A bleak little one-shot inspired by Louella's "Long Way Home". It probably needs tidying up a little, but I just needed to get it out of my system before returning to "Hearts & Flowers"
NB: I've rearranged the final sentence a little.
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"Ah, DC Hart. Welcome to the team. Nice to have you on board". Ray rolled his eyes with embarrassment, tugging at his collar and tie, as the Super trotted out the usual well-worn phrases.
"DI Carling introduced you to your DCI yet?"
Hart shook his head. "No Sir, not yet. I was supposed to meet the Guv this morning but something came up."
Ray grimaced. "Yep" he thought "3 pints, half a bottle of whisky and a chicken jalfrezi from last night." He recalled the image of his Governor, staggering home from the restaurant, refusing to let him help, swearing and cursing blindly because the car keys were nowhere to be found. Ray had taken them earlier that evening. There was no way that anyone should drive in that state.
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Ray took Hart back to CID room to collect their jackets before they went across the road to Luigi's. He looked despairingly around the room, seeing it through his newest team member's eyes. Ashtrays over-flowing, files and papers everywhere, used take-away cartons and mugs littering the surface of the kitchen. He sighed, knowing how they must appear to a fresh new recruit. "Christ. How the mighty have fallen. We never used to be like this. It's all gone wrong, all of it, ever since…" Hart broke into to his reverie, handing him his jacket. Ray nodded his thanks and with a heavy heart made his way to the bar.
They ordered their drinks and took them to their usual table at the back of the room. Chris and Shaz were already there, Shaz drinking fizzy water and clutching the swell of her belly tightly as she watched Chris down his first pint without pause, her mouth pinched in disapproval. This was the reason the office was in such a state. Shaz had left when she'd found out she was pregnant, and they'd not managed to keep a plonk for any length of time after that. They had all transferred, unable to cope with the Guv's acid tongue and ferociously unpredictable temper. Shaz had been able to deal with things like that. She'd even stood up to Gene on a couple of occasions. She and Drake had made them all just a little more civilised, if only for a short while.
All that had changed now. Shaz was about to have her first child, her bright, clever face now permanently drawn into lines of worry and dissatisfaction. Chris was on the verge of losing it completely, terrified at the prospect of impending fatherhood, unable to deal with being a DS; drinking himself cheerful every night before going to home with Shaz to the flat above the bar.
The flat where Drake had once lived, when she'd first arrived, crashing into their lives in a flurry of lipstick and killer heels. She'd been sharp, funny and irreverent, rocking Gene Hunt's world on it's axis and nothing had ever been the same again. She and Gene had taken their first faltering steps towards a relationship in the rooms where Chris and Shaz now resided in tight, resentful silence.
"Who's that?" asked Hart, jerking his head towards a table in the darkest corner of the bar. "They look a right state." The figure was in shadow, but Ray knew who it was from the despairing slump of the shoulders, would have known even with his eyes closed. He knew every mood and nuance, the tilt of the head, the sound of the voice. It was all there, burned into his very soul.
"That," said Ray, coldly, giving Hart a harsh glance, "is our Guv. Might not look like much at the moment but you're looking at one of the best DCI's there is."
Ray knew his words sounded hollow and strained, even to him. "Who am I trying to kid. The Guv's a mess these days. Even I can't keep pretending any more."
They all been affected, of course, and they all dealt with it in different ways. Shaz had left, telling them that even if she hadn't been pregnant, she couldn't carry on anymore, Chris drank and played the fool, sleeping around and breaking Shaz'z heart even before the ink was dry on the marriage licence.
Ray had tried to drink it all away, but it hadn't worked. His own personal way of dealing with the aftermath, was to try to be a better copper. He was more conscientious these days, smartening up both his appearance and his attitude. He'd cut his hair and bought himself a couple of suits, turning up at the church in one of them, trying to not to look too self-concious as they'd all stared. The Guv had said nothing, merely raising a contemptuous eyebrow at this brand-new Ray. He'd felt his heart break then, realising that he was still trying, in some ridiculously hopeless way, to make Gene proud of him. It was no use though; the Guv still dragged him down, into the grief and despair that lay at the heart of them all.
He was tired, so bloody tired. He didn't sleep much these days, his mind constantly running through the "what-if's" and the "if-only's" that haunted him, waiting for the phone to ring, for the demand to come and help drink away the memories in the long, dark hours of the night.
"Jesus" grimaced Hart in disbelief. "I'd heard the rumours, but I never realised things had got that bad."
The Guv sat alone, whisky bottle nearby, empty glass in one hand, cigarette smouldering in the other. As Ray watched the glass was refilled, and even at this distance, the tremor of the dedicated alcoholic was visible, the whisky slopping over the edge onto the table. Luigi arrived with a cloth to mop it up and a volley of curses fell from the Guv's lips. The little Italian backed away, hands held out placatingly, gently soothing the volatile temperament.
Ray closed his eyes in despair, feeling the hopelessness sweep over him again. They still got results, no-one could deny that, but the methods employed were way out of line, the level of violence raised to barely acceptable in these politically correct times. The Boss was just sober enough to still function as a DCI, just drunk enough to be able to put aside the overwhelming pain of it all for a few hours. Every one of them felt pushed to their limits, bullied and cajoled into somehow functioning as a team, even if it was ripping itself to pieces from within. If anyone complained or questioned they felt the full force of the Guv's rage, the sarcastic put-downs and vicious personal remarks blistering their ears for daring to challenge the Guv's authority.
