear his head.

'Off to take a leak,' he mumbled, stepping away from the table hard enough to rattle the glasses. He passed Nelson at the bar, looked into his face as though he may have some advice to give. Nelson looked back and nodded gently at him. What did that mean? Was it just a normal pleasantry or did he know what was going on? He wouldn't put it past him. Nelson took everything in and stored it all up quietly. Perceptive wasn't even the word. He scrutinised the man's eyes, looking for something else, more meaning. All he got was a slightly puzzled smile as he finally reached the end of the bar, and they passed out of each other's eyeline.

When he got to the loo, he went in to the single cubicle and banged the door shut behind him, locking it firmly. Nelson's toilets weren't the finest place to be but he kept them as clean as he could, and at least there was both toilet seat and door. He lowered the seat and sat down, elbows on knees and head in hands. He felt so confused. Maybe he was reading too much into this? He'd tried that argument with himself last week, too, but it had never been convincing. Surely there was no way that Gene was really flirting with him, though. He was the straightest, most traditionally and pig-headedly masculine man Sam had ever met. The kind of man who was almost extinct back home, and who Sam would never have been friends with in a million years. They didn't seem to agree on anything, from policing to politics, and yet here they were, thrown in together and making a good team. They had a fist fight at least every other week, then they went to the pub and spent hours drinking together with no more said about it. In all the other madness in his life, his relationship with Gene Hunt might be simultaneously the most solid and the most weird thing. And it had just got a lot weirder. And more exciting.

Gene felt gobsmacked, appalled at himself for getting into this situation. He wasn't a bender, he was the absolute pinnacle of masculinity. He liked boozing, and fighting, and fish suppers. He did not like other men. As often as he repeated this, though, he couldn't deny that the thought flashing in his mind, in red letters, was true.

I fancy Sam Tyler.

He had no idea what to do except pretend that nothing had happened, both to Tyler and to himself, if he could. In fact, bollocks to that, nothing had happened. Banter, that was all. And if they were both attaching more meaning to it than that, they could both pull themselves together. Separately. God, even that sounded like one of them double intenders. He took another drink, almost finishing the glass that Sam had just brought over.

He sat back in his chair again, feeling a bit punch drunk. And Scotch drunk, admittedly. He started to relax again. He still had it, then. The old magic. Appreciative looks from young women had been few and far between in recent times, but it turned out an appreciative look from a younger man could have the same cheering effect, even if it was more complicated. He was over-thinking, he knew he was. Better just to focus on the positives. He still had it.

Sam knew he'd been away for too long, and took a deep breath. Usually it was better to breathe shallowly, if at all, in the bogs, but needs must. He was a grown man, here, what the hell was he doing hiding in the toilets of a pub? This was stupid. Everything was fine. He had a bit of a crush on a man he respected, a man with an element of power and status, and he wasn't the first to have that experience. When your whole life was upside down, it was only to be expected that you would latch on to someone who was always so in control of himself. The complex feelings of desire would soon fade again and he'd have no idea why he'd have felt the need to hide in the toilets of the Railway Arms one Friday night. All he had to do was get through the next few weeks without sounding like something out of a Carry On film every time he had too much to drink ('I won't tell if you won't,' honestly...). He was up to the challenge. He'd had unrequited crushes before - not many, alright, but he knew how it went. Just wait it out. And start by going back to the table and acting like nothing had happened. He breathed out in a thin stream, gathering himself, then decided to use the facilities while he was in here. He slapped his hands on his bent knees, pushed himself up and went about his business. He washed up in the spotted sink before walking back out, consciously holding himself upright and allowing a certain swagger in his shoulders. He was calm, he was relaxed. Mind over matter. Finish up his drink and get home. No problem.

He felt a dismaying flutter of nerves as he got back to the table but tried to keep his face and movements calm. He couldn't quite face looking Gene in the eye just yet, but then they'd had enough eye contact in the past week to last them a month. He didn't say anything, just sat back down and took a sip of his whiskey. The Guv wasn't forthcoming with anything either, legendary wit or otherwise, and they sat in what felt like excruciating silence for a spell.

