I should be revising so obviously I thought I'd come up with some word vomit instead. I've just finished reading Richard Marsh, to put the weirdness in context! Anyhow, I hope you enjoy, and I do love it when people R&R :D x
Hallowed be thy Name
Feel like shit. Morning, world, need a coffee. Open eyes, bright morning light, ugh, room smells like whiskey. Think of Bolly. Always, one of the first thoughts of the day. Sit up straight. Hairs on the back of neck prickle. Bolly.
Gene Hunt had hardly slept. He'd been up supping strong coffee well in time to see the sun rise. By 7am he's already loosening his tie as the rays penetrate his office in sharp thin strips through the venetian blind. Summer solstice, mocking him even at this hour. The last couple of months had seen the tension within these four walls increase tenfold. That's what happens at this time of year; The days get longer, the temperature rises, everything becomes more and more claustrophobic until eventually, boom. Something snaps and it all goes back the other way again.
xxx
It's early. Fuck, it's early. Alex Drake values her sleep very highly, she doesn't get a lot of it, and on days like these she wishes she hadn't promised an enthusiastic senior officer the morning light. Fuck, it's early. Where's the coffee? Tennis playing types do drink coffee, surely?
Catching sight of herself in a wall sized pane of glass Alex can't quite suppress a smile. If Gene could see this his eyes would pop out of his skull, she vainly assures herself, taking the liberty of doing a little twirl before the glass. She had taken inspiration for the costume from a certain poster the boys often ogled in the break room, and she found herself to be quite pleased with the result. Shaz would almost certainly disapprove, but in the spirit of taking every day as it comes Alex can't quite commit to joining her colleague in bra-burning solidarity. After all, women were given legs for a reason. She smiles again at her reflection, seeing Keats approach from behind in a similarly laughable get-up and musing over her outrageously Hunt-esque thoughts.
'Alex! Morning, beautiful time of day, isn't it?'
'Hm, each to their own on that one, Jim. I need a coffee, and I need a racket.' He laughs, an oddly mesmerising chuckle, and indicates for her to follow.
'Great place, this. All mod cons. I enjoy spending the early hours here, away from the office unlike some.'
'Away from Gene, you mean? He's not that bad, you know. Once you get to know him I mean. He's really very genuine.'
'Hm. Each to their own on that one too, Alex. I'm just glad of the chance to get to spend some time with you away from that glare of his. Even if I do have to force you onto a tennis court to make it happen!' She lets herself giggle amiably, pondering the likelihood of Gene Hunt coming to look for her at a sporting facility.
xxx
His mood is dark this morning. That much is obvious even to Chris Skelton. One officer creeps up to his door and knocks timidly, wondering why she does this to herself.
'What, Shaz?'
'Morning Guv, cuppa?'
'Where's Drake?'
'She just rang in. They're held up in traffic but she'll be here before half past.'
'They, what? Is she taking the bloody piss, she lives over the road!'
'Um, she's with DCI Keats. Didn't say why. That.. cuppa?'
She knows better than to wait around to act as an outlet for his unreasonable wrath, and the door to his office clicks shut again as his bin hits a window. Shaz smiles sympathetically at the rest of the team.
'Maybe don't disturb today boys.'
'Why, what's going on?'
'He's jealous Chris. Bloody obviously.'
xxx
He glances up from his desk by chance, taking a quick sweep around his kingdom until his eyes rest upon her desk. Shit. She's perching next to her nameplate, not unusual, and he's standing next to her. To anybody else they appear deep in conversation, but Gene knows that's hardly the case. She's mute, clutching her mug of tea and staring, entranced, into Keats' eyes. He, that venomous creature, with the fiery stare. He holds a commanding stance, his head slightly bent to tower above her, gently holding her elbow in his hand and uttering a stream of prose that Hunt could only guess at as he observes the pair. In an instant, his office door is open and he's out into his world.
'Drake. In here.' He gestures fruitlessly at his office.
Keats steps back from her as if stung, removing his hand from her arm and allowing her to drop her gaze from his. All of a sudden, she's weaker. His heart thuds in his chest as he watches her gaze fall to the floor.
'Today would be nice Bolly.' It takes a couple of seconds for her to lift her head and look at him, and as her eyes meet his they have a look of fear inside them so acute that he hardly has the strength of mind to cover the distance between his office door and her desk. Keats recoils again, two steps back this time but unable to drop his dark expression. All of a sudden the tension is snapped with a crash as her mug slips easily from her grasp and shatters upon the tiles, bringing the hum of the office into silence.
