Second story. I might squeeze another chapter or two, but I'd like to know what you think first. Enjoy.
Alex was already sprinting towards the docks when she saw it happen. Hunt, ahead of her, struggling with Arnolds on the edge of the jetty; behind, Ray and Chris as they puffed to catch up with their long-legged DI, Shaz picking her way more carefully. Shouts from the rest of the crew scrambling off the ship like bilge rats, a flurry of punches between the two stocky men, Gene elbowing Arnolds in the neck. Then the DCI stumbling suddenly, tripping over a discarded pulley-rope with a pair of huge iron hooks the size of his head attached to one end. Arnolds lashing out, Gene rolling with the punches, getting more tangled as he did so, a harsh blow to the face dazing him. You're too close to the edge! Alex was shouting inside her head, but the words wouldn't come out, her lungs already working over-time. Disorientated, Gene scrabbled backwards and teetered agonisingly on the edge and for a second Alex thought it would be ok, that he would pull himself back, but a swift kick from the captain sent him plummeting over and into the mud-coloured waters of the Thames.
Before she realised it Alex was flying down the landing stage, vaulting athletically over the heap of crates (Thank you silver gymnastics award) and skidding to halt where Gene had tumbled in. Beside her Ray cannoned into Arnolds roaring and Chris was firing his gun over the heads of the sailors. Below her the oily surface was unbroken, only the spreading ripple showing the spot where he had gone down.
Without thinking, she tore off her white leather boots and jacket and cast them to one side. Taking a deep breath and a few steps back she ran forward, gathered herself and executed a perfect swan-dive off the jetty.
The icy coldness hit her like a hammer. Gasping and knocked breathless she surfaced, treading water. "Gene!" Her voice was lost in the slap of the wavelets against wood. "GENE!" No sign. No answer. Alex dived again, kicking hard. The dirty polluted water stung her eyes and forced its way into her mouth. She couldn't see, the murky, pitch-black Thames swallowing the light greedily, leaving her only touch to guide her. This is insane, you'll never reach him in this. He could be three feet from you and you wouldn't know it.
She ignored the voice and struck down again desperately. Something brushed past her face and she resisted the urge to recoil, reaching forward and grabbing it with both hands. Thick, scratchy material, the tails of Hunt's coat. She tugged at it, pulling herself down and found a flailing arm, felt bubbles of air that wasn't her own burst against her cheek. Alex grasped at his belt, hurriedly trying to pull him up, but although he'd managed to free himself from the burdensome black greatcoat, he was still weighed down by something. Alex kicked again and breathed out the air that remained in her lungs, allowing herself to sink.
The pulley-rope was still wrapped around Gene's legs, the heavy iron hooks anchoring him to the dock bed like a balloon to a tether, and he was struggling furiously to release himself from its grip. Alex heaved at the line thicker than her own wrist dragging it back and away from him. Need to breathe, need to breathe, ignore the pulsing in her head, the numbness in her hands, the suffocating darkness. Above her Gene's struggles were weakening and he was still trapped. Shit, shit, shit, Alex wrenched at the last loops caught around his ankle but they wouldn't budge under her fumbling, unfeeling fingers. I am not going to let you die like Sam did. Desperately, desperately, her fingertips found his boot-zip, pushing it down as far as it would go. Gripping his belt once more, she yanked him up and his foot slipped free. Alex ignored the fact that he was no longer moving, no longer fighting. It seemed to take a lifetime to travel upwards through the blackness, air, need air, need air, NEED AIR NOW, the hiss-boom of her slowing heartbeat in her ears, the urgent clawing up, Gene a dead weight in her arms. Don't think that.
She burst to the surface sputtering and whooping for air. Ray's face hovered above like a badly-drawn angel's, shouts that she couldn't understand and a lifebelt fell to the water. Tired now and towing Gene's bulk behind her Alex pulled the ring about her shoulders, flicking it over his head and gripping both with all four limbs and the last of her strength.
Ray, Chris and Shaz hoisted them out of the water and hauled them, dripping like landed fish, onto landing stage. Hunt lay lifeless on the tar-y boards and Alex saw Ray's face blanch. She shoved him roughly out of the way and tried to feel for a pulse, but her fingers were too cold. Chris searched Gene's limp wrist and shook his head disbelievingly. Alex's mind went onto autopilot as she began CPR. Hands like that, and press, press…hold his nose, breathe, and again. Over and over, seconds dripping past like treacle off a spoon, one minute, two minutes. Chris looked sick and Ray was sucking anxiously on his moustache.
"Come on, Gene, you bastard," Alex hissed between gritted teeth. "Don't you dare do this to me." She struck his chest desperately and suddenly felt that twitch, a spasm of life below the ribs. She rolled him over as he began to cough, throwing up half the Thames onto the grubby planks. Alex laughed, euphoric and drunk on adrenalin, and was surprised when she felt Ray's arms grip her in a happy bear hug. Chris and Shaz joined him against her weak protestations that they'd soak themselves, but Ray had already released her and was crouched by Gene, who had stopped spewing water like a fountain ornament and half-shoved off his embrace with a hoarse, "Get off me you great poofter."
Exhausted, soaking, tireder and colder than she ever thought was possible, Alex flopped back onto the jetty. Gene crawled over and collapsed beside her. "Bloody hell, Bolly," he wheezed. "Thought I was a goner for sure then."
All she could do was nod, smiling with relief, chest heaving for oxygen. And they were still like that when the ambulance and panda cars arrived.