Hello and welcome to another one of my insane musings! This is another Life on Mars fic that has been in the work for some time but I've only just plucked up enough courage to post so be kind because, although I like it, I'm not sure if everyone else will. I'm still writing 'Keeping it in the Family?' but felt like a bit of a change, hence this.
Before you start reading, please note that this is Slash. If you don't like the mere thought of male on male action, then this probably isn't for you. Also, I don't own any of the characters in this story – they are all property of the BBC and Kudos.
As angsty as this is, I hope you enjoy it for what it is! Please take the time to let me know what you think at the end.
Cheers : )
"I told you, it's over!"
He stormed out of me office like a bolt of lightening, 'is words like an electric shock to my body of steel; an unwanted jolt that made me melt. I should have seen it comin' a bloody mile off. Should've known that the jumped up little prat wouldn't want to be around me for too long. I just didn't want to admit it to me-self. Too much pride.
Or perhaps too much stupidity.
'Ow he'd said 'over', that 'urt. It felt as bad as it sounded. Like a dagger ripping through every artery in my body. 'Ow the 'ell was my body meant to function without him – the one bastard person who was keeping me nearly sane?
No matter 'ow many times I replayed that over and over again in me 'ead, I knew it would never get any easier to 'ear. It was like a stuck record caught on the scratches; painful to 'ear the beloved tune in such crap condition.
If anyone 'ad seen me right about then, they would have laughed, I felt sure of it. Me mouth was 'anging open wider than the Mersey ruddy tunnel. I wasn't quite sure at the time if that was real shock. I wasn't sure if my face really expressed 'ow I was truly feeling. I'd never been too good at all that feeling malarkey. You couldn't be in a job like I'd got. Well, he'd probably disagree. Mr. Sensitivity.
Yet, why 'ad he been so blunt wit' me?
In my mind, things between 'im and I were going well. Better than well. Great. Perfect?
Perfect was perhaps a little strong. Nothing in this world could ever be that. Just when you think one part of your existence is fine, just when something is finally working out - BANG! Sommats else comes round the corner and punches you in the gut, knocking you for six.
Guess the gut instinct isn't always as reliable as I'd like to give it credit for.
Me and 'im - strange combination that. It started off with us getting a little too close for comfort. Something just clicked though. I can't describe it - we just worked together, in more ways than one. From the minute my beady eyes 'ad first peered onto 'im, I knew he was different. Unique. Fascinating. Weird.
Wry little bastard's got me gagging for it. I'm not a Nancy boy though - never 'ad been and never would be as far as I'm concerned. That's just not natural, is it? Blokes shoving their ding-a-lings up each others jackseys. It's not right.
But I loved it. I love him.
'Love'. Strange word. We'd discussed it once. Well, he'd rambled on about it, I just stared at 'im. I watched his mouth stroll over words, the way he pronounced 'love'. I felt it, this tingling sensation. As if I was gonna throw up. That's what love is meant to do to you - I read it in one of the missus' magazines once. Pile of dog shit they are. I'd never felt that before. 'Love'. It felt good in the most sickenly perverse way you could imagine. You can't eat; you can hardly sleep unless they're barely inches apart from you. You feel like utter rubbish. Even the simplest of everyday tasks becomes a full scale military operation. You 'ave to remember not to sing to those corny love songs you 'ear on Valentines day when you're shaving unless you want your face to look like a Rottweiler's been at it.
You feel like utter rubbish. Unless they're near you. Unless they are with you - then you feel like a million fucking dollars.
I knew that I was 'in love' - January 15th 1974. Just after eight o'clock at night. I'd had a shit Christmas - me missus' parents 'ad treated me like crap, telling me I should be there with 'er more. Like I didn't know that? Unless you are a copper, or a doctor, fireman, you don't really understand 'ow difficult working hours can be. If the public need you then you 'ave to be there. Even if you are in the middle of the best shag in the world, you have to wipe up the stains and move on.
Pity things in the real world are never quite as easy as that, a pity that you just can't shove love in the washing machine and let the dirt and scars be washed away forever.
Right then and there, it would have suited me down to the ground.
Yet, that Thursday I was determined to be the best damn 'usband this planet 'ad ever known. I'd managed to rap up a case by five, locking three sods away with attempted burglary. So, I went to the shop, got the wife some of 'er favourite chocolates, a nice bottle of red and flowers. White roses - 'er favourites.
I went round to 'is to shower. This was 'ow it was to start with. We were like two magnets - our poles kept turning. We'd either be fiercely attracted to each other or trying our bloody 'ardest to ignore all of this poofter stuff. At first, we'd share the odd snog; we'd fumble about in the back of the Cortina, stuff like that.
We both tried to deny it. He was dating that soppy plonk, I was married. Neither of us 'ad ever 'ad a boyfriend before. Boyfriend - that doesn't sound right.
But it felt right.
So, I showered, pecked 'im on the cheek and sped off 'ome to be with 'er. Me wife. Me life partner. The person who I'd vowed to be with forever. Until death do us part, all that bollocks. Not really religious, me. If things are gonna 'appen, they are and that's it. It's down to nothing or no one other than you.