'You alright Ma'am? You look pale.' The ambitious WPC steps into the frame of his tunnelled vision but still, he can only concentrate on Alex. Ignore Keats. Ignore him. Gene is maybe a foot away from her desk when for the first time her expression changes, she's gasping for breath, she wants to scream as he lunges to break her fall. She pushes him away in blind fury and he can see it, he can actually see her world closing in around her as she slides to the floor, groping for desk. For a second he's frozen as the other two officers crowd around her.
'Alex? Can you hear me?'
He sees it happen slowly. Keats kneels at her head, rolling her by the shoulder onto her back with help from Shaz, hands coming to rest upon her temples.
'No!' Action. Gene grabs the man by his lapels and pulls him to his feet. 'You. I see your filthy paws anywhere near my DI again I will end you.' He doesn't flinch at the simply put threat, smoothing down his jacket with ease as Gene's anger teeters on its edge.
'Will you, Gene? Will you really?' He leaves the room in a flourish.
'I think she just fainted. Ma'am? Chris, you oaf, don't just stand there go get a glass of water. Ma'am? Someone should tell her that caffeine isn't meant to sustain you till dinnertime.'
'Mm, thanks Shaz, I'll bear that in mind. Ah, my head, do I have tea in my hair?'
xxx
Eyes open. Chequered ceiling. Talking about... rubbish. Tea in my hair. Headache.
Instinctively I move to sit up but, engulfed with dizziness, am forced to lay my head back on the cold tiles. Something feels strange. I can't remember why I'm lying on my back in a pool of tea, and it feels like I've forgotten something very important. There's a piece of information in the corner of my brain that I just can't grasp. I shut my eyes, brow furrowing as I try to reach it, but the drone of CID bustle infects my thoughts, throbbing, increasing in volume and stamping on everything else. All of a sudden I can't even remember what I was trying to remember. Eyes open again, things are fuzzier.
'..see this is why women shouldn't be in..'
'..looks pale, doesn't she?'
'..water, Shaz, you said..'
'..where'd the Guv go?'
Make sure she concentrates. She's easily distracted.
Not a good time for one of your turns, Bolly.
xxx
What's most peculiar, is that I'm tied down. Or rather, not tied down at all.
I'm not alone. There's a presence, here, in my bedroom, but hell it isn't human. A kind of blackness in the corner, it's rippling and moving in the darkness, toying with my sanity. I want to turn my head and look at it, to watch it disappear and leave me in peace like any decent trick of the eye, but this is the kind of nightmare where I can't move no matter how much I will my limbs to do so.
What happened this afternoon? I remember playing tennis, Keats, talking about a case, Keats, somebody making me a cup of tea, Keats, feeling faint, Keats? I don't remember any words. I'm looking back on the day and I'm seeing it through a pane of glass. It's frustrating, I'm sure things were said. Things of grave importance were imparted to me in confidence but, what? Things I should know. Pieces of information that have floated away, or they're buried so deep inside my skull that I can't... see them. Headache. Like an infection.
Suddenly, I can't breathe. The blackness is increasing, whether in size or proximity I can't tell, perhaps both. I'm suffocating, shit, I'm suffocating and I can't even struggle. Guv, Guv?
'Alex! After all this you still think of him, you want his help?'
I'm nodding, I'm, am I?
'He's broken you, Alex. Look at you. Paralysed.'
No, no that's you Keats. Get out of my mind. Get out. No! I'm gasping for a breath, feeling dizzy headed, needing air. Floating higher, flying, screaming. SCREAMING.
xxx
The dimly lit trattoria is filled with the sounds of music and laughter, the weekend lies ahead and CID are making a suitable dent in the bar stock. That is, aside from Gene Hunt. He sits alone at a table in the corner, his mood reflected in his features. He's missed her voice this afternoon, and if there's one thing he hates it's feeling useless. There's no way that he can save her now. He has to keep faith in the strength of her soul, and her trust. Keats wants her. He's strong, he took Sam. He could probably take Bolly too. All that Gene Hunt can do is wait, and hope. He closes his eyes, and in that moment he could swear he hears a scream from the flat above the bar.
Well, maybe it won't hurt to just.. check on her.
