"Put that on my tab," he said it as he sat down next to Sam by the bar, addressing the bartender. Sad looking pint, which was just pitiful. He'd have expected no more on a week night with Sam, but he didn't have a job any more. Surely he could let loose a little? Of course not. Not Sam. At least not yet.
Barty decided to take them a bit further along the stages of grief, calling out to the bartender again. "Get us some whiskey. Decent stuff. And leave the bottle."
He turned now to look at Sam, expecting a not at all excited greeting, or to simply be told to fuck off right away. Not that he cared. "Cheers. It's been a while, dar-- Sam."
Right. Well. Now he was definitely entering a deeper part of the seven circles of hell. Though he wasn't sure he quite deserved this. Or, honestly, any of this. No job, no plan, potential death in a few years - if he got lucky - and now there was an ex boyfriend buying him a drink.
That spelled danger. What the fuck caused such a friendly visit.
"What did you hear then?"
The version of him being fired had varied so much, he'd gone from bloke with AIDS to dangerous horny gay nonce fucking in public. He reached out and took his beer, holding it up. "Cheers."
There's a bit of a smile as he pours whiskey for them both and then picks up one glass. he lifts it to clink against Sam's beer. "Cheers."
After taking his first sip, he leans back a little, eyes never leaving Sam. "Oh, I've been treated to a couple different versions by now. Let me tell you, the majority of them make you sound a lot more fun than I ever recall you being. Here you are, fucking perps against the bars and here I was, struggling to get you to have sex without your socks on."
At least when he let Sam think about things. When Sam got randy enough, there was a lot more lenience with all that rigidness.
"The apartment was fucking cold, you prat." He only fucked once with his socks on. Once. Maybe twice but to be fair, he had been fully dressed the second time. Sam took a long drink and wondered if Barty had come to commiserate or something, he wasn't sure, and he wasn't entirely sure he needed it. This was a set back but these things didn't last. The right thing always won out - that was just how life was.
"They did the right thing. It wasn't a firing, they asked me to leave and I did. It's safer for everyone until there's better options."
Having HIV was a bit of a safety risk and it was hurting his performance. "Sometimes, you have to make a hard decision to do the right thing."
"Yes. And sometimes you have to kick out the queer before there's a gay bashing inside the station." Barty lifted his glass again with that same smile. "Cheers!"
He knocked the whiskey back this time, only to set the glass down and refill it. He had a high tolerance for the stuff, Sam had been here a while, from the looks of it. He had to play catch up.
"How are you feeling, then? What do the doctors say?" His voice was a bit quieter now. Softer. He really did want to know.
"It wouldn't have happened. Not in my station. It's not as bad you think it is." Sam had been in fights in the station, had been smacked around the back of the head before but usually for being a prissy little prick. He'd never had a fight for being queer. Then again, he'd never been outed as queer before. He just didn't think they'd do it, not his lot. Maybe the higher ups but not his team, no chance. "People just want to think the worst of a cop."
He sipped his beer and eyed up the whiskey but he didn't want to go too hard. It was a work day. And yeah, he had no work but still. Drunk on a Thursday? Ridiculous.
"I'm feeling just fine, thanks. The rest is for me to know." No one else's business but his. "I'm not on deaths door. Yet."
"Your belief in authority in spite of all evidence is naive, admirable and deeply frustrating, as always. Good to know you never change." Barty rolled his eyes, never quite able to decide whether Sam's steadfast refusal to see the world as anything other than black and white was only frustrating or also endearing. "I've been called slurs by your precious troupe. I've been told to die of AIDS and go to hell, actually, among other things."
Unsurprising. "Drink some whiskey, Sam. It's going to be a long night, I'm not leaving you alone."
He knew he had no right to demand information, no right to be told anything. But he wanted to know. He wanted to take care of him, really, knowing he had even less of a right for that. However, he also knew Sam would never take care of himself, not really. So, yes. He wasn't leaving him alone.
"Not all of them throw slurs and the ones that do, I give them a damn good bollocking." They didn't get it before, the homophobia and how it impacts people, but he knew that some of his team didn't exactly like what had happened to him. Maybe he was just a lesson for them. Shit for him but maybe good for the greater UK public.
Sam took the whiskey and poured it into a beer, making a quick boilermaker and then sipping it slowly. Whatever got him through the night.