Ray felt out of his depth all the time these days. DI, what a bloody joke. He wasn't DI material. He'd only been promoted because Drake wasn't DI any more, just as Chris had been forced up into the role of DS to fill the gap left by him. They couldn't find any other applicants for the positions;no-one else was prepared to work so closely with such an self-destructive personality as the Guv.
They were all hanging by a thread anyway, clinging on by their fingernails to the delusion that they were good coppers. He knew in his heart that it would all end soon. The team split up, transferred to different stations, where more efficient, dedicated officers would dilute their world-weary, slap-dash attitudes. A new team would be in place at Fenchurch East soon.
And the Governor? Well, they'd find a way to get rid of such a liability. There'd be some suitable excuse rolled out from on high: pensioned off for medical reasons probably, and they'd be perfectly correct in that diagnosis. Drink had claimed the Guv, and there was no return from the edge of that particular precipice. The Boss was dying by degrees, a little nearer to the end, each day, eking out a painful and lonely existence, bitterly waiting for the welcoming embrace of oblivion.
"I should go and introduce myself" said Hart, pushing back his chair.
"No!"Ray grabbed his arm. "No! Just leave it. You never, ever get between the Boss and a bottle of whisky. The introductions can wait. When the Governor wants to speak to you, you'll know about it."
Hart sat down again, slowly."So, is it true what they say? That Drake and Hunt were an item?"
Ray nodded sadly. "Yep. Made for each other, they were. We all knew it that it was inevitable, right from the minute they clapped eyes on each other. Just took them longer to work it out. The arguments those two used to 'ave. They'd shout and scream blue murder at each other. It was all just an excuse not to admit 'ow they really felt. Once they'd got that bit out of the way, there was no going back. It were the real deal, no doubt about it. They loved each other. Never seen any one as happy as they were."
"And that's when it happened? The incident?" DC Hart waggled his fingers in the air and Ray winced, glancing up at the Guv, hoping Hart's gesture had gone unnoticed. Eight months on, the wounds were still painfully raw and the least little thing could set off a rage.
"The incident?" Ray sneered, "Is that what they call it these days? Yes, it all 'appened about six months after they'd got together. Drake 'ad this thing about an old barge down by the Isle of Dogs. She and Hunt went down there looking for a guy called Layton. No idea why. Drake wouldn't tell us. She was obsessed with 'im, though, persuaded Gene that it were a good idea to search the barge for drugs, or guns, or something. I don't know. Think she just wanted an excuse to arrest 'im again. Me an' Chris 'ad gone to talk to the local druggies nearby. We heard the shots and saw Layton running away."
"So you found them, then?"
Ray clenched his jaw, fighting to dispel the images that flashed across his vision. The blood pooling on the floor, the hideous, gaping chest wound, the inert figure cradled in the Guv's arms. Worst of all had been the cries of despair, filled with a raw, primeval pain that Ray could still hear in his dreams; the broken, pleading voice, begging, crying. "Please stay,… please.. .. You have to fight. I love you.... I love so much..."
No use. None of it had been any use. Not the ambulance, not the headlong rush to A&E, not even the surgery. Nothing. Death had claimed another soul and the Guv was alone once more, raging mindlessly in pain and fury at the unfairness of it all.
Ray was the rock the Guv clung to, always there, reassuring, supporting, covering up the worst of the cock-ups from the Super, hopelessly devoted, always unacknowledged. He provided a shoulder to cry on, a friend to drink with, someone to throw up into the gutter with at some god-awful hour of the night. He clung to the hope that things would get better, that the over-whelming pain would slowly fade into a grief that could be endured somehow. It wasn't happening that way though. They all felt the pain of loss, but the Guv hadn't just lost a colleague, the Guv had lost a lover, a best friend, the very reason for living.
The figure at the table moved, head thrown back, hurling the whisky down the long, lean throat, fingers clutching convulsively at a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. The Governor stood up slowly, the black coat swinging loosely, the treasured, trademark garment worn as a talisman against the horror of an existence that offered nothing worth living for. It no longer fitted as it once had, not now that more energy went into drinking than eating. Slowly his DCI shambled over to Ray's table.
"You're Hart then," the bitter voice barked. "Come to join our happy little band of no-hoper's, have you?" A mirthlless laugh accompanied this question. Hart went to answer and Ray dug his fingers into his arm in warning, shaking his head slightly. The Guv didn't want or need an answer. Memories and echoes of happier times, not real people, were all that the Guv listened to now. "I wonder who you've pissed off up at Headquarters, if you've been sent to us? We're the dregs, Hart. Didn't they tell you that? The very dregs of humanity, clinging to our sanity, chasing scum that no one else wants to deal with."
Hart blinked, not knowing how to react to this vitriolic tirade, watching as his new Governor swayed slightly, gripping the tabletop with a shaking hand. "Ray'll try and tell you different, but he's living in a fantasy world, aren't you Raymondo? It's all different now. No point any more. No point to any of it." The Guv turned away from them both, hunched and grief-stricken, despair etched into the once beautiful features. "Sorry. Take no notice. I'm talking bollocks again. Night, Ray."
Ray watched, his heart aching, wishing that he could find some way of putting it right. He kept trying to make things better, but he just didn't know what else to do any more. If only he could find the courage to tell the Guv that there was still a chance of love, that he cared, had always cared, but he never found a way to say it. It was hopeless anyway. They'd taken comfort from each other once, a few weeks after that nightmare day, losing themselves drunkenly for a while in each others arms, but it had never been repeated. The Guv had never alluded to it in any way and Ray had been too hurt to try and talk about it. He blinked away hot, angry tears, closing his eyes in pain, unable to watch any more as the one he loved shuffled brokenly from the bar. "Sleep well, Alex" he whispered.