Gene's resolution to forget about the whole thing was over-ridden by his desire to break the silence. And to wind Tyler up, don't forget that.

'"I won't tell if you won't?"' he said, still looking straight ahead. He thought he could see Sam's face wince out of the corner of his eye.

'Just a joke, Guv. Just thought I'd try out some humour. Don't worry, I won't be doing it again.' He sipped at his drink, shoulders squared against the back of the chair.

'See that you don't. If anyone had heard you they'd have taken us for a couple of queers. I'd have had to beat them senseless before I could finish me drink.' He was only part joking. He knew the damage a rumour could do to a man's reputation. If he lost respect in this city he'd have trouble on his hands. Bad enough the time that harridan Jackie Queen had slated him over doing his job; if word went around that Gene Hunt was limp in the wrist things would be a lot worse than dirty looks.

'Nobody would believe that, would they though?' said Sam, with total conviction in his words. Gene was the last man anyone would suspect of the social crime of being gay.

Gene grunted a dry laugh. 'Spose not, eh? Catch me joining the Bender Brigade...' Sam hated to hear those words in the Guv's mouth , and not only because they offended his modern sensibilities. He had accepted this for what it was, a teenage crush ten years too late, but while he was still caught up in its throes he knew it would be painful to hear his secret feelings so dismissed and abused. Of course nothing would ever happen with Gene, but hearing those words was still enough to make his heart dip.

'Right. The uniform wouldn't suit you, anyway. I hear it's pink with gold braiding. It's supposed to be fabulous. ' He delivered this with a wry tone, hoping it sounded normal. He took a bigger drink from his glass, thinking that the sooner he could get home the sooner he'd feel relaxed again. The Guv surprised him by standing up, then, and he looked up. Gene must be thinking the same thing, that this evening was better left behind and never discussed again. Instead of pulling on his coat, though, he walked up to the bar without a word. Sam watched as he asked Nelson for a bottle from behind the counter. Yep, that was him getting ready for home alright. Not that the bottle would make it ten yards out of the pub without being opened and tasted. He was disappointed, annoyed at himself for letting these adolescent feelings ruin a perfectly good night in the pub. What a twonk.

Gene had a short conversation with Nelson, both men speaking in low tones, Nelson smiling in his open, disarming way. The Guv strolled back over again, holding the bottle casually by the neck and looking down at the carpet in front of him. As he got back, Sam shifted upright in his seat, preparing to stand up. He wasn't expecting Gene to sit down, but the man was full of surprises as ever and did just that, screwing the top off the Scotch in no short order. He didn't look at Sam until he'd filled both glasses, and he'd handed one over. Sam couldn't deny feeling a certain spreading warmth as he watched these grave proceedings. He hadn't ruined everything after all. Little miracles, everywhere.

Gene saw Sam looking questioningly at him, and gave him a steady look back. 'Well, if we're going to get pissed, we might as well get a bargain on it, eh? He sipped from his whiskey then, as if minutes before Sam hadn't been hiding in the toilets with his head in his hands, bemoaning his own misfiring hormones. Sam nodded, as though considering this point. 'Sounds alright to me Guv. Cheers.'

They touched glasses, this time minus the intense eye contact (saints be praised). There was more silence, but it had lost the edge. What a relief. Sam wondered what might be on the TV to keep them going in conversation through the rest of the evening. Nelson often put the the box on, muted, when it was quiet, to try and keep himself occupied. Sam looked up at the screen, proud as always at the sturdy brackets he'd constructed up there, and his face fell. Gene had noticed, and looked over first to get a good look at Sam's expression, then over to the screen. After a moment he started laughing.

'Speak of the devil, eh Sammy-boy?' he chuckled. Liberace was flouncing his way across the screen. The irony was too much for him and he threw back his head, laughing from his gut. Sam had to join in. This was beyond a joke. If the TV screens were going to start picking up his thoughts like this he was going to be in trouble. Still, it was undeniably funny, and as he laughed he felt almost giddy at the release of some more of the tension from earlier.