"You don't have to be around me just because things aren't going well right now. I don't need you." It was said simple and perhaps a little blunt but Sam didn't want Barty here out of some old sense of duty, trying to cheer him up. It wasn't his obligation and Sam didn't need it right now. "I'm doing alright, actually."
"Are you? That's a great load of bollocks then, isn't it?" Barty rolled his eyes as he shook his head and then poured himself another whiskey. With Sam around like this, he definitely needed it. "You know I'm not charitable, so why would I come to hang around you for that reason? I'm no good at cheering anyone up. Unless you need a good shag. That I could provide."
He wasn't sure whether that really fell under comforting. "If I was you, mate, I'd feel like shit. What are you even getting up for tomorrow? You're the only person I know who works more than I do. So what is it now? Are you just running around seeing if there's any civil arrests you can make? Old ladies to help over the street? Kittens to rescue from trees?"
Sam was a policeman. Barty knew that it was all he had ever wanted to be.
"Sam! Sam, you daft girl, you can't just leave the door like that." As he said that, Gene took full advantage of the state of the door by letting himself in, shaking his head. "I'm telling you, if some crook tries to press an advantage with you because of that dodgy door, you're on your own. Not my fault you like being damsel in distress."
He slammed the door shut behind him and walked into the flat, not as if there was much to walk into. Holding up a bag, he looked around for Sam. "I brought food. Aren't I a great mate? Say thank you. Where's your manners? Also, you got any beer?"
He was already halfway to the fridge, not willing to waste time on that. He was sacrificing his pub time for this.
"What? Wh--" Sam shot upright from where he'd fallen asleep on the floor by his TV, papers scattered all around him and the bed also had a ton of crap on it too. Newspapers, old qualifications, training courses, whatever else he could find to keep himself busy. Right now, he was in crisis mode and it was all hands to the deck. He had to make CVs, apply to every fucking job he could, do loads of application forms and hope for the best.
He hadn't meant to fall asleep on the floor doing an application for desk clerk but lately, he had been running on empty and kept crashing.
"It's rude to come into someone's place without knocking. And of course the fucking door is broken, you're the one who broke it." He slammed it down one day when he was late for work - fair enough, he had been cuffed to his bed but even so. "I think I have some beer... why?"
"For all you know, I knocked. You were snoozing on the floor, Sleeping Beauty." Gene threw the bag down near Sam and then opened the fridge to get himself a beer. He grabbed one for Sam too, because he was feeling generous. "I want the beer for the ambiance. Make it look nicer. What do you reckon why I want beer? Knobhead."
With that, Gene sat down on the thing Sam called his bed, holding a bottle out to him and opening his own with his teeth. "What are you up to, Samantha? Rough day?"
"Just applying to jobs and the like. Nothing overly special." Sam tried to save his poor applications from the grease of the chips and moved them all under the bed before Gene could see them and mock them. Which he would. Not just because it was probably stupid to apply to so many places but because he had disclosed 'HIV' on every single application.
The world couldn't be this unforgiving, right? He had to pay his bills, he needed cash. He'd fucking take anything at this rate but he was a qualified cop - why couldn't he do his job? It wasn't his fault he had HIV.
He eyed up his chips and felt sick just looking at them so he shoved them aside. "It's not a great day, I got a cracking migraine. I've had it for days now. I think it's the beautiful stress that's been dumped on my life like someone empty a bucket of shit all over it." So yeah, it was going bad. "You?"
He reached for the beer and opened it. Eh, whatever.
"There's your carbs then. Never say I don't take care of you." Gene watched with an approving nod as Sam opened his beer, figuring that at least went halfway toward taking care of him for the day. Not many other ways he could, not in the immediate now. "I've had a shitter day than you, you old misery. Sits on his arse all day and does nothing but complain."
He shook his head, then drank more beer. Damn, this was all such shit. "Usual day. Everyone's an idiot. Somehow they are worse without you around, go figure. I reckon they'll have to find another girl to cover their arses."
"I did at least 25 to 50% of everyone's job. Including yours. There's a lot to do to keep you off overtime." And only Sam was willing to put in those hours and then some. He was a happy workaholic and even now, he wanted to offer to do Gene's stuff for him but he knew he couldn't. It was against the rules. He drank his beer and wondered, idly, if the higher ups would regret firing him. At least in a small way.
"And don't mess up my filing system with your laziness. Took a year to get that going and I know you'll all bugger it up but try to keep it for at least a couple of weeks. For my sake." It was a large ask but he still asked.
