Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, Kudos does. Or maybe the Beeb. Possibly they've even let the boys at Monastic retain some ownership. Dunno. But they're not mine.
A/N: I'm not at home to the Angst Bunny, so this Gene is fractionally more in touch with his happier, carefree LoM self. Trumper's did have a Mr Park and a Mr Conway who would have been there in the 80s, but the names are the only conscious similarity. Dedicated to the ladies in the Naughty Corner at TRA and DY, who wrote about a very different Alex.
A thousand thanks to Lucida Bright for encouragement, being a superb Beta and threatening dire consequences unless I posted it. If you like it, I'll take the credit. If you don't, she's having the blame...
xxxx
1. Cutting a Dash
Gene Hunt was not a happy man.
Some people have been described as lighting up a room by their mere presence. At the moment, Alex thought, the only hope Gene had of lighting up a room was if he put a match to it. The scowl was intractable, the folded arms impenetrable.
"If this joker doesn't get a bloody move on I'll have him for wasting police time," he muttered.
"He's hardly to blame for the traffic, Gene," she replied, reasonably.
On reflection, being reasonable was probably a mistake. He really didn't want to hear reason. He wanted to moan and complain and have a flaming row. Again. Most of all he wanted her to get so fed up with him that she wouldn't make him do this. Dream on, Mr Hunt. My fantasy, my rules.
"Should've used the Quattro. Knew we should've."
Another grumble from her right.
"And spent an hour trying to find somewhere to park it?"
"Police officer," he said. "Can park it anywhere I like. Police business."
"Gene! In no way can this be described as police business."
"Why not? I'm a police officer. You're a police officer. Police business."
Gene sniffed. Q E Bloody D.
"Oh for..." Alex rolled her eyes and deliberately stared out of the taxi window, ignoring him until they reached Curzon Street.
"Here you go, mate," said the taxi driver, calmly cutting up a cyclist as he drew up the black cab at number nine. "Heh heh, close shave there, eh? Gettit? Close..." He caught Gene's expression in the rearview mirror and stopped abruptly.
They got out, Gene turning to pay the fare and, of course, complaining about it. Alex already looking towards their target; an old fashioned shop front. To the right, a wide Georgian style door; to the left a window display of razors, badger-hair shaving brushes, shaving mugs and so forth. The sort of shop front to send an American tourist into paroxysms of delight. Above the shop, simple brass letters discretely advised passers-by that it was the premises of G F Trumper. The window itself was more informative: Hairdresser. By Appointment. Gentleman's Hairdresser - in case you hadn't got that point the first time, thought Alex, with a smile. Indeed it seemed to bear repeating again at the bottom, as she read: Gent's Hairdresser and Perfu... Oh shit, I'd forgotten that.
Gene saw where she was looking and turned to get straight back in the cab.
"Gene, don't you dare!" She grabbed his arm and hauled him back onto the pavement.
"Perfume? Gent's Hairdresser and bloody Perfumers? No."
"Gene, it's a barber's. That's all. Just a really good..."
"NO!"
"Trumper's is world famous. You'll enjoy it. Trust..."
"I am not a fairy. No."
"Gene, you're not reneging on our agreement?"
"Wot?"
"Are you welching on the deal?" She translated, head at its cockiest angle, eyebrow raised to its most challenging level. This was always going to be the tricky part and she was prepared to play dirty.
"No!" Gene dragged his hand through his hair in frustration. Gene Hunt did not go back on a deal. But this? This was... Oh God, what if it got back to the station?
"No. I'm not going back on the deal. This was never part of the deal." He tried to look at his most bullish and confident, jabbing his finger towards her to emphasise the point. Privately he wondered how long it would take her to argue him round.
"It's a shave, Gene. By a professional. It's like, er... getting the Quattro waxed."
"Wax?" He spluttered. "I'm not getting bloody waxed!"
"Make you feel like a million dollars, trust me." Alex put on the most winning smile she could manage and even fluttered her eyelashes. Honestly. All that education and it's come to this, she thought in exasperation. That was the carrot, now the stick. "Of course, if you want to forget the whole thing..."
"Come on then. Let's get this ridiculous farce over with, " he sighed, resigned. That didn't take long.
So saying, Gene Hunt, black coat tails billowing and Alex scurrying in his wake, strode into the premises of Geo. F. Trumper, Gentleman's Hairdresser, as if it had been all his own idea in the first place.
xxxx
"Your coat, Mr Hunt? Our Mr Conway, Mr Hunt." The neat, precise, waistcoated gentleman who'd gathered Gene up from the shop floor and taken him downstairs handed his charge over to an equally neat, precise, and waistcoated gentleman, then neatly and precisely withdrew.
"Thank you, Mr Park. Would you take a seat, Mr Hunt?"
