Hi there! It's my first Ashes To Ashes fic now, I've only written Life On Mars in the past. So hopefully my writing's up to the 80s standards. Please R&R, hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it!
Alex regained consciousness sat in a flimsy plastic chair, her back leant against the wall in the Fenchurch East station's kitchen come canteen. Blinking hard, she could just make out the outline of Gene Hunt perched firmly in front of the small television set on the counter. A news flash of one of the many coal miner's strikes turned into a bloodbath by riot police. Uniformed men smashing their equals with baseball bats and any blunt objects to hand. Men in overalls battling their way through waves of clear plastic shields, and failing. The outspoken public against the all-powerful police, the neverending onslaught.
'What happened?' she croaked, wincing at the sharp headache which came with speaking.
'Trouble in the North,' came the thundering reply.
'I was talking about me,' she sighed.
'So was I. Check your forehead,' Gene said, unmoving.
Upon skimming her fingertips over her temple, Alex discovered a bandage stretched across her head, concealing an abnormally large bump that she was certain wasn't there last night.
Alex opened her mouth to thank him or whoever put the bandage there, but before she could breathe a word, Gene interrupted.
'I see the riots in the newspapers and on telly, but it doesn't show the scale of things. I should be back up there, defending my men, keeping law and order with the GMP, but instead they dragged me down here to face the ponces and pricks of old London town,' Gene snarled, folding his arms in anger.
'You... you didn't ask to join the Met then?'
'Did I heck, bolly,' he huffed.
Gene peered closer to the television set, hoping to get a clearer view of something.
'What're you looking for?'
'That Zephyr, in the background,' he pointed on the screen. Alex struggled to lean closer, the severe headache setting in deeper as she moved.
The amateur filming of the happenings moved, from the endless waves of riot shields and vicious men behind them, to what seemed to be a uniformed officer with one leg inside the police car, one leg outside, leaning in to reach the radio. Only the officer was wearing a skirt.
She was screaming down the radio, 'We need more back-up right now sir, the men are going down like dominos! Can you hear me?' but was clearly getting no reply.
Gene buried his head in his hands.
'Did you know her?'
I do know her, DI Drake. Inspector Annie Cartwright. She moved back into the plod in the late 70s because she'd had enough of the stick she was getting from the blokes in CID. Tough woman.'
Alex held back the blinding pain in every muscle and moved off her chair to reassure Gene.
'I'm sorry, Gene.'
'No you're not,' Gene shrugged, hauling himself off the chair and back into the office, preparing to address the officers. His officers, for now.
Hope you enjoyed it, it wasn't meant to be something epic because it was only a plot bunny that came to me at 2am. Please review, I'll write another chapter if there are any requests for it.