'Bloody Liberace,' said Gene, a little breathless and still grinning. 'All in pink, with gold braiding. You know your stuff anyway Gladys, I'll give you that.' Sam hadn't picked up this particular detail, and couldn't contain a groan as he leaned his face into the palm of his hand. This made Gene laugh again, and Sam gave him a rueful smile through his fingers.

'I don't suppose it would do any good to say I've never seen that outfit before in my life?'

'A likely story. Doesn't cut any mustard with me Tyler; I'm on to yer.' Sam closed his eyes and shook his head against his hand, rumpling up his short fringe as he did so. Gene watched him, his eyes soft. The night had gone a bit weird, just then, but they were back to normal now, and he had the upper hand. Just how he liked it. Both men drank their Scotch, continuing to watch the flamboyant performer and providing occasional commentary. When the film finished and David Dimbleby came on with his buttoned up shirt and improbably shiny hair, they lost interest and turned back to light conversation. Gene found himself angling his body in towards the table, jumping a little when their knees touched accidentally. Alright, so not back to normal then, but approaching it.

As Dimbleby gave over to the late news, Gene felt ready to head home. He was pleasantly drunk and tired after the long, dull week. 'Right Sammy-boy, time to call it a night.' It was a statement rather than a suggestion. If he was ready to go home then that was the night over, end of story. Sam seemed to be feeling equally tired anyway, since he stifled a yawn before draining his glass.

'Good idea Guv. Thank God it's Friday, eh?'

'What?'

'Nothing. Just a figure of speech.'

Gene sniffed at this, not seeming to be won over by the catchiness of the phrase. Sam put his empty back on the table and stood up slowly, stretching himself out as he did. His shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of flat midriff that Gene tried to ignore. The man was in good shape, anyone could see that. Couldn't blame a man for noticing that. What you could blame him for was wondering what it would be like to touch that bare strip of skin, what it would feel like for both of them. He wondered it anyway, behind his impassive expression. As he turned his eyes away, he saw Nelson looking in their direction. The barman gave him a knowing look, and Gene felt like he'd been caught staring at a barmaid's arse. He cleared his throat, looking away and picking up his coat. He swung it over his shoulders as Sam pulled on his own jacket, maneuvering much more elegantly that last time. He noted the man's slim hips as the jacket settled around them, the way the sleeves were just a little too long for his small frame. He glanced guiltily over at Nelson again, but he'd gone back to his book, obviously not a fan of either the news or the subtle floor show that Sam and Gene were unwittingly providing.

'You ready then?' Sam broke into the Guv's thoughts. He nodded, and they made their way to the door. The cold air outside sobered them both up a little. They stood away from the door, half facing each other and half facing their respective routes home.

'Right then Tyler. See you in the office tomorrow.' Another command rather than request. There was catching up to do this weekend.

'Bright eyed and bushy tailed, Guv,' Sam agreed, hands in his pockets to keep out the chill.

'Alright Squirrel Nutkin. Shouldn't imagine anyone else will be very bushy tailed even if you can manage it.' Sam rolled his eyes, not thrilled with yet another nickname.

'If Ray and Chris have got their way I should imagine they'll be more bushed than bushy tailed,' he said, hoping to end the night on a laugh. He got a chuckle.

'Cartwright too. If she's walking like John Wayne in the morning we'll know why.'

Sam felt a sudden surge of anger. 'I told you not to talk about her like that,' he said. His hands bunched in his pockets. He was too protective of Annie, he knew, but he couldn't help it. That casual way of demeaning women, God, it was so... well, so 1973. He hated it.
Gene knew he shouldn't have said it, hadn't really planned to, but he certainly wasn't going to apologise for a harmless remark like that.

