Main characters: Sam, Gene (not paired)

Summary: When Sam is accused of murder and targeted by a brash DCI, Gene has to make sure Sam survives. Sam and Gene have to work together to find the real killer before it's too late for Sam.

Warnings: Some violence, murdery-type things, Sam whumpage, etc.

This story is part of the Life on Mars Big Bang at livejournal.

I will be posting a chapter every day or every other day, as the story is finished. :)

Evidence and Instinct

Part One

Sam was clearly nervous as he shuffled into lost and found, flanked by DCI Gore and DS Babbin. His eyes met Gene's, and he flinched, immediately avoiding his DCI's incredulous stare.

Why did you do it, Sam? Gene wondered as he studied his DI. What possessed you to throw everything away? What on earth made you angry enough to kill?

Gore grabbed Sam by the arm and roughly shoved him down into the solitary chair on the other side of the table from Gene. Sam grunted, but went quickly quiet, staring down at his booted feet. He had been so defiant earlier, so insistent of his innocence. Was he giving up the ruse? Or—dare Gene hope it—was he tired of the truth being ignored? Despite all the evidence pointing so firmly in his direction, was Sam Tyler innocent of the murder of Robert Boardman?

Gore moved to stand beside Gene, while Babbin hovered near the door, looking as ridiculous and stupid as he always had. Gene didn't like them, either of them—not Gore with his overweening arrogance and not Babbin with his glaring idiocy. But they were apparently better coppers than they let on. They had solved this case... it would seem.

"Sam."

Sam lifted his head and met Gene's eyes, and some of the defiance was back. "Guv?"

Gene's heart clenched painfully. He ignored it. "I want—I want you to tell me what happened the night of April 11."

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away, his eyes suddenly glistening. "What is there to tell, Guv? You've already made up your mind about me. You already think I did it."

"The evidence tells me that you did," Gene replied quietly. Why was his voice sticking in his throat? Why was his stomach twisting in knots?

"The evidence." Sam met his eyes again, his mouth curved in a wry smile. "The evidence gathered by these two thugs you don't even like."

"Oi!" Gore started toward Sam, but Gene held up a restraining hand.

"The evidence that I myself have seen. The evidence that Ray and Chris and Cartwright helped process," Gene bit out, growing impatient with his accused DI.

Sam tilted his head sideways, studying Gene with eyes that were alarmingly bright with tears. "The evidence tells you that I'm guilty. But what about your famous gut instinct, Guv? What does that tell you?"

Gene swallowed hard. His throat was tight for some reason. Maybe because Sam was right. His instinct did contradict the evidence. His instinct was screaming Sam didn't do this! Sam wouldn't do this! This is Sam! But he shook his head. "Just tell me what happened."

Sam chewed on his lower lip for a moment, looking sideways at Gene. Then he sighed. "Alright. I'll tell you."

Gene could feel Gore and Babbin leaning in closer.

Sam lifted his chin in that stubborn little gesture Gene was becoming used to. "On the night of April 11, I was in my flat, attempting to cook some chicken on that cheap little stove. I burned it. Smelled awful. I wasn't feeling well. I had a headache, so I went to bed early. And then-" He stopped and looked away, looked back down at his feet.

"And then what, Sammy?" Gene asked, inwardly pleading for Sam to say something, anything that would clear his name.

Sam looked up, straight into his Guv's eyes. "Then I went to sleep. Had some weird dreams." He shrugged, the motion weary and resigned. "And that's it. That's all."

"You're lying!" Gore burst out, darting around the desk. "You didn't sleep at all that night. You were too busy with murder, you bloody bastard!" With that, he drew back his arm and struck Sam's cheek hard with the back of his hand.

Sam's head snapped back, and he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Oi!" Gene leaped to his feet, instinctively coming to the defense of his DI.

"Back off, Hunt." Gore held up a hand. There was a nasty light in his eyes that Gene didn't like. "Don't say you haven't done the same. This man is a traitor and a killer. He deserves worse."

Gene swallowed, biting down his protests. What Gore said made sense... If Sam were a killer. He looked at Sam, studying the younger man's face, wincing in sympathy at the angry red welt rising on Sam's cheekbone.

"Guv," Sam said hoarsely. He swallowed visibly. "Please listen to me. I didn't do this."

"Your tricks won't work on us, Tyler," Gore growled. "Babbin." He motioned to his DS. "Lend me a hand. We're going to make sure Tyler tells us the whole truth."

"I just—I just did!" Sam protested.

Gene could only watch in horror, his stomach sickening, as big, lumbering Babbin moved to Sam's side, then reached down and yanked the DI to his feet. He closed his eyes for a second, wishing to God he didn't have to see this—and wishing even harder that the events leading up to it had never happened. He wanted so badly to intervene, to get Sam out of there, to find out—without a shadow of a doubt—that Sam was innocent. Instead, he stood watching as Babbin jerked Sam's arms behind him, holding him still as Gore circled him.

"You've been at Manchester CID for a while now, Tyler," Gore said, flexing his fingers. He stopped walking and stood toe to toe with Sam, looking down at the smaller man with apparent disgust. "You know how this works."