As I pulled up on the curb, I was surprised that all of the lights were off. Thinkin' nothing of it, I grabbed the carrier bag with all of me gifts in and 'eaded inside the 'ouse. I felt like a regular modern day Santa Claus. She's moaned all Christmas about me putting weight on. Yet none of that seemed to matter to 'im. He'd sometimes grumble about it, being the picky little prick he was about 'ow it would ruin me 'ealth in the future but I knew he loved me for who I was. Or at least, I thought he loved me for who I was. It only mattered to 'er, Mrs. Bleeding-Perfection. Pity our marriage wasn't such a rosy picture as what she made it out to be. Stupid cow.
I called for 'er. Nothing. Could barely believe me eyes when I saw the note on the kitchen table.
She'd 'ad to go round to 'er mates 'ouse who'd just lost 'er cat. Bullshit. We were meant to be goin' out - seeing some fairy fucking singer that she drooled over. It was me Christmas present to 'er. What a waste of money.
But I was determined that it wasn't going to be a waste of an evening.
I threw everything back into the car, made me way back round to 'is. That's when I 'ad me first proper male on male experience.
I knew from that moment on I loved 'im. That's right, I loved 'im - more than anyone in me life. More than that miserable bitch I'd been married to for God knows 'ow long. At the grand old age of 45, Gene Hunt 'ad met his soul-mate. The only person I knew I wanted near me for the rest of me days on earth.
As 'ollywood as that sounds, I knew it was what I wanted. Like most 'ollywood stories 'owever, it wasn't as easy as all that. We were both in relationships (if that's what you could dare to describe mine as), both 'ad high authority jobs, respectable position in our city. The world renowned homophone finding love - with another man?
Surely not.
But I was certain of it. Put me life on the line with that statement.
Put me life on the line for him - without any shadow of a doubt. In a heartbeat, I'd take every bullet under the sun for him.
And I thought he felt the same about me.
Disrupting my derailed train of thought, he strolled back into my office. 'Is steps were small but not coy enough not to commanded respect. That was all I ever gave 'im and all he'd ever given back. Well, once he took 'is 'ead out of 'is arse anyway. I stood to me feet, wanting to embrace 'im with all of my body. I wanted to feel him so close to me.
Couldn't though - job to do.
"Hostage situation - Elm Street. I've sent DS Carling and DC Skelton on ahead."
Before I 'ad a chance to reply, he'd gone, scampering back to 'is desk to fetch 'is leather jacket. I loved the way he looked it that. It clung to 'im so well, the perfect fit.
We were the perfect fit.
I mimicked 'is actions, following 'im like the lost puppy I felt I was.
By the time I got to the driver's seat of me trusty motor, he was already sat there, his tight arse firmly in place, 'is harsh glare fixed on the road ahead. He didn't even openly acknowledge me striking up the engine. I wanted 'im to tell me to take it steady, to not drive like a raving lunatic.
He didn't. We were sat in bloody silence for the first time since forever. There was no small chit chat, not about the case, what we were planning on doing later. No even about the fucking weather. And the silence was driving me ballistic.
"Elm Street, you say?"
My lame attempt at conversation clearly did very little - in response, he nodded vaguely. I'd only just spotted his cold reply in the corner of me eye.
The car tore down the road, 'is 'ard, fire fuelled eyes matching the screeching tyres against the tarmac.
My gut told me this was going to be a bad trip. I could already feel a witch's caldron bubble inside me stomach, as if I'd had too many dodgy curries down town.
We didn't speak all the time during our outing to Elm Street. I could see, when I turned to glance at 'im, the pain scratched into 'is face. If I'd been vainer, I would have seen that same expression etched into my stony features.
As I continued to drive, I became more and more conscious of 'im. I couldn't keep myself from looking, staring at 'im. I'd never been so...transfixed by anyone before. It was bizarre. I couldn't get his words out of me 'ead. They swirled severely, like a tornado, trashing every good memory I had with 'im. I could barely believe 'ow blunt he'd been.
"We can't carry on like this."
"Why?"
He didn't need to say a damn word. 'Is eyes, lowing like a dusky, melancholic sun. "Annie."
"I'm going to propose to her."
"Ya what?" I spluttered, shell shocked. Sure, they'd been kind of together for a while but too soon for marriage...surely?
"I love her."
"I thought you loved me?"
This silence nearly drove me mad. He was methodically thinking it through. You could practically 'ear the cogs grinding against each other, rust loosening with each turn.
"I did...do. I don't know. This isn't 2006 - this is 1974. We can't justify this."
I cocked an eyebrow, decided to use a bit of that good ol' Gene Genie charm I was certain that he loved. Or at least sort of liked. "I thought that would've been my line?"
"The point is," he began, completely ignoring me. Poncey prick. "It's gone on for long enough. Sure, it was fun while it lasted. We were good together..."
"But?" I interjected, fearing his pause but at the same time wanting to know exactly where I bloody well stood. I 'ated 'ow bloody nonchalant he was being, for the first time since he'd waltzed into 'ere on 'is 'igh 'orse. Torturing bastard.