'Or what, Tyler? You'll hit me with your handbag?' He kept his tone light, almost as though it were a genuine enquiry. Sam stayed silent, keeping his jaw clenched over any argumentative words. Gene wasn't so inclined.

'Maybe you should let Cartwright stand up for herself, eh? Or her new boyfriend, of course. I bet he's an uncomplicated kind of bloke. Tall, too.'

This was the final straw.

'Fuck you, Gene,' spat Sam, appalled at himself for saying it even as the words formed. He tried to turn and storm off, but he was caught firmly by the arm and spun round.

'What did you say?' growled the Guv, low and menacing.

'You heard me. Don't speak about her like that. Don't speak about her at all. And get your hands off me.' He pushed Gene's hand off his bicep, hard. He could still feel Gene's grip, knew he'd have faint bruises there in the morning.

'You are getting a bit too touchy, Tyler, you know that? Now I cut you a lot of slack around here...' - Sam scoffed in his face - '...but if I have to put you in your place, believe me, I will. I will take great delight in it, in fact.' Their faces were an inch apart. Gene had kept his tone low, trusting on his intimidating physical bulk and blazing eyes to keep Tyler down. He could feel the smaller man's breath on his face, they were so close. Tyler glared up at him, as he'd done dozens of times in the last few months, jaw clenched and body tense. Gene waited for the first blow to fall, ready to deflect it when it did. Tyler never could get the best of him, but it didn't stop him trying. He was ready for a good fight; Sam had been the source of some unwelcome brain activity today, and it seemed obvious now that he deserved a good kicking for it.

'Don't. Push me. Gene.' Sam snarled, teeth bared. The smell of beer and whiskey on his words mixed with the heady scent of leather, creating a cloud of desire around Gene's face. In that moment he felt drawn to close the gap between them in a way he'd never have dreamed of before, and suddenly shoved Sam away. Tyler came back swinging and caught Gene a glancing blow to the jaw; he'd moved just enough to miss the worst of the punch. Wasting no time, Gene threw an uppercut to Sam's tight gut, but was surprised by Sam leaning in to him and shoving back, forcing them both away from the pub and towards the darker alley alongside.

'Oh, it's like that, is it?' panted Gene, and secured a hold on Sam's lapels. He dragged him around and pushed him again, further towards the side street. 'Don't want anyone seeing me kick you to death?' He landed another shove as Tyler tried to get his footing and stormed forward, keeping himself within hitting distance and firing out another right hook that sent Sam sprawling on the pavement. He was up again in an instant and threw a wobbly punch at Gene's jaw. Gene dodged it easily, but wasn't ready for the jab that came in at rib height.

'Don't want anyone to see you humiliated. Guv.' It was shocking how much venom Sam could inject into that one word, when he wanted to, and it hurt Gene more than he'd ever admit to hear it. He tried to smack Tyler in the face, to shut his mouth, but Sam blocked him and got in another two powerful jabs that left him winded and on the back foot. He feinted to one side, drawing Sam's guard down, then stepped in again and landed a headbutt right on Tyler's nose. He felt a crunch, and a sharp stab of pain in his forehead. Tyler staggered back, hand to his face, gasping. For a moment Gene could only feel a savage delight; the roar of triumph that filled his ears was deafening. He felt the blood thumping in his veins and breathed deeply, relishing the feeling. He was a man alright, the biggest, baddest man in Manchester. He felt powerful, elated, and had a fleeting urge to pile back in and take his opponent down while he was defenceless. All this flooded through his brain in seconds, before reality returned and he was looking at Sam Tyler, wounded and bleeding.

'Shit,' he hissed, hurrying forward. Drops of blood landed on the ground in front of Sam, and he was swaying dangerously on his feet.

'Come on. Come on, Tyler.' He led Sam over to the wall and leaned him up against it. 'Let's have a look.' Sam didn't respond and Gene worried that he was going to pass out. He reached up and curled the tips of his fingers against the edge of Sam's palm.

