A/N: I apologise in advance if this offends anyone. After studying for weeks for my RS GCSE, I had to write something to do with religion- this popped into my head last night. I hope you enjoy it, and please please please times infinity review! Jazzola :D
"GET BACK 'ERE, POPE!"
Gene Hunt's bellows filled the churchyard as the brains and beauty of Fenchurch East CID sprinted after a scruffy young man bolted towards the small church sitting within the graves like a spider in a stony web, the doors wide open. CID's quarry, Brandon Pope, had been running a drugs web throughout Fenchurch for two weeks, but being far from the brightest needle in the sewing-box (one Gene would gladly have rammed into his arse) he had been careless and the clues had slowly pointed to him; he'd promptly received a late-night call from Hunt and Co. They'd been chasing him round the streets of London for half an hour, Gene, Alex, Chris, Ray and Shaz, and now thankfully it looked as though Pope was trapped.
"Got yer, yer bastard," Gene puffed, the years of smoking and the many bacon butties taking their toll as he bent over, clutching at a stitch in his side in the doorway of the church. Alex rolled her eyes at him, haring inside to search for Pope, beckoning for Chris to stand in the doorway while the rest of them flushed Pope out of hiding. There was just enough light in the church to see the pews and the altar; he must be hiding behind something, Alex thought as she surveyed the church from the entrance, picking up a pile of knitted cushions and putting a hand down to check her handcuffs were still in her belt.
It happened before anyone could really react: Brandon Pope burst from behind the altar like a cork from a champagne bottle, haring towards the huge double doors, changing direction at the last moment to run back into the church. CID went into meltdown, running round like inmates of an asylum trying to find Pope, throwing chairs like confetti and spilling pews onto the floor in their bid to collar the drug dealer.
"Useless bastards!"
Everyone looked up towards the doors to see Pope standing just in front of them, easing one door closed as he reached for the other, a massive grin of sly triumph on his face as he grabbed the handle, slowly closing the thick oak doors on CID.
Gene gave a wordless shout of fury and shock, bombing towards the doors like a bull going through a hurricane, slamming his shoulder into the door just as the lock banged shut, the doors bending beneath his onslaught but not yielding.
"Bloody fuckin' 'ellfire ow!"
Alex hurried over to pick her DCI up off the floor, hearing Pope's jeers outside the door as Gene groaned, tentatively moving his shoulder.
"Say your prayers, coppers!" echoed from outside as Brandon Pope headed away, laughing as he trudged up the path, taking his sweet time, from what CID could hear. Just enough to get their blood boiling.
"I will boil 'im in bloody oil an' feed 'im ter the lions when I get out of 'ere," Gene growled, banging on the doors and swearing repeatedly under his breath. "An' I'm addin' assault of a police officer an' gross abuse o' clichés ter 'is list o' crimes."
And with that, he turned and began examining the chapel for an alternative exit route.
"It's no use, we've looked everywhere," Alex sighed, watching Gene and Ray scrabbling at a hole behind the altar, convinced that it led to a way out. It was quite possible that the lack of whisky had altered Gene's entire state of mind, she thought with a sigh. Shaz was sitting on a pew with Chris, leaning back and looking at the intricate rafters above them; Chris looked like he was about to go crazy.
"I 'ate enclosed spaces, I 'ate enclosed spaces," he was muttering over and over again, his hand in Shaz's beneath her coat, fingernails digging into his girlfriend's soft skin. Shaz rubbed his shoulder, murmuring that they were going to get out soon, not to worry; Alex also headed over to give Chris a quick hug, trying to take his mind off the fact that there was no exit with a quick game of "favourite film character and why".
It would have worked if not for the fact that, at that second, Gene and Ray had discovered that the hole they were pulling at didn't in fact lead to a exit, but a mouse nest. With yelps they barrelled away from it, Gene standing up and hurriedly attempting to squash the nearest mouse as Alex and Chris screamed and Shaz aimed her handbag at the rodent that had come their way, thwacking it squarely on the head as Chris hid behind Alex, both of them tottering on the nearest pew.
"Got it!" she announced in a pleased voice, holding up the stunned animal and looking round for somewhere to deposit it. Finding nowhere else, she put it in a drawer in the pew, hoping the vicar would look first before putting his hand in when he opened it next time.
"You can come down now, Chris, ma'am," she added over her shoulder to her superior officers, watching as they both made to get down at the same time and overbalanced. Gene hurried to catch Alex, capturing her in his arms and ignoring his DC as Chris dropped to the ground, giving an "oof!" that echoed round the church. Alex raised her eyebrows.
"As lovely as that was, Guv, can you get off me now?"
Shaz carefully picked Chris up and started dusting him down as Gene deposited Alex back on her feet, unable to resist copping a quick feel of her arse as he did so. She glared round at him, but couldn't quite disguise the smile in her eyes; his lip twitched up in response and he turned to take a look for any other possible exits. Or mouse holes.