"It's not like I'm having a picnic here. I'd trade any day. I'm bored shitless."
"Why don't you just have some fun? Hang out at a pub, watch some footie. Unclench for once in your life." Obviously that was not going to happen. Gene knew that. He knew Sam. Didn't make it any easier to help that stubborn bastard. "Anyway, be happy you are missing out on all that shit going down at work. Some idiots messed up the filing system."
So, yes. That had not lasted long. "And that lawyer bloke keeps stirring up trouble. The one you knew with the poncey name."
"I got to focus on the job." Besides, he kept getting weird turns lately. Feeling chills or aches, migraines that wouldn't go and now he was having lesions. His doctor said to worry about lesions and he did but he didn't really want to go back to the doctor. Judgemental fucker.
At the mention of a poncy lawyer, Sam knew who it was right away. "Bartemius?" Of course. Had to be. "What's he going after you lot for? You doing more entrapment because I warned you. It's not legal. It never stands in court."
Barty rapped his knuckles against Sam's door, eyeing that busted lock critically. All right. Clearly someone didn't mind a break-in. Still, he stayed outside for now, leaning against the doorframe.
"Sam? Sam, are you going to let me in or do I have to let myself in?"
He was worried for him, of course he was. He knew what state he had to be in and he understood him well enough to know that he had to be making things even harder on himself, being an idiot who didn't take care of himself. Sam mattered to him. Mattered more than he truly liked admitting to himself.
"The door is technically open. You can just come in." Sam pointed out as he lay on his bed. At fucking 12.54pm on a weekday. His life was shit but he was also feeling like shit so he felt it was justifiable. His apartment was cold and all he wanted to do was hibernate for the winter and hopefully wake up in spring to an AIDs cure and a new job as a policemen.
As Barty opened the door, Sam yawned and squinted tiredly at him.
"You could have called ahead." He was in his boxers and a vest - not exactly a meeting people outfit but he had become so used to Gene bursting in that he no longer felt embarrassed by it. Though it was embarrassing with Barty, to know he would likely judge him for his inactive ways. Or, at least, that's what Sam thought.
"Does your phone even work? Anyway, I didn't have time to call ahead." It had been a busy workday for him so far, so he was still in his suit. Looking proper, the way he always did for work, there was not much room for experimenting with that, being a lawyer. At least he didn't have to wear the damn wig outside the courtroom and at least he got to express his sense of fashion with a sharper cut of suit and much more interesting colours than most of his colleagues, so there was that.
He set down the bag he had brought with him, the smell of Chinese food filling the tiny flat. Better than the stale smell of damp filling it now. "I stopped by that Szechuan place you like. If you don't eat at least a little bit, I'll make you eat."
He looked around for a clean surface to sit on, then began tidying up to create such a surface. "I like your outfit."
"Very funny." Sam got up and grabbed his shirt from the bottom of the bed, pulling it on over his vest and starting to button it up slowly as he looked at Barty. He must have been at work all day, probably taking time out to come here, like an idiot. What was he doing? He could be using his lunch break for better things if he'd just stayed in the office.
He supposed the urge to pity his ex had beaten out all other feelings. Sam finished doing up his shirt and got up, pulling his slacks on so he was presentable for Barty being here.
"I'm not hungry." Food lately just seemed to make him nauseous. Or maybe he was already nauseous. Hard to tell. "Move the stuff off the chairs, it's just documents and stuff." Applications, qualifications and some unopened mail. Lots of NHS letters still unopened.
"Of course you are not hungry. You are sick. You are supposed to make yourself eat regardless, that's how it goes." Cleaning the desk off goes quickly enough, even as he sorted it all into appropriate files. He knew how to stay organised, it was one of the many things him and Sam have in common. Barty set out the cartons of food, opening them up so Sam could decide which one looked the most possible for him to eat.
"Wow, Sam. Your new pen pal is really eager." He gestured to that stack of NHS letters, raising his eyebrows. "If you want to die so quickly, why don't you just borrow a gun from someone?"
Maybe he could get him to accept help by being blunt like this.
"Oh, they're just reminder letters. It's not really a big deal." Besides, all they'd do is chuck pills they had no clue would help at him and then whack him in some AIDs ward or something. He'd rather his mother didn't have the stigma of that sort of death on her mind. He thought ignoring the doctor might be better for his reputation.