'Come on,' he said again, in a gentle voice so different from the harsh tones of the minutes before. Tyler let his hand be taken away but still didn't look up. Bright drops continued to fall from his nose, faster now that his hands were out of the way. He was a mess, blood smeared across his face. His downturned eyes looked glassy. Shit, thought Gene again. He was ashamed of himself, feeling almost panicked by the damage he'd caused. He'd made Tyler bleed a bit before, OK, but no more than a graze on the cheekbone. This was bad.

'Tyler,' he said, wanting the man to look up, snap out of this daze. 'Sam.' He realised that he still had his hand around the other man's, and removed it, hesitating only briefly before using the index finger to tilt Sam's chin up. The touch seemed to rouse Tyler a bit, and his eyes moved and found Gene's own. Gene's usually indifferent gaze was concerned now, as he frowned at the damage he'd caused. 'Are you alright?'

This woke Sam further. 'Alright?' he asked groggily. 'You burst my nose, you lunatic bastard.' Gene was relieved to hear this banter, weakly delivered as it was. He searched in his pockets for a hanky, but to no avail. He wasn't really the kind of man that carried a handkerchief, but you never knew what you might find in the pockets of this coat.

'We better get you cleaned up. Come on,' he said, encouraging Sam away from the wall. He staggered on the first steps, and Gene stepped in and put his shoulder under Sam's, feeling the man's arm curl round instinctively until his left hand held Gene's shoulder. He ran his own arm round Sam's narrow waist.

They limped on a few paces, until Sam said, 'Now who's coming over all Dorothy?'

'You ungrateful sod, I'm trying to help!' Gene replied, with a good attempt at sounding offended.

'Ungrateful? You headbutted me!' His voice was muffled; the bleed had slowed but his nose had swollen already, making him sound ill.

'I know, I know. Come on, into the car.' He leaned Sam up against the Cortina as he unlocked it, then opened the door for him.

'The car?' Sam looked puzzled, his still slightly woozy face folding into a frown.

'Yes, Einstein, we need to get you cleaned up. Get in, will you?'

'But you've been drinking...'

'Yes and I would like to get back to that sooner rather than later, so if you don't mind, would you GET IN THE BLOODY CAR?!' He knew he had no business being angry with Sam but he'd been frightened there, and Gene Hunt was not a man to frighten easily.
Sam seemed to decide that he'd rather be home and cleaned up than standing here arguing, and eased himself into the passenger seat. Gene closed the door once he was in, as though he was escorting a lady, and whirled round to his own side, tugging his driving gloves on.
He was in the car and had it started in no time, setting off towards Sam's flat at breakneck speed.

'Jesus Guv, slow it down,' Sam complained, hand back at his face to inspect the damage there. Gene felt another flare of guilt when he saw this, but didn't slow the pace any. He wanted to get the blood cleaned away and get a look at Sam in the light to see how bad it was. Shit.

They got from the car to Sam's building without having to resort to a three-legged race, and Gene was very glad to see that Tyler's gait seemed to be back on an even keel. They stepped through the front door of the bedsit, Gene closing it behind him, and Sam shrugged off his jacket and went straight through to the bathroom. Gene followed, standing behind Sam as he dabbed the blood away with a flannel, wincing occasionally. As it cleared away, Gene could see that it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The bleeding had stopped and while Tyler's nose was swollen, it was the same shape as it had been before. Gene had seen (and caused) enough broken noses to know one when he saw it, and this didn't meet the criteria. Sam stopped his inspection of his face and looked at Gene in the cracked mirror.

'Happy now?' he asked sarcastically, holding the bloody cloth up. Gene was anything but happy; he hadn't meant this to happen, had got carried away with his own raging blood and beating heart. His heart gave a few extra thuds now as he looked back at Sam, and he shook his head.

'I'm sorry, Sam.'

Tyler looked surprised; he'd never imagined that the word 'sorry' was in his DCI's vocabulary. He watched as Gene's eyes travelled away from his face and down to his chest. For a moment he misread the Guv's intention and his heart stuttered, but when he looked down himself he saw the truth; there was blood on his shirt, staining a Rorschach pattern into the striped material.