Gene was suffering from an acute overdose of mahogany. It was everywhere he looked; gleaming and varnished. Where there wasn't wood, there was glass. Glass and mahogany display cabinets showed a bewildering display of barbering-related equipment in the shop; mahogany stairs had brought him to the bowels of this ridiculous place; mahogany panelling stared at him from the walls; and now he was being ushered into one of a number of small booths, three sides of each were, of course, made of mahogany.
Gene nodded mutely, allowed his coat to be removed and stumbled into the barber's chair. Leather and, he hazarded a guess, mahogany.
Mr Conway closed the velvet curtain forming the fourth wall of the booth and eyed his latest customer. Mr Conway was 66 years old and would, had he but known it, still be there at 86. He'd seen it all. This one could prove irascible. Mr Conway was not concerned; an irascible Duke might have concerned him. An irascible Mancunian policeman was just a novelty in the tedium of the day. Mr Conway adjusted the chair with practiced ease, and Gene found himself staring at the ceiling. To his surprise, it wasn't mahogany.
xxxx
"Will you be waiting, madam?" Mr Park had returned to the shop at street level to find Alex was still there, wandering about, taking in the experience. Mr Park, as a matter of principle, did not approve of ladies in the shop. It affected the ambience. However, Mr Park found himself in something of a dilemma in this case. Ladies of Alex's appearance could be said to improve the ambience considerably.
She looked up with a smile. "D'you know I had no idea you could even buy an ivory nail brush?" She said, in reference to the display in front of her.
"Trumper's," said Mr Park, proudly, "has everything required for the well-groomed gentleman."
"So I see."
"Madam?"
"What? Oh no, I won't be waiting. That is... erm..." Alex bit her lower lip, swiveled one heel awkwardly and wondered exactly how to word this. "Mr Hunt. He can be a little, er..."
"We are used to all types of gentleman, madam. Mr Conway is well able to deal with any slight...irascibility on your husband's part," Mr Park reassured her. In Trumper's vocabulary, gentlemen were never described as bad tempered, no matter how great the provocation.
"Oh, he's not my husband!"
"Forgive me, madam. An assumption on my part. We often find with the more reluctant client it's the power behind the throne as it were..." Mr Park trailed off, embarrassed.
Alex smiled in amused understanding. Mr Park, relieved, also smiled. They were en rapport.
"Can I leave a message for him, Mr... Park?"
"Monty Park, madam. Of course, madam. A pleasure." Mr Park oozed charm and bowed Alex over to the cashier to leave a message for Mr Hunt.
xxxx
Below their feet, Mr Hunt, irascible gentleman, was being slowly suffocated.
What the bloody hell am I doing here? He wondered. Of all the sissy, soft, Southern, fairy, poofter... It was no good, Gene couldn't find words to adequately express the depths to which he had lowered himself. The Manc Lion, having a bloody facial.
Mr Conway silently removed the hot towel that had been folded around Gene's face for the last five minutes. Mr Conway, unless the gentleman indicated otherwise, always retained a neat and precise silence. Even when he started to apply the moisturiser to Gene's face, he remained calm despite Gene's reaction.
"What the hell are you putting on my face, you hairdressing Mary?!"
"An unscented er... cream, sir. Naturally it will all be removed during the shaving process," he soothed. Mr Conway didn't need to be a detective to see that the gentleman wasn't one to favour skin care; some little economy with the truth was going to be necessary.
"Cream," muttered Gene. "What am I? A banana split?" But he stayed put. The hot towel really had been remarkably relaxing.
Mr Conway whipped up a mass of rich lather with brush and shaving mug and proceeded to apply it with neatness and precision to Gene's face; Gene thought it smelt slightly of coconut. He was still trying to decide how in hell's name he was going to explain away smelling like a festering coconut to the rest of CID when he realised what Mr Conway proposed to shave him with.
"A cut throat?!" Gene spluttered, flecks of lather flying from his lips.
"A straight razor, sir? Yes, sir. It provides us with the best control and the most effective shave."
"Yes, but..." The idea of someone holding a very sharp blade to his face bothered Gene.
"Forgive the pun, sir, given your profession, but I won't 'nick' you, sir." Mr Conway rocked with silent mirth.
Gene glowered and indicated that Mr Conway should proceed. Carefully.
xxxx
Alex folded the note and turned to hand it to the ever-attentive Mr Park.
"Tell me, Mr Park, where would I find the nearest place to hire a set of tails? White tie, the works."
Mr Park broke the professional habit of a lifetime and allowed his right eyebrow to crawl up his forehead like a particularly surprised caterpillar. His head inclined slightly towards the stairs. For him? Alex gave an almost imperceptible nod in response. For him.
"If you don't mind me saying so, madam, you certainly aren't a lady to shirk a challenge, are you?"
xxxx
Mr Conway silently wiped a damp towel across Gene's face and removed the last traces of soap. Gene sighed in satisfaction at his survival and made to get up.