Breaking the rules again, Gene. You remember what happened last time.
xxx
He smells blood the second that he pushes the door open and steps into her hallway. His heart leaps into his throat. It doesn't take him long to find her in the confined flat. She's standing by the kitchen sink, clad in something silk and skimpy that in any other situation would give him groin ache. She's shaking, from her bare feet all the way up to her ashen features, tremors convulsing through her fragile looking frame. If she senses his presence, she doesn't acknowledge the fact. He steps closer, taking a chance to peer into the sink where she's rinsing her hands ferociously. An icy stream of water cascades endlessly from the tap, covering her hands, wrists, almost to her elbows, and spattering over the surrounding surfaces as she scrubs viciously at herself.
The pool of water in the chrome sink is crimson. He catches a sharp breath, instinctively grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her away from where she's standing. He isn't too surprised to feel her knees buckle beneath her and finds himself supporting her weight from under her armpits. He turns her to face him in his arms and sits her back against a cabinet, crouching down to the same level. For a few moments they study each other wordlessly and he finds himself praying, sodding well praying, that she's still inside this shell. She proffers her left wrist, palm turned up so he can see a jagged cut, almost a bite mark, imprinted across it. Clearly it's the source of the blood, and the pain behind her eyes. His nostrils flare in rage, but his tone is calm and playful.
'He's a bastard, Bolly. Get dressed, come downstairs. Next round's on you.' With these words he reaches into his coat and produces a hip flask, pressing it into her good hand and urging her to take a drink. Then, in a flourish of coat tails, he's gone. All of a sudden Alex can breathe again. She takes a deep gulp of the thick treacle air around her, and shivers involuntarily.
This is truly the stuff of nightmares.
xxx
He tries not to remember. He takes the stairs back down to the bar carefully, methodically, and tries bloody hard not to remember. Like that's ever worked.
Bang, the door to GMP CID slaps back on its hinges.
'Don't I have enough bloody well going on today without my DI going AWOL? ANNIE!'
Bang, the door to Hunt's lair, with an equal force.
'Don't know, Guv. Haven't seen him since this morning. Guv -'
'WHAT?'
'Something might be wrong. Really, really wrong.'
'Spit it out.'
'A man came to the house last night. He was odd. Sort of, black. His cloak I mean, but not just that. There was something about him. Gave me a bad feeling.'
'What'd Tyler say?'
'That's just it. Nothing. Not a bloody word, not even goodnight or good morning. Never seen him like it. Sort of, possessed.'
'Don't be bonkers woman.'
Shit. Fuck. Bollocks. Tyler. Gene Hunt is up and out of the office before Annie can say another word, before Tweedledum and Tweedledummer even look up from the Racing Post. If that spooky Keats bastard has got to Tyler then he better bloody well get there too before things start to get really ugly.
xxx
Gene Hunt had always liked Westerns. That kind of makes sense to her now, somehow. She feels light headed, drunk almost, as she takes the steps into the trattoria with shaky footing. It dawns on her that this is the last time she'll walk into this bar. She's been here before in many guises. Hopping excitedly through the door and across the room with a break through on a case for the Guv, stumbling into the room with a hiccup back in those early all-fur-coat-and-no-knickers days. It seems so long ago, like part of her past. She never imagined herself to have a past here. She always just considered herself to be existing, solving it a day at a time. Somehow she unwittingly built a life for herself along the way. She's suddenly very grateful for the whiskey she'd taken before from the Guv, it must be the only thing keeping her numb, stopping her from bursting into tears and crumbling at his feet.
Alex. You know what to do.
xxx
He notices her presence instantaneously. He always does. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably as he meets her gaze, his eyes darkening as he sees straight through her. She looks possessed. Red rimmed eyes and sad, hollow features. Shit, Bolly. Don't do this. You're not Sam Tyler, you're stronger than this.
The worst part is that he can see straight through his own stream of thought. She's probably no stronger than Sam Tyler at all. The difference is that he, Gene Hunt, is a hell of a lot weaker in her presence. That's the void that changes everything this time around. He could sacrifice Sam Tyler, but he can't sacrifice Alex Drake.
He scans the room in a second, patrons are beginning to hush, conversations trail off and music finishes. People turn to stare as a police officer aims a gun at one of her own with a shaking hand. He takes a deep breath, and walks purposefully towards her, staring straight down the barrel and hoping it'll be quick. Whatever happens, let it be quick. She recoils, leaving him the briefest of moments to ponder what will happen when he's gone. Will this still exist? Can it, without Gene Hunt? Then, as he meets her gaze, he has the oddest feeling that she's thinking the exact same thing.
xxx
Fin.