Insubordination

"You're a disgrace to this department. You've let me down and you've let your colleagues down. You should be ashamed of yourself." Gene's fury was barely leashed as he stood and pointed angrily across his desk at his DI. "You put yourself in danger so you could go on some unnecessary ego trip," he continued, his temper held in check by the most fragile of threads. "You wandered into a hostage situation with no agreed plan of action, no back-up and no bloody clue. It's a flaming miracle that everyone got out of this unscathed."

Alex stared across at him, her own anger rising in the face of Gene's unfair accusations. "I had a plan!" she shot back. "Just because you didn't authorise it doesn't mean it didn't exist!"

"Oh, you had a plan, did you? Shame you didn't think to share it with anyone before going barrelling into that bank office. You were unarmed, for God's sake!"

Alex rolled her eyes, praying for patience that was fast deserting her. "Going in there armed would only have inflamed the situation. I knew what I was doing, Gene. I'm a trained negotiator, a fact that you seem to keep forgetting."

Gene closed his eyes in exasperation. He knew she was right – she'd been in difficult positions before and talked her way out of them – but he was still livid that she'd put herself at risk by entering a hostage situation with nothing but her wits and quick thinking to defend herself.

"You didn't follow protocol," he snapped at her.

"Protocol? That's rich, coming from you. Not exactly famous for following the rulebook yourself, Gene."

"Don't try and turn this around, Drake, you're not making this about me! This is about you and your inability to assess the risks before making decisions."

"I knew that not going in would have been the greater risk. The hostage taker was at the point of taking a life – an innocent life, Gene – and my actions prevented that. In fact, my actions ensured that no lives were taken, no shots fired at all. You should be commending me, not bullying me."

Anger continued to course through Gene's veins, his hands shaking with the force of the emotion. He stuffed them in his pockets. He'd be damned if he'd let her see his weakness.

The problem was that every time Gene closed his eyes, all he could picture was Alex walking into that branch of Barclays, completely alone and frighteningly vulnerable. The blagger had turned to face her, shifting the aim of his handgun from his hostages to her. His eyes had looked wild, his hands unsteady. He'd been a kid on the verge of losing whatever control he'd had.

And all Gene, Ray and the rest could do was look through a window and watch. Gene had never felt so helpless. He'd watched as the hostage taker had waved the gun in Alex's direction, making wild demands and flinging crazy accusations. He'd held his breath each time the blagger had directed his gun at her head. And he'd watched with growing relief as Alex had talked him down, calming him through the power of her language, persuading him to turn himself in.

It had been when the blagger took aim at Alex's head and threatened to blow her away that Gene had faced his startling revelation. He had suddenly pictured his life without her in it and it terrified him. But what scared him more was the prospect of her continuing as his DI, working with him every day but never being truly his. It struck him then: that this was the sort of pain from which he could never recover.

Gene took a deep breath and moderated his voice, anger giving way to icy indifference.

"I ordered you to wait for back up. I ordered you to disclose your plan of action. And you ignored those orders. I cannot have that level of insubordination on my team."

Alex took a sharp breath, brow wrinkled in confusion. "Guv?"

"Put in for a transfer, Drake. Take annual leave until it comes through. I don't want you back in this office again."

He turned away, holding his door open for her, not meeting her eyes as she walked uncertainly past him. He closed the door softly behind her, drew the blinds and sat at his desk. Pouring himself a large scotch, he nodded his head slowly. He felt hollow – as if he'd suffered some terrible, aching loss – but he knew this was the best course of action in the long run. He took a long swig from his tumbler and welcomed its fiery heat as it spread through his body, numbing his pain. Yes, a quick, sharp separation was preferable to the alternative as he saw it; death by a thousand cuts.