He sat at the table and opened one of the letters in front of Barty, eyeing it up before showing Barty. "It's just check ups. They want to scan and look and prod. They don't know how to treat it and they don't really want to anyway. You can tell. So why waste your time?"
Balling it up with one hand, he tossed it into the trash before he took some chopsticks and cracked them open.
"Not all doctors are like that. But, I know. You don't want to hear that. No reasonable discussion of your issues." There were injuries on Sam's skin. Barty knew how bad a sign this was. It made him angry in a way he didn't like. It made him concerned. He wasn't used to that feeling and he didn't care for it. Sam might not have wanted him in his life any more, but he still mattered to Barty. More than anyone else, perhaps. He wasn't simply going to let him die the way he seemed so determined to.
"Let's discuss other things then." He was glad to at least see Sam grab the chopsticks. He followed suit, watching Sam to make sure he'd actually eat. "Why did you tell your knobhead partner that we fucked?"
Sam had to laugh, it was hard not to. He smiled at Barty and used his chopsticks to play with instead of eat. He mostly tried to line them up at the break and make it look like they had never broken. "It was really funny. I don't have a lot of fun lately. His face. He asked me how much you're a pull."
Linda from accounting, eat your heart out. The gays had Barty Crouch Jr.
"It got sad and I didn't want Gene to really have to get into it and deal with what's happening to me so I distracted him with something more his speed." Well, he did like a bit of gossip. "They may as well know we fucked."
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Barty decided to take them a bit further along the stages of grief, calling out to the bartender again. "Get us some whiskey. Decent stuff. And leave the bottle."
He turned now to look at Sam, expecting a not at all excited greeting, or to simply be told to fuck off right away. Not that he cared. "Cheers. It's been a while, dar-- Sam."
There, he'd caught himself.
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That spelled danger. What the fuck caused such a friendly visit.
"What did you hear then?"
The version of him being fired had varied so much, he'd gone from bloke with AIDS to dangerous horny gay nonce fucking in public. He reached out and took his beer, holding it up. "Cheers."
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After taking his first sip, he leans back a little, eyes never leaving Sam. "Oh, I've been treated to a couple different versions by now. Let me tell you, the majority of them make you sound a lot more fun than I ever recall you being. Here you are, fucking perps against the bars and here I was, struggling to get you to have sex without your socks on."
At least when he let Sam think about things. When Sam got randy enough, there was a lot more lenience with all that rigidness.
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"They did the right thing. It wasn't a firing, they asked me to leave and I did. It's safer for everyone until there's better options."
Having HIV was a bit of a safety risk and it was hurting his performance. "Sometimes, you have to make a hard decision to do the right thing."
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He knocked the whiskey back this time, only to set the glass down and refill it. He had a high tolerance for the stuff, Sam had been here a while, from the looks of it. He had to play catch up.
"How are you feeling, then? What do the doctors say?" His voice was a bit quieter now. Softer. He really did want to know.
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He sipped his beer and eyed up the whiskey but he didn't want to go too hard. It was a work day. And yeah, he had no work but still. Drunk on a Thursday? Ridiculous.
"I'm feeling just fine, thanks. The rest is for me to know." No one else's business but his. "I'm not on deaths door. Yet."
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Unsurprising. "Drink some whiskey, Sam. It's going to be a long night, I'm not leaving you alone."
He knew he had no right to demand information, no right to be told anything. But he wanted to know. He wanted to take care of him, really, knowing he had even less of a right for that. However, he also knew Sam would never take care of himself, not really. So, yes. He wasn't leaving him alone.
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Sam took the whiskey and poured it into a beer, making a quick boilermaker and then sipping it slowly. Whatever got him through the night.
"You don't have to be around me just because things aren't going well right now. I don't need you." It was said simple and perhaps a little blunt but Sam didn't want Barty here out of some old sense of duty, trying to cheer him up. It wasn't his obligation and Sam didn't need it right now. "I'm doing alright, actually."
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He wasn't sure whether that really fell under comforting. "If I was you, mate, I'd feel like shit. What are you even getting up for tomorrow? You're the only person I know who works more than I do. So what is it now? Are you just running around seeing if there's any civil arrests you can make? Old ladies to help over the street? Kittens to rescue from trees?"
Sam was a policeman. Barty knew that it was all he had ever wanted to be.
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He slammed the door shut behind him and walked into the flat, not as if there was much to walk into. Holding up a bag, he looked around for Sam. "I brought food. Aren't I a great mate? Say thank you. Where's your manners? Also, you got any beer?"