"Yes. I know how this works," Sam replied, his voice saturated with sarcasm.

Gene sighed. Don't provoke him, Sam. Tamp down that smugness. It's not gonna help you now.

And Gene was right. It didn't.

Gore snarled and drove his fist into Sam's stomach. Sam choked out a gasp and bent forward, but Babbin chuckled and held him upright.

Gore laughed and watched with interest as Sam managed to regain his breath. As soon as the DI's breath was back, Gore punched it out of him again. And repeated the process a third time.

Gene suffered a distinct urge to vomit. When Gore drew back his fist a fourth time, he stepped forward and held out a hand. "Eh! Gore! We don't want to kill him."

Gore turned to look at Gene with surprise and a touch of distaste. "He'll be fine. It's not like you've never roughed up a suspect before, right, Hunt?"

"Guv-" Sam croaked, lifting his head.

"Shut up!" Gore backhanded Sam again, grinning as he did so.

Gene didn't like that grin.

"If you open your mouth again, the only thing I want coming out of it is a confession!" Gore snapped. He nodded to Babbin, and the big man let go of Sam.

Sam dropped to the floor on all fours, panting. His elbows were shaking, his back heaving as he struggled to breathe.

Gene's chest tightened as he watched his DI suffer. He wanted so badly to rush to Sam's side, pick him up off the floor and drag him out of there, take him somewhere safe. But Sam deserved this, didn't he? Sam had killed someone, murdered an innocent man...

"Tell me why you killed Robert Boardman," Gore demanded, squatting down beside Sam.

Sam shook his head, then looked up to meet Gore's gaze. "I can't tell you," he gasped out. "I can't tell you because I didn't do it." His voice was fervent, insistent.

Honest.

Gene's eyebrows rose. He had never heard a man sound more honest. He ran the facts of the case viciously through his mind, searching for something, anything to prove Sam's innocence.

"Liar!" Gore shouted. He drew back a foot and kicked Sam hard in the side.

Sam gave a cry of pain and collapsed to the floor. "Guv, please," he moaned, clutching his stomach and looking to Gene.

Gene found he couldn't meet Sam's pleading eyes. "Gore-"

The other officer ignored Gene and kicked Sam again. Babbin followed suit, smashing his foot into Sam's ribs.

"That's enough!" Gene barked.

Sam curled into a ball at Gore's feet. "Guv," he croaked out.

Gene felt as if a hand had reached into his chest and tore at his heart. "Gore, Babbin. Stop it!" he roared.

Gore froze, his foot poised inches from Sam's head. He narrowed his eyes on Gene. "Protecting your little pet, Hunt? Are you blind, man? He's a killer!"

Ignoring the conversation, Babbin chuckled to himself and lashed out at Sam's back, eliciting a muffled groan from the DI.

"Stop it, you bloody oaf!" Gene shouted, rushing around the desk. He didn't care that Babbin had a couple of inches and thirty pounds of sheer muscle on him. He had to stop the man before Sam was hurt any worse. He reached out and caught hold of Babbin's meaty arm. "If you don't stop kickin' my DI, I swear by all that's holy and some that's not that you will be wearing prosthetic limbs from now until the hereafter. Is that clear?"

Babbin sneered at him for a moment, but must have seen the seriousness in Gene's eyes. He blinked, a look of fright touching his own dull brown eyes. Silently, he took a step back from Sam, yanking his arm from Gene's grasp.

"Now. That's better," Gene spat. He turned to Gore, who was watching him warily. "This way isn't working. He hasn't confessed."

"That's because we haven't tried hard enough yet," Gore argued. He reached down and grabbed Sam by the collar, yanking Sam to his feet. The DI staggered and nearly fell into Gore. Gore spun him around and shoved him up against the wall.

Hot anger flooded Gene's body and soul."Gore, let him go." His voice emerged low and dangerous.

"He's guilty, Hunt," Gore insisted, staring at Sam with a hatred that shocked Gene. "Guilty!" He slammed Sam against the wall.

Sam winced, but didn't make a sound this time, didn't plead for his Guv's help.

He's given up, Gene thought with a twinge. He took a step toward Gore.

"This is my case as well as yours, Hunt," Gore snapped at him over his shoulder. "I can do as I like." He rammed his knee upward into Sam's gut, then let the DI fall.

Sam collapsed to his knees, arms wrapped around himself as he gasped and choked.

Gore moved to stand behind him, then kicked Sam hard in the back, knocking him to the ground.

Gene momentarily considered murder himself. Murder of Gore.

"You get in my way, Hunt, and I'll have you arrested, too," Gore threatened. "For obstruction of justice." He smiled coldly. "It would be rather fitting, wouldn't it? I've never really liked you. And I like your DI even less." He looked down to where Sam was dragging himself across the ground, dragging himself toward Gene.

It took all of Gene's self control to keep from scooping Sam up in his arms and carrying him out of there. But he knew that he had to be rational. Had to stay calm. Had to think like Sam. Otherwise, they'd all be in trouble. And locked up in a cell, he'd be of no use to his battered DI.