"Oh no, sir. That was merely the first pass."
"Wot?"
"More moistur... cream now, sir. Then the second pass, without lather. Then..."
"Eh? Oh never mind, I don't want to bloody know. Just get a move on."
Gene subsided back into the chair, glowering.
Remind me again why you're doing this?
Because I made a deal, and the Gene Genie does not go back on a deal.
The treacherous little voice in his head scoffed.
Bollocks. You're doing this in the hopes of getting into your DI's knickers.
Am not.
Liar.
Okay. Not JUST that...
Gene was almost relaxed for the second pass of the razor. This poofter fairy-boy did at least seem to know what he was doing, and it was quite nice to put his feet up and let the world look after itself for a change. He began to doze.
xxxx
"D'you want a hand with that, ma'am?" Shaz darted forward from her desk, seeing Alex staggering in loaded with... well, what? Shaz wasn't the only one in CID to be wondering; she was just the only one to offer help.
"No, no. I'm fine, thanks, Shaz. If you could just open the DCI's door for me?" Alex could only just see Shaz over the armful of items she was carrying.
Closing the door with her foot, Alex managed to hang the suit bag up on the coat stand, albeit wIth difficulty. The other items went on the desk. The virtually empty desk. Not a piece of paperwork to be seen. She sighed, pushed her hair out of her eyes and observed through the door that her own desk was invisible under the drifts of files. Gene Hunt was a pretty fast mover when he wanted to be.
xxxx
Mmm, that's nice. Could get used to this.
Mr Conway observed the blissful look on the gentleman's face as he carefully removed the second hot towel. A tiny, sadistic part of Mr Conway, that Mr Conway was loathed to admit to having, was rather looking forward to the next bit.
"What the fuck?!"
Gene came too with a start as the cold towel was wrapped round his face.
"Beg your pardon, sir. It closes the pores giving the effect of a closer shave and..."
But Gene was too busy seething with resentment to listen.
After the necessary interval, Mr Conway removed the towel and administered the last application of moisturiser, hoping the gentleman wouldn't recall the small untruth about removing all traces. He needn't of worried; Gene was past caring as the tension in his temples was adroitly massaged out.
"Just one last thing, sir," said Mr Conway, flipping the chair upright again. He produced a hairbrush from his back pocket like a conjurer with a rabbit, a few swift sweeps through the Lion's mane and the cloth about Gene's neck was whipped away.
"All done, sir."
Gene blinked at his reflection. He turned his head this way. Then he turned his head that way. He fingered his chin. He smoothed the palm of his hand down his cheek and then looked round guiltily. Mr Conway was smiling benevolently at him.
"Bloody hell, that's good."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
Mr Conway opened the curtain with a flourish and ushered Gene back out into the larger world of mahogany. Gene's gaze fell upon the acres of warm, red wood and thought it a very pleasant sight indeed. He positively bounced up that excellent mahogany staircase, pausing at the top to take sneaky advantage of the mirror there. Mr Park shimmered up with Mr Hunt's coat, draping it about him with due deference.
"The lady, sir," murmured Mr Park, handing him Alex's note. "She left you this communication concerning your attire for this evening. The bill, sir," Mr Park's voice dropped even lower over this delicate matter. "The bill has been taken care of."
Gene looked at him in surprise.
"Wot?"
"Your birthday I believe, sir?" Mr Park could be economical with truths too, when required.
"No it's not. What the...?"
"Perhaps better taken up with the lady in private, sir," soothed Mr Park, with a smile.
Gene sniffed. He got the point; blokes didn't have birds paying for them, but she had, so this was the cover. He pressed a note into Mr Park's hand and nodded downstairs by way of indication that it should be divided between two.
"Very generous, sir. There's a cab outside, sir. If you hurry..."
But Gene had already looked at his watch and gone.
xxxx
Alex walked in to the station in some trepidation. CID should be empty; she'd had to sneak out of her flat past the happy noises of another Friday night at Luigi's. But even so, she'd be bound to meet someone. She had some doubts about her dress. The choice available, c.1982, was by and large, not what she'd have chosen. After lengthy expeditions she'd eventually found a coppery and blue one that, she hoped, looked pretty good. Cost and arm and a leg of course, but it was only imaginary money after all.
Viv was at the front desk and let out a low whistle of appreciation as she came in. She pulled a face.
"Is it okay, Viv? Not too much?"
"You look great, ma'am. This for the big do? The charity one?"
"Yep. Always wanted to go but..." She trailed off. Viv was very understanding, but even he'd have trouble coping with the fact that the price of tickets in 2008 was the stumbling block.
"Does the guv know about the... you know?" Viv waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially.
"Not yet, Viv. A surprise to come."