"But, you can't give me everything a woman can."
"Like what?!" I cried. I thought it would be me saying it, not 'im...
"I dunno that kind of touch. That warmth of her smile. Children. Love."
"Love? LOVE? For four fucking months we've been MAKING love!"
He groaned, didn't want to go into much detail. That made a pissing change. The bastard usually couldn't get enough of his procedure and protocol. Then, he cracked, the nonchalance fading like a distant memory. I could see 'im, getting more and more worked up over it. Beads of sweat bounced along 'is eyebrows. "No Gov, we've been shagging each other whenever we could get the chance - that's hardly making love is it?"
I was gob smacked, certain that my ears were deceiving me. I love 'im. He loved me - at least that's what I thought. It wasn't just some fuck about we'd been doing to get away from our shitty relationships. He wasn't just someone to 'elp me escape the missus and her nagging ways. It was much, much more than that.
"Sammy, please..."
"No, no, no, no, la, la, la, la, la..."
He covered 'is ears wit 'is 'ands. He didn't want to 'ear a damn word. I crept over to 'im, unsure 'ow I should approach 'im. I never begged of anyone in my life. I sure as 'ell wasn't going to start now.
"Please?" I questioned, showing 'im a bit of that sincerity I'm sure he would love.
"I told you, it's over!"
The car jerked, coming to a screeching 'alt. In reality, the journey had ended. Unfortunately, we were only at the foot of a much taller mountain.
He rushed out before I'd even opened the car door, offering that thieving plonk a peck on the lips. It made me skin crawl, me blood boil...my heart melt. The little poofter was such a good bloody kisser.
Although I envied 'er for that moment in time, I realised that despite of 'is warmth towards 'er, she looked far from 'appy being close to 'im like that. I'm not good at expressions - not all of the time. I can tell if a nonce is lying. I can tell if he's lying, now. After months studying every single appearance he 'as, I've finally cracked it.
But amongst that, she looked a little pissed off, almost regretful. Typical bird, that.
"Right!" he ordered sarcastically cheerfully, "Let's not make this murder on Elm Street - move it!"
"Wait!" I yelled. I was trying to keep me wits about me - for a ruddy change. I guess that's what he's done to me in the months I've known 'im - made me think before I put me size eleven in it.
The rest of my team gave me an eagerly puzzled look; they wanted to get on with this. They were chomping at the bit - some more than others. Ray with 'is 'andgun cocked as if he was in 'Live and Let Die', Chris trying - as per bloody usual - to mimic my Sergeants actions. Then there was Annie, at the other end of the supposed spectrum. She recognised the traits of a raving mad man and feared that was exactly what the usually docile Detective Inspector was turning into.
"What?" the DI spluttered, choking on 'is un-amusement.
"We need a plan. We can't just char-"
"Fuck that, Gene!" he yelped, 'ands waving about as if he was drowning in a tidal wave. "Why don't we just charge in there like mad men, and blow 'is 'ead off with a gun!"
Usually, I would 'ave given the cocky little shit a good dressing down about that - mocking me like that. 'Owever, I knew he was in danger, mainly of 'imself.
No matter what I could've said, I knew he wouldn't 'ave listened. He was past caring, past listening to the voice of reason. Not that I was that - far bloody from it! That was usually 'im. But not this time.
Looking back, I wish I'd at least attempted to stop 'im. I should've at least tried to stop that ponce - grabbed 'im by the scruff of 'is neck, thrusted 'im in the back of the Cortina for 'is own safety.
At least if I 'ad done that, he might not 'ave pressed the self destruct button.
I was too bloomin' confused by 'is ragging state of mind to even notice 'im fly past me. It wasn't until I 'eard 'im barge through the door, shoulder first as if he was me bloody double, that I realised that he was being serious. Deadly fucking serious.
I followed 'im, urging the saner members of me team to keep behind me - to keep their eyes and ears open. I'd always said that if one member of our team fell than the rest of us would too - something I didn't necessarily want to put into practise.
I squinted, trying to adjust me vision to the dim lighting of the 'ouse. I could detect nothing. I could see nothing. Yet, I could feel everything; the oppressive, tense atmosphere. Me gut was in knots already. I could feel that something was about to go with a bang.
I just wish it 'adn't 'ad been 'im.
Pulling me lighter from me trouser pocket, my fingers fumbled over gum wrappers, squashed and unfortunately empty cigarette packets as well as one of the many all important hip flasks. If there was ever a day I needed a stiff drink more than anything in the world, today would be it.
"Come out, come out wherever you are!" I 'eard 'im chirp, a bird in the direct line of fire. Stupid fucker. After all of the occasions he'd told me to keep meself on red alert, to be discrete and then he was shouting shit like that? Incredible. So precisely 'im, the messed up sod.
I told the rest of my men - and the plonk - to split up but to keep themselves steady. I needed to stop 'im before he did anything beyond ridiculous.
Then, I 'eard an ear splitting bang and a scream from behind the black veil of darkness.
To be continued...