A/N: I know, how naughty am I, starting another story... well, I had this idea again when throwing my ball around in my room, and it wouldn't go away. It was going to be a Life on Mars fanfic, but then the Galex bug and snow appeared (SNOW DAY! =D) and I decided to make it A2A instead. Ah well... and I'm sorry for the uneven spacing, I wrote it on a really rubbish word processor so it's a bit ugly... hopefully you can skate over that. Please enjoy! Jazzola :)


The woman's lifeless eyes stare soullessly at the ceiling of the corner shop, their warm nut brown filmed over with a creamy texture, glazed in death. The eyes are the only part of her body that marks her out as a human being; the ugly, vivid mutilations covering her body and the blood coating her lily-coloured skin defile her whole body, almost making it something unreal, something too horrific to be true. Her work-toughened skin, where visible, tells of a long, hard life, the slightly darker skin indicating a foreign birth; her clothing is simple, shredded in places, blood soaking through the formerly pale colours to create crimson rags for the woman to wear. Her cloth handbag lies redundant on the floor next to her, the pool of sombre scarlet beneath it beginning to soak through the material, staining the documents within. All of this is surrounded by racks of produce, such a normal, everyday scene that it compounds the sense of disjointment; for something so harrowing to take place in somewhere so normal is almost unthinkable.

"Lovely," DS Ray Carling mutters, taking a hefty drag on his cigarette to hide the shake of his hands. Behind him, DC Chris Skelton takes one look at the scene and turns away to throw up over the broccoli.

"Twonk," Ray sighs, but he's not feeling so good himself and so hands over to plod to make his way back to the station. The initial reports had been nothing to bother Gene and Alex over- they were up to their eyeballs solving an earlier murder- but the magnitude, savageness, blind terror of this defies all belief. This woman had either done something very, very bad to deserve this, or had been one of the unluckiest people in the history of London, Ray thinks as he motions for the crime scene to be cordoned off and makes his way into the fresh air, waiting for the shriek of the Quattro's tyres to mark his superiors' arrival.

It doesn't take long for the scarlet blur to round the corner and skid to a halt, Alex slightly pale inside and Gene's cheeks pink-tinged from concentrating on his driving. The doors are yanked open and Gene steps out, a long, suit-covered leg crunching down onto the damp tarmac beneath, the familiar crocodile boots sliding a little on its wet texture as Gene puts his weight onto the limb and stands up, his face creased as he makes his way towards the shop.

"It's not nice, Guv. Chris's over in the corner there shakin', 'e was sick all over the veg," Ray says scathingly as his Guv comes towards him, his expression asking for information. Gene spares a look towards the shop, wrinking his nose at the penetrating, none too pleasant smell of fresh vomit and coagulating blood. Next to him, Alex groans and covers her nose and mouth with her hand, wishing she could bolt back to the Quattro.

"Bolly, act yer age, yer a DI," Gene says cockily, glancing back at Alex with his face showing teasing and a little annoyance but his bright blue eyes a contrast of concern. Alex gives him a hard look and he turns away, pretending not to have seen it to rile her further. Their relationship is a constant game of cat and mouse, and although neither would admit it, they enjoy it.

"Let's go and have a look at the scene of a tragic death then, shall we, Gene?"

Gene gives her a cool look and slips inside. Alex sighs, left outside to follow suit.

He wins that round, then.

The smell only really hits when they're inside the shop; even Gene turns away, his hand clapping over his face, as they near the fresh corpse. Alex clutches his shoulder for support as they make their way a little closer, past the cordon, until Gene's toes are an inch away from the puddle of blood coming from the woman's body and Alex stops him so as not to contaminate the crime scene.

"Do we have an ID?" Alex asks a nearby officer, crouching as close as her stomach allows her to the body. The officer shakes his head, moving away as Gene bends to gently pick the cloth bag up, opening the flimsy clasp and pulling out a wad of documents, turning them over in his fingers and unfolding them to take a look at the writing.

"What are they?" Alex asks from behind her palm, moving away from the body to take a look. The stench inside the shop is beginning to approach being unbearable; Alex feels relief and something else fluttering in her chest as she puts her face as close to Gene's body as she dares and breathes in a welcome, different scent, whisky and cigarettes and that quintessentially Gene "man-stink". Gene looks at her quizzically and she pretends to be looking at the documents, not noticing the tiny smile that quirks over his lips as he looks back as well.

"I can't read them, they're too blood-stained," Alex sighs, slipping them from Gene's fingers and using a tissue from her pocket to wipe some of the scarlet away, suppressing a retch as the blood weaves its way onto her fingers and sneaks into the crevices of her skin, creating tiny red rivers on her flesh. Gene yanks a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to her with a mutter of "don't worry, Bolls, it's clean", and Alex murmurs a thank-you back and cleans the sombre liquid off, her stomach still firmly upside-down but the feeling of nausea beginning to die down.

