Gene Hunt stood in the middle of the cold empty street outside the Railway Arms pub. A chill of pain rushed through him. He was no stranger to this feeling. He was used to being alone.
Although he hadn't felt it for a while this time. He somehow had fooled himself that it would be different this time, and his team; Ray, Chris, Alex, and Shaz were staying for good. They had been through a lot together; far more than he had with anyone else.
But now they were gone, and he would never see them again.
He cleared his through awkwardly stopping tears from appearing in his tired eyes. Although nobody was around, he knew that he would feel like a right poof if he did let himself cry.
He always felt like this, so he didn't know why he should find it so hard.
But there was something about his most recent team that he hadn't felt with any previous teams. He felt a warmth and genuine love for them, rather than the simple feeling of duty that he felt for the others.
And as for Sam; that was the first time any lower police officer had spoken to him like that. Maybe now a days' police officers tended to have more lip and courage. It had certainly been proven similarly in Alex.
Gene smiled, remembering the old days when he was together with his team. All the good times they had together. It felt as if they were a proper family, like the kind that Gene hadn't had for years.
He was suddenly disturbed from his thoughts from a loud whooshing sound coming from the end of the street. He turned his body, squinting to try and work out where the sound was coming from. A few old sheets of news paper scuffled past his feet, and then the noise stopped.
Gene looked around, wondering if anyone else had heard the noise, and had come to see what it was. No luck. He was still alone; alone, and wondering if he'd finally gone mad, if he was now hearing strange noises.
He decided that he had been standing in the street staring at the pub for just a little too long, and turned to head back towards the police station; when just then, he heard voices coming from the end of the street. Gene turned abruptly, straining to hear what the voices were saying. He began walking slowly towards the source of the voices, feeling in his pocket for his gun, just in case he needed it. He caught some of the words being exchanged; there was a man and a woman, talking about the 80s as if they were on some sort of tour. The two people emerged into view, the man looking like some sort of homosexual tramp with a bowtie, and the woman looking like a modest prostitute, he decided. The man looked toward Gene, and exclaimed an "Ah!" sound and began walking towards him.
Gene raised his gun, as he always did when meeting strangers he was unsure about. He frowned, speaking to the man, "Where the bloody 'ell did you come from?"
The man replied, completely undeterred by the gun, "Oh just from my police box, but you don't have these anymore…shame…so you're probably wondering where it came from, but I should tell you not to worry because I am a police man and everything shall be alright, dear man, because I—"
Gene interrupted the man, feeling decidedly infuriated by what the man was saying, "What do mean, you're a police officer? You look more like a poof to me." Gene raised his gun higher, adjusting his grip, "And I never saw you before, so don't give me that bollocks."
The man laughed, "Well done. You're more clever than you look." He began circling Gene, "Now, if you'd care to put down that gun, I'll explain why I'm here."
Gene did so, but carefully keeping track of where he put it. "Alright then. Enlighten me."