Rational, Hunt. Be rational. Think-

"Gene."

The broken, painful voice saying his name violently interrupted Gene's thoughts.

"Sam." He knelt in front of his DI, who had made it to him, who was lying at his feet.

"Hunt-" Gore started.

"Shut up!" Gene shouted. Swearing ferociously, he stood and crossed the room, giving Gore a satisfyingly hard shove that knocked him back against the door. "And stay back, for heaven's sake!" He turned all of his attention to Sam, hurrying back to the beaten man's side. "Sam, are you gonna make it?"

Sam ignored the question, forcing himself up off the floor, lifting himself painfully into a kneel. He met Gene's eyes unwaveringly. "I didn't do it, Gene."

And Gene instantly believed him. Sam swayed, and Gene reached out to steady him. He gave him a quick, reassuring smile, then glared past him at Gore. "Afton Gore, I am placing Sam Tyler under house arrest."

Gore blinked, still rubbing his chest where Gene had shoved him. "Excuse me? What?"

"You heard me, you tosser," Gene shot back. "I'm placing him under house arrest. I can't leave him here at the station for fear of police brutality." He spat out the words. "I'll be putting him under my watch and under the watch of my people. I've seen tonight that I can't trust you and yours."

Gore's jaw dropped. He worked his lips as if to say something, then thought better of it and quickly shut them. He nodded shortly.

"Does that mean we can go home?" Babbin asked from the corner, yawning.

Gene resisted the urge to stamp the man out of existence, thus saving the world from his overpowering stupidity. "Yes. Fine. Go home if you like. Just don't trouble me with any more of your crap."

"I feel sick, Guv," Sam said quietly, pressing his hands to his stomach.

"I know, Sammy. I know. Just hang in there," Gene told him quietly. He realized, with a wince, that his hands were the only things holding Sam up. He looked up at Gore, rage seething through his veins. "I want you to get out of my sight. I don't want to see you again tonight. And I don't want you running and reporting me to our superiors, neither."

"But-" Gore started unwisely.

"But nothin'," Gene snapped. "You've naught to report. I'm placing a murder suspect under house arrest. You can't criticize that. Now go. Get out."

"But-"

"Get OUT!" Gene's shout echoed through lost and found and could probably be heard throughout CID.

Gore scuttled out of the room, and Babbin followed, seeming as lost and foolish as he usually did.

Gene sighed and turned his attention back to his DI. "Now, Sam-"

Sam lurched forward and started heaving.

Gene turned his head, wincing as he listened to the younger man vomit.

"'M sorry," Sam muttered when he was finished puking up his dinner. "I'll clean it up, Guv."

"Oh, shut it, Gladys. Yer not in any shape to be cleanin'."

Sam simply nodded, and Gene felt a twinge of worry. The lad must have taken a heavy beating indeed to have all the defiance and sarcasm knocked out of him.

The door to lost and found swung open, and Annie, Chris and Ray came rushing in, practically tripping

over each other.

"Guv, what—what's happening?" Annie burst out, sounding near to tears.

"Nothin' we can't solve, Cartwright."

"You okay, Boss?" Chris asked Sam, taking a step further into the room.

Sam didn't reply or meet Chris's worried gaze. He merely nodded, shoulders hunched, tremors racking his body.

"Was it that thug Gore or that moron Babbin?" Ray asked darkly. "Want me to punch 'em up, Guv?"

"Not yet, Raymondo, but soon," Gene assured him. "For now, I need someone to go fetch us a plonk to clean up this mess. Christopher, that someone is you."

"Yes, Guv." Chris hurried to obey.

Annie came to kneel beside her DI and DCI. "What's going on, Guv?" she asked quietly, eyes wide and scared.

"Tyler's been accused of murder," Gene told her wearily. "And Gore and Babbin just tried to beat a confession out of him."

Annie frowned. "But—but... Sam would never, Guv. He would never-"

"I know," Gene cut her off, not wanting to deal with this right now. He looked to his DS. "Ray, come help me get him to his feet."

"Yes, Guv."

Gene and Ray supported Sam on either side and lifted him to his feet. The DI's breath hitched, and he manfully bit back a cry of pain. "You're okay, Sam," Gene told him. "We'll get you home."

"Home? What's going on, Guv?" Ray asked, frowning.

"I'm placing him under house arrest," Gene explained quickly. "At my house."

"Your house?" Annie asked incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious," Gene snapped. "Sam is innocent. I won't have them beating him to death."

"Then why didn't you stop them the first time they tried?" she asked hotly.

Gene glared at her, but he was really mad at himself—mad that he hadn't stopped them, mad that he hadn't believed Sam at first.

"'S okay," Sam breathed shakily, lifting his head with apparent effort to smile at Annie. "The Guv waded in and saved me in time."

Gene hoped to God it was in time. Sam was in no good shape. Not at all.

"Oh, Sam." Annie gently touched the DI's face. "You're burnin' up. What can we do to make you feel better?"

"We can get him to my house, for starters," Gene interrupted gruffly, uncomfortable with the sudden sappiness. "Ray, help me get him to the Cortina."