'Jesus, do you know how hard that's going to be to get out?' he asked, irritably. He started to unbutton his shirt quickly, wanting to try and get the stain soaking. He didn't have much by way of wardrobe and he had no desire to take a trip to the shops, where there seemed to be every shade of brown known to man but not much else. He didn't notice Gene's eyes widen at the action, or the way he looked quickly up to the ceiling. He stripped off his shirt and bent forward to run water across the worst of the bloodstains. What were you supposed to do for blood? Pour white wine on it? Rub it with salt? He couldn't remember. He looked up, meaning to ask if Gene knew, and found himself locking eyes with the Guv in the mirror again. There was an expression in those eyes that Sam couldn't read. He looked sorry, yes, but was there something else behind that? His mouth was slightly open as he watched Sam in the mirror, and Sam felt a heat spread from his stomach downwards. He was suddenly aware of his topless state; the Guv hadn't even stopped to take his gloves off, and Sam was standing here half undressed. It was enough to ignite the banked fires of earlier, and he'd turned to Gene before he'd thought about it.

They stood facing each other, the silence heavy around them. Gene stepped forward, not as close as he'd been when he'd thrown that headbutt, but close enough. 'You're OK?' he asked, in a low voice. Sam couldn't answer, could hardly breathe. Was this really happening? He could feel a tingle in the air, all his instincts telling him that yes, it was real. He managed a tiny nod, feeling as dizzy as he had earlier, when the stars flashed in front of his eyes and he'd thought he was going to land flat on his back on the muddy gravel. Gene edged forward again. 'Sam?' His tone was still soft. For the second time tonight, he could feel Gene's breath on his face. He felt warm, too warm. He was stuck, one side of his mind telling him that he was about to kiss another man and the other telling him that he was delusional from knocks to the head, not to embarrass himself by making any moves. He stood, mouth open, eyes darting from one of Gene's to the other and back again, trying to find the green light he so desperately wanted.

When it happened, it was fast. Gene leaned in suddenly, paused with his top lip just brushing Sam's own. Sam gasped then, and the sensation jolted Gene into pressing their lips together in a firm kiss. It seemed to last for hours, before Gene closed his lips, then opened them again. Sam groaned in his throat, unable to help it. Their lips closed and opened again, and now he was definitely kissing back, pushing their faces even closer together and breathing in through his mouth as Gene breathed out. He could taste the Scotch, taste the metallic tang of cigarette smoke, and it was like his first kiss, all new sensations and thrills running across his skin. His bare skin, which trembled and twitched as Gene's gloved hand landed on his waist. He wanted to feel Gene's tongue with his own, take this moment of madness as far as he could before it was snatched away from him, and he pressed even closer. The movement brought his nose into firm contact with Gene's own and he yelped, jerking his head away sharply. The pain brought tears to his eyes, and he shut them, wincing.

He stayed that way until the pain had passed, holding a hand to his face, not wanting to look at the Guv after what had just happened. He didn't know what he'd see in those eyes, was frightened he'd find a look of anger or worse, disgust. Gene's hand remained resting on his waist, though, and he took the courage from this to finally stop delaying the inevitable. He opened his eyes to meet that steely gaze. It was guarded, but there was a shine to them that Tyler hadn't seen before.

'Thought you were gonna pass out on me again. Come on, let's get you sat down.' He finally took his hand away and stepped back to let Sam past. The bathroom was narrow, and as Sam squeezed by, Gene stopped him. They were stomach to stomach, temporarily increasing the flutters of excitement in Sam's gut. Gene leaned over and placed one soft kiss on Sam's mouth, resting there for a second, before edging his way back into the bathroom and freeing Sam to walk through the doorway.

Whatever else Sam knew, and right now that didn't feel like a lot, that kiss told him that everything was going to be just fine. Maybe even more than fine. He carried on into the main body of the flat, a grin starting to spread across his face.