He was already halfway to the fridge, not willing to waste time on that. He was sacrificing his pub time for this.
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He hadn't meant to fall asleep on the floor doing an application for desk clerk but lately, he had been running on empty and kept crashing.
"It's rude to come into someone's place without knocking. And of course the fucking door is broken, you're the one who broke it." He slammed it down one day when he was late for work - fair enough, he had been cuffed to his bed but even so. "I think I have some beer... why?"
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With that, Gene sat down on the thing Sam called his bed, holding a bottle out to him and opening his own with his teeth. "What are you up to, Samantha? Rough day?"
He looked rough. Damn.
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The world couldn't be this unforgiving, right? He had to pay his bills, he needed cash. He'd fucking take anything at this rate but he was a qualified cop - why couldn't he do his job? It wasn't his fault he had HIV.
He eyed up his chips and felt sick just looking at them so he shoved them aside. "It's not a great day, I got a cracking migraine. I've had it for days now. I think it's the beautiful stress that's been dumped on my life like someone empty a bucket of shit all over it." So yeah, it was going bad. "You?"
He reached for the beer and opened it. Eh, whatever.
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He shook his head, then drank more beer. Damn, this was all such shit. "Usual day. Everyone's an idiot. Somehow they are worse without you around, go figure. I reckon they'll have to find another girl to cover their arses."
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"And don't mess up my filing system with your laziness. Took a year to get that going and I know you'll all bugger it up but try to keep it for at least a couple of weeks. For my sake." It was a large ask but he still asked.
"It's not like I'm having a picnic here. I'd trade any day. I'm bored shitless."
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So, yes. That had not lasted long. "And that lawyer bloke keeps stirring up trouble. The one you knew with the poncey name."
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At the mention of a poncy lawyer, Sam knew who it was right away. "Bartemius?" Of course. Had to be. "What's he going after you lot for? You doing more entrapment because I warned you. It's not legal. It never stands in court."
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"Sam? Sam, are you going to let me in or do I have to let myself in?"
He was worried for him, of course he was. He knew what state he had to be in and he understood him well enough to know that he had to be making things even harder on himself, being an idiot who didn't take care of himself. Sam mattered to him. Mattered more than he truly liked admitting to himself.
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As Barty opened the door, Sam yawned and squinted tiredly at him.
"You could have called ahead." He was in his boxers and a vest - not exactly a meeting people outfit but he had become so used to Gene bursting in that he no longer felt embarrassed by it. Though it was embarrassing with Barty, to know he would likely judge him for his inactive ways. Or, at least, that's what Sam thought.
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He set down the bag he had brought with him, the smell of Chinese food filling the tiny flat. Better than the stale smell of damp filling it now. "I stopped by that Szechuan place you like. If you don't eat at least a little bit, I'll make you eat."
He looked around for a clean surface to sit on, then began tidying up to create such a surface. "I like your outfit."
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He supposed the urge to pity his ex had beaten out all other feelings. Sam finished doing up his shirt and got up, pulling his slacks on so he was presentable for Barty being here.
"I'm not hungry." Food lately just seemed to make him nauseous. Or maybe he was already nauseous. Hard to tell. "Move the stuff off the chairs, it's just documents and stuff." Applications, qualifications and some unopened mail. Lots of NHS letters still unopened.
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"Wow, Sam. Your new pen pal is really eager." He gestured to that stack of NHS letters, raising his eyebrows. "If you want to die so quickly, why don't you just borrow a gun from someone?"
Maybe he could get him to accept help by being blunt like this.
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He sat at the table and opened one of the letters in front of Barty, eyeing it up before showing Barty. "It's just check ups. They want to scan and look and prod. They don't know how to treat it and they don't really want to anyway. You can tell. So why waste your time?"
Balling it up with one hand, he tossed it into the trash before he took some chopsticks and cracked them open.
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"Let's discuss other things then." He was glad to at least see Sam grab the chopsticks. He followed suit, watching Sam to make sure he'd actually eat. "Why did you tell your knobhead partner that we fucked?"
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Linda from accounting, eat your heart out. The gays had Barty Crouch Jr.
"It got sad and I didn't want Gene to really have to get into it and deal with what's happening to me so I distracted him with something more his speed." Well, he did like a bit of gossip. "They may as well know we fucked."
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