As she draws the handkerchief across the paper and the scarlet dye begins to come off, a word comes into focus on the topmost sheet; Alex squints down at it, her eyes finally managing to make it out.

"Immigration. She's foreign, then."

Her fingers make their way down the sheet, smearing away as they go.

"Romania... she's Romanian. Came across six months ago, according to this."

"As fascinating as this is, Bolly, 'ave you got a name yet?" Gene asks irritably, feeling a little sickness nest in the pit of his own stomach as his eyes stray to the terrible sight on the floor in front of him. Alex murmurs something about Gene going and shoving something up a certain orifice and carries on reading, her eyes decoding the black ink through the red stains, eventually finding an identity and a picture.

"Adriana Mironescu."

Holding the paper up, she shows him the now-visible picture of the woman now lying dead before them; in the picture, she is a handsome woman, her skin tired and worn but her eyes glittering with life, stern lines around her face but a softening around the eye making her a welcoming person. Gene stiffens as he looks at it; a deep well of recognition begins to stir.

"Born in Romania, lived in Manchester for several years before going back, came to London six months ago... Gene, are you OK?"

Gene sways as he looks once again down at the corpse in front of him; his face pales, his expression becoming one of horror, shock, complete and utter devastation.

"Ada..."

And the world blurs as it hits him with the force of a murderous hurricane; Alex grabs him as he steadies himself on the rack of produce next to him, yelling for Ray to help her, but Gene barely hears.

A new, heavily-accented voice has filled his ears, calling out to him, a warm voice with a tiny Mancunian hint underneath the Romanian tones.

"Gene? Gene? Help me, Gene... help me!"

But Ada Mironescu is far beyond help, and everyone can see that. Gene's knees weaken beneath him as Ray takes the brunt of his DCI's weight, talking urgently to him, Alex trying to steady him as they pull him away from Ada's body.

"No... no... gerroff me!"

Gene struggles against his officers, trying to get back to Ada, refusing to believe it's true, all the evidence of his senses, the terrible realisation of what has happened...

"Ada..."

And then the world fades as Gene Hunt blacks out, falling back onto the floor, his last word a whisper in the deathly scented air.


It had all begun when Mrs Hunt's job was extended by two hours. Before, she had been able to finish work and be down at the family house to receive her two sons; now they would have to be left there on their own for two hours after school, unless someone was there to look after them. Mrs Hunt loved her sons, but she knew that Gene was often reckless and Stu would follow him whatever he chose to do, and she didn't want to come back home to find the house in ruins and her sons trapped beneath the rubble. Although the family didn't have much money to spare, Mrs Hunt began looking round for a babysitter.

Ada Mironescu and her family had moved over from Romania two years previously. In those two years, Ada had grown into a fine, responsible child of ten, with near-perfect English only marred by her strong Romanian accent. She didn't have any formal schooling, lack of money meaning that instead she had to learn from her father after he finished his job in the factory every night, being taught Romanian and reading and mathematics. The strength of Ada's personality was shown in her firm stance and her strong expression, the fierce pride of a girl who has been through hardship and come out the other side; that and the poverty that Ada and her family lived in. The only things they had in plenty were the Romanian books that they had carried over the years, sold at huge discounts but a much-needed pleasure for the Mironescus, Ada especially; food was scarce, and so Ada agreed to babysitting for a small wage readily.

It was the first Monday of the agreement. Ada had made her way over to the Hunts' house about ten minutes before Gene and Stu were due back, letting herself in with the key Mrs Hunt had given her and going through the place to explore it. A homely place, but somehow a little miserable, as though bad things had happened to the occupants; Ada stiffened at the sight of the bloodstained rug next to the double bed in the main bedroom, her curiosity having surpassing her courtesy to lead her in there, and hurried back down the stairs.

The clock above the oven told her that Gene and Stu would be here in a matter of seconds. Positioning herself at the gate, she folded her arms and hoped to look strict, someone not to be messed with. Deciding at the last moment that that was the wrong impression to give, Ada unfolded her arms and instead leaned against the gate, trying to appear casual and friendly.

The two boys came into view as soon as she had. A messy-haired, broad-shouldered boy walked in front, his blond hair flopping over his face unless he tucked it back viciously, ignoring the pain that came with the movement. His legs were bruised, but grey socks falling around his ankles obscured some of the damage. His clothes were muddy and a little bedraggled, but he had a confident air about him, the persona of a leader. Ada liked him almost instantly.

The little child behind him was a smaller version of his brother, only minus the smooth blond hair and plus wild curls that flew about his skull. His little legs struggled to keep up with the older child's swagger, but every so often his brother would stop to allow the little boy to catch up, for which he was grateful. He didn't have the self-assured aura that Gene oozed around him, but still walked with a little infantile confidence.

