This is just focused on Gene and what happened to him after 2.8. It stemmed from an argument with a friend about whether or not he believed Alex by the end of the finale. She said that there was no evidence to suggest he had. That is where you are wrong, mon amis. As Gene says, evidence can always be found :).

Please R&R. This will probably be a three-shot. And yes, I'm sorry I haven't updated Troubled Waters, and thank you to all those who reviewed it, but I will be, soon I hope. There's a few other things in the pipeline too, so it'll just have to wait its turn. Oh, and the title of this is from Auden's Musee des beaux Arts.

The doors of St Jude's Hospital opened and Gene Hunt stalked out. The front of his shirt and much of his lap and jacket were soaked in blood but he didn't seem to notice. He dragged on a cigarette and glanced sourly at Chief Superintendent Ashcroft's car that was still parked outside. The cheek of it, he thought, hounding me down and then having it out right there, outside the operating theatre. Half of him hadn't wanted to leave, wouldn't have minded staying all night by Alex's side, willing her to wake up. The other half hated the revolting, vomit-coloured décor, the smell of disinfectant, the sight of her so still and pale and caught in a web of IV lines. But the formidable matron had made up his mind for him, refusing to let him stay.

The evening was still quite light as he set off, a blue sky above sheltering only a handful of rose-bellied clouds and the setting November sun washing the street. He wondered at the brightness of the world, as if it hadn't noticed what had happened, when it had slowed and stopped and shattered into a thousand knife-like pieces. He remembered that it had been sunny too, when Sam had died. But she's not dead. She's not. She's not. The weather had always had a sadistic streak.

People were staring at him as he walked along the pavement and he pulled his coat across his chest, across the blood, her blood, her blood as it spread over the stone and her eyes closed, over his hands as he cradled her… Christ, he needed a drink. CID would probably have nearly finished mopping up by now and he had to tell them sooner rather than later.

~~~OOooOO~~~

He entered the station unnoticed and met no-one, either in the changing-room where he took a spare suit from his locker, or in the showers where he washed the redness from his arms and watched it circle down the drain. He turned up the water as hot as it would go, but however much he wanted it to, it wouldn't warm the coldness inside him. The whisky from his hipflask helped a little more. He stood, naked and shaking, under the steaming jet and leaned his forehead against the tiles. The dull, constant pain was familiar and it sickened him. He should be used to it by now, immune to loss, but it felt as though someone had ripped open the half-healed wound of Sam's death and found it festering inside and twice as deep. Automatically he dried and dressed himself and headed to CID.

~~~OOooOO~~~

The hushed talking stopped as soon as he walked through the door. Gene could feel the sideways gazes as he moved towards his office, but when he turned to address them all eyes were busily occupied with paperwork. He pushed his hands into his pockets, surveyed his kingdom, and wished he wasn't alone this time.

"I have been talking to the Chief Super. He was naturally very upset with today's events. I am instructed to tell you that, while he is glad we caught those corrupt bastards, he wants nothing, I repeat nothing, of it to get out to the wider world. We are in fact, boys and girls, all going to be part of a huge Metropolitan-Police-sized cover-up." He looked down for a moment at his shoes, lips pursed in disgust, before his eyes flicked back to the room. Time to bite the bullet. "As you are all aware, DI Drake is in hospital in a coma after being shot. I am being indefinitely suspended pending an inquiry."

"They can't do that!" Chris exclaimed.

"Well they've got to haven't they?" All eyes turned to Shaz, who went pink but stared defiantly back. "Well they do! After all," her voice turned just that slightest bit nasty and her hard gaze met Gene's. "It was his gun that shot her. And we all heard you say…" but she stopped and looked away. Gene had frozen.

"Go on," he urged. "What did I say?"

There was a long, awkward pause. Then Ray sighed and said, "How if she got in your way you'd kill her."

"I'm sorry, but did you just accuse me of shooting my own DI?" Gene was at his desk in a flash, knuckles resting on the wood, looming dangerously over his sergeant.

"Um," said Ray, uncertain. "Didn't you?"

"No I bloody didn't! Well," he checked himself. "I did shoot her, but I didn't shoot her. Not deliberately." His eyes roamed the room and found studiously blank faces staring back. All except Shaz, who was openly mistrustful, and Ray, whose baby-blue eyes were giving him a considering look.

"All right," Ray said quietly. "But you're going to have a hard time proving it, guv."

The was silence for a beat. Then Gene gave a bitter, humourless bark of laughter, "Oh I see. This is how it is, is it? When push comes to shove and the shit hits the fan it's every man for himself, right?" A memory of a voice in his head said, Metaphors, all over the shop. It made him, if anything, a little angrier.

"That's not what I meant!" Ray defended and looked to Chris for support. But Gene was tired and guilt-ridden and could still see Alex's blood under his fingernails, and wouldn't let him finish, his voice rising with every syllable.

"When have I ever asked you, any of you, to risk your necks when I haven't risked mine for you five times over? I have built this department up with spit and sweat and my own two hands, and I can tell you right now, none of you would be anywhere near where you are today if it weren't for the Gene Genie helping you up the ladder, even if it meant kicking you up the backside every rung of the way!"

They had the decency to look meek. Ray shuffled uncomfortably and said, "I know, guv. We know."

Gene turned and stalked a few steps, turning a frustrated circle, rubbing a hand over his face. "She was lying in my arms and I thought she was going to die, and I never, ever want to go through that again with any of my team. So don't you ever-" his finger jabbed first at Chris and Ray and then at Shaz. "-ever think that I would hurt Alex Drake, because while she is a posh, stuck-up pain in the arse, she is my posh, stuck-up pain in the arse, and one of the best DIs I've ever had." He paused and then added, "Especially for a woman."

And with that he strode out of CID, making certain he slammed the door behind him.