Viv grinned delightedly and watched her through the doors towards CID. The guv wouldn't know he was born.
xxxx
"How the bloody hell are you supposed to tie this damn thing?"
Gene exploded helplessly at the station bathroom mirror as the trailing material of the white tie again resisted all attempts to turn it into a respectable bow. He wrenched at the top button of the shirt and was at least able to breathe again. He wondered if he'd got time to nip home and pick up his black ready-made one. Sod it; pound to a penny Bolly'd know how to tie the damn thing. Posh birds must have some uses.
He peered round the door to check the coast was clear and then hurried back to CID, praying no-one'd see him.
"My God..."
Gene jumped like a startled hare and then realised it was only Alex. Only? Christ on a bike.
Gene didn't pretend; he just stared. Which was fine, because Alex was already staring at him. Gene Hunt, in tails, tie hanging loosely round his neck, top button undone, was a sight to behold. She'd thought he would be, although she'd had no intention of telling him so. The exclamation of appreciation had been drawn involuntarily from her lips. A couple of years or so passed until Alex recollected herself.
"Where've you been? It's already half past."
"Wot? I... erm..." Gene cleared his throat and tried to regain the upper hand. "Not getting dressed up then, Bolly?"
Alex gave him a look that would have chilled an ice cube.
"Apparently I'm not the only one," she observed, eyeing his open collar.
"It's this stupid tie." He flicked at it in disgust and pulled a face. "Can't get the frigging thing to stay tied."
"Oh come here. I suppose you expected a ready-made one?" She teased. "Turn round. I can only tie them from the wearer's point of view."
He did as he was told.
"Yeah. Didn't know being posh meant you had to give up all modern inventions. Like the safety razor for instance," he added darkly.
"Did you enjoy it?" Alex was interested to know if Gene had managed to overcome his prejudices. Of course that would be hard to tell, even if he had. He'd never admit it. "You're too tall, I can't reach. Crouch down a bit or something. No wait, hang on..."
"Stupid poncy way of carrying on," he declared, wondering what she was doing. "No wonder the country's being run by a woman if all the toffs are wasting time on stuff like that."
Alex had grabbed a couple of telephone directories, dumped them down on the floor and stepped on to them. She laughed; he might have had a point.
"Right, come here and turn round. That's better."
She was suddenly acutely conscious that they were standing very close together indeed. Immersed in the distinctive array of aromas that she'd come to associate with him, Alex's mind was inclined to wander. Except there was something else. Something... unexpected. A faint smell of... what? Coconut?! Not bad, whatever it is. Just as well he can't see my face. Concentrate on the tie, you fruitcake.
Gene was also concentrating on the tie with an intensity it really didn't deserve. Whatever you do, son, don't starting thinking about which bits of her you've currently got pressed up against your back. This is going to be a long enough night as it is. He tried to focus on naming the back four in City's 1976 League Cup winning team.
"Okay," she croaked. "Sorry. Okay. All done."
He turned round, still very close.
"Thanks, Bolls," he said, softly. "And for, you know, the shave. You didn't have to pay for it, you know. Pay you back."
"Oh well, it was a bit outside the strict parameters of the agreement, to be fair."
"Want to translate that into English?"
"Never mind. You're welcome. On the house."
"Am I allowed to ask why?"
"What?"
"The posh shave. Why?"
"Oh." Alex laughed a little nervously. "Just thought it'd help put you in the right frame of mind."
Gene looked his scepticism.
"Really, Gene. Don't you feel... different?"
"Hmm," Gene grunted, noncommittally.
"Do I get to sample the result, as I paid for it?"
Gene looked like a seven horse accumulator had just come up and she flushed.
"I didn't mean..."
"Be my guest, Bolls," he smirked.
Alex had merely intended to run a hand briefly across his cheek, but sod the man. Two could play at that.
Reaching up with her right hand, she idly ran a finger tip down his jaw line to his chin, her eyes intent on its passage over his skin. Paused for a heartbeat. Then swiveled her wrist and slowly dragged the outside of her finger up the opposite side.
"Not one single follicle of stubble," she murmured.
"Not one," he quietly agreed.
Her gaze shifted to his.
"Smooth operator, Mr Hunt?"
"As the baby's proverbial, Inspector."
She leant forward and gently kissed him on the cheek.
"Mmmm, very nice," she breathed into his skin, still leaning in provocatively.
"Do we have to go to this shindig?" He whispered back.
Alex pulled back again and grinned at him, all seduction in her voice instantly gone.
"Yes, we do. A deal's a deal. I do your paperwork for a month; you accompany me to the ball, Cinderella."
Gene sniffed, reluctantly wrenched from the flirtation. He replayed what she'd just said over in his mind.
"Ball? Ball?! I'm not bloody dancing! DRAKE!"
But Alex was already out of the door, her delighted laughter echoing down the corridor.