A couple of hours later and, with every other possible option for an exit exhausted, the conversation had turned to destruction in order to get out.
"Could knock a segment o' the wall out," Ray suggested, kicking at a wall as he said it. However, the stone appeared to be more sturdy than the sergeant, as Ray let out a scream that was probably several decibels higher than it should have been and hopped over to the nearest chair, clutching his toes. Alex raised her eyebrows.
"Any other suggestions?" she sighed as Ray cradled his foot, hissing obscenities a sailor would have been proud of under his breath. Gene glanced at the intricate stained-glass window above his head, completely unaware that it was casting a golden glow on his skin; Alex looked round and forgot how to breathe for a minute. The glorious light lit his features up, brushing over the scars and dents, illuminating his hair to almost white; for a precious, timeless second, he looked like an angel, stood in the House of God with the brilliant radiance surrounding him.
And then the sun dipped that bit lower and sunk into the buildings surrounding the church, and the moment was gone, shattered in time.
Alex let out a shaky breath, trying to re-arrange her brain to its correct working state, lowering her eyes so that Gene didn't think she was staring at him. The outside world slowly filtered back in, and she mourned quietly for the loss of the sight, turning back to the predicament in hand.
"What about the doors, ma'am? Could we break 'em down?" Shaz asked, moving over to take a look at the oak, battering it with her shoulder and wincing. Alex shook her head.
"If the Guv couldn't get them open, I doubt any of us would be able to, even put together. They're quite firmly locked."
Shaz sighed, gathering her skirt around her and sitting down on a pew, taking her Walkman out of her bag and beginning to play the cassette inside. The tinny sound of Enola Gay scratched into the church, and Gene scowled, covering his ears as he sat down, grinding his teeth as Shaz listened on, oblivious.
"Granger! Turn that bloody thing off or the angels can go an' collect the bits of it from the bloody rafters!"
Sulkily, Shaz did so, stowing it back in her bag as the rest of CID looked round in contemplation, any means of escape being considered.
"Could smash the window," Gene said, reaching up and banging a fist against the stained glass, battering at Christ's toes. Alex yelped.
"Guv, stop! Those are hundreds of years old, and I don't think anyone would be very impressed if you destroyed them just so you could get down the pub tonight!"
Gene grumbled, muttering something like "be long gone before the bastards got back", but Alex ignored him, casting her eyes round again one more time before giving up. That bastard Pope had done well; they were well and truly locked in.
"Oh, bloody hell..."
Night had fallen on London, and more specifically, on the small church containing Fenchurch East CID's finest detectives. The temperature was beginning to drop; so far, Shaz was fine in her thick black uniform, but Ray was blowing on his hands, Chris was stomping up and down, Alex was huddling in her white jacket and Gene was shivering beneath his coat, all of them thinking longingly of the warmth of Luigi's and the flow of alcohol they were missing out on. The whisky in Gene's hip-flask was long since gone; Alex was willing to bet it was the first time he'd been properly sober since he was about six.
Looking round, she took an overview of their situation. Shaz and Chris were playing rock paper scissors on the pew nearest the door, Ray was sprawled on the cushioned seat behind the altar with his head on one of the knitted cushions there, snoring softly, and Gene was sat behind her distracting himself by trapping a spider on the bench, watching as it ran towards his hand, was repelled the other way, ran towards his other hand and catapulted back, fruitlessly searching for a way out, just like they had been.
"Let it go, Gene, what's it done to you?" she sighed, watching as he put a hand out to the edge of the pew to stop it going off and plucking it from the backrest. He picked it up in both hands.
"You want it?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eye as she shuddered.
"Dear God, no. Just... put it wherever Shaz put the mouse."
Gene stood up to put it in another drawer in the altar, deliberately brushing his hands past her as he went, smirking at her shudder. There were only two things he knew Alex Drake was scared of: one of their team getting hurt, and spiders. He'd woken up as a kid to find the biggest house spider ever in known history on his face; ever since, he'd been fascinated by the way they moved, the fluid and yet jerky movement, the eight legs working in perfect synchronisation. He knew it irritated Alex, but he loved the things. Deadly if you treated them wrong, but brilliant creatures.
"Yer not scared of an armed blagger, but a daddy longlegs comes along an' yer screamin' fer mercy," he teased, depositing the spider in another drawer and lying down on the bench, shaking his hip flask and sighing as the resounding sound of emptiness came from it once again. Alex sat down by his feet, leaning back against the flimsy wood, sighing.
"Yes, well, it's evolution. Those humans who were afraid of spiders didn't get bitten by them and poisoned; those who were did. So therefore, arachnophobes had a better chance of survival."
"Darwin."
"Darwin came up with evolution, yes."
"Alright, smart-arse. I forgot yer schoolin' cost more than Buckin'ham bloody Palace."
Alex