Gene's eyes found the girl waiting for them outside their house, narrowing slightly as they took her in. A tall girl, her skin slightly browned and her thick dark hair falling around her features, at first she struck a firm stance; the work-hardened skin around her fingers gave her a slightly rough impression, but the smile in her eyes and the warmth within the nut brown irises told of a kindred soul beneath. Her shapeless clothing served little purpose but to cover her, but Gene, being five, wasn't looking at her body; his attention was on her expression, and the broad smile that curved over her even lips as they approached.

"Gene and Stu?"

The Romanian accent was laced through her words, bringing them out dripping with it, but Gene didn't care; if anything, the strange phrasing made him curious.

"Ada Mironescu. I'm Gene Hunt, this is my brother Stu."

Despite his young age, Gene introduced himself formally, holding out a hand for the girl to shake. Deciding that she liked his forthright approach, Ada reached out to shake, feeling his warm skin in her coarse palm. Another thing that impressed her was the way he'd managed to pronounce her surname correctly; she was so used to people going "Mirror what?" that she rarely introduced her full name.

"Glad to meet you. Your mother hired me to look after you for two hours after school while she works."

This the boys knew, but for the sake of politeness Ada stated her purpose. Gene nodded, beginning to steer Stu inside and beckoning for Ada to follow. Guessing it might be best not to let on that she'd already had a sneaky peek around the house, Ada walked after him, her eyes once again exploring the house, finding again the air of sadness but this time shrugging it off and finding herself in the small living room. Sitting down on the sofa, she watched Gene taking Stu's coat off for him and hang it up next to his own, sitting down next to Ada when he was done.

"Where've you come from?"

It was a direct question; Gene wasn't one for beating around the bush, and Ada could see this.

"Romania, if you mean my accent. I've lived here for two years."

Gene cocked his head, curiosity coming through.

"What's it like in Romania?"

Ada's eyes grew a little distant.

"Very nice. Lots of animals, and lots of poor people, but if you could work, like my dad, then it was nice. We had a nice house and my mother had a son."

"Had?"

"That's why we came here... his name was Mihai. He said that there was more work and a better life in England, so he came here. My mother said we should come too, but my father didn't want to leave Romania. Eventually, we did come, but we've never found him."

Gene's face showed sympathy.

"Are you ever goin' to find 'im?"

Ada shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe one day. My mother is searching all the time, but my father says that Mihai has to look as well, for us to find him."

Gene cocked his head again, thinking. Ada watched him, her own curiosity showing in her chocolate gaze.

"Maybe one day, when I'm a policeman, I'll be able to find 'im fer you. I can question people an' look in dustbins an' stuff like that. Yer can find people 'oo seem ter 'ave disappeared, an' my team could 'elp me."

Ada smiled at his young fantasy.

"Maybe."

And that was it. They were off, talking about anything and everything, from parents (to which Gene contributed very little) to Manchester (of which Ada didn't know much) to life in general and the world around them. Gene found Ada an engaging person, an interesting character, someone who he could talk properly to; Ada, in turn, thought Gene was mature for his age and a great conversation, a challenge to prove wrong and an excellent source of entertainment.

Secretly, both were disappointed when the doorbell rang and Mrs Hunt came in, hiding a strawberry bruise on her cheek from Ada and paying her for her help. Gene was almost tempted to sneak out with her and run off, into her world of Romanian folk tales and history, but his mother's promise of chips for tea stopped him.

All the same, he blessed the woman who had extended his mother's work hours that night.


The world blurs as Gene opens his eyes, trying to take in the room he is in. By his side sits his DI, pressing the heel of her hand to his forehead, smiling when she sees that his eyes are open but remembering that she has to tell him once again the dreadful news.

"Can you hear me, Gene?"

He gives one affirmatory nod, his irises coming to rest on Alex's unclear face, blinking as they try to clear the haze of sleep from their sheen. Alex reaches down to take his hand in hers, something she only does when they are in private and Gene really needs it; she feels his fingers twitch beneath her skin, his confusion coming through.

"Wha' 'appened?" he croaks, trying to remember something, anything, that happened to put him in this position. Alex frowns. Don't tell him yet, give him some time to wake up first or he'll black out again.

"You fainted, Guv."

Her tone gives away the faintest minimum possible. Gene stares up at her, trying to work it out without the help of his memories.

"Why?"

Alex reaches out to stop him sitting up, pressing her hand firmly against his shoulder as he pushes his body into a sitting position.

"Stay lying down."

Although still confused, Gene does as she says, watching her as she runs a hand over her forehead and looks down at him again, something like sadness in her eyes.

The brown flecks re-awaken some squashed memory, battered and abused but healing fast, coming to the forefront of his mind as it regenerates... sightless eyes dyed with red liquid, festering above coagulating blood, rips in the sheen of a woman's skin rendering her unrecognisable... a dead body, the stench of murder and tragedy in the air...

Gene has to stop himself from crying out as it comes back to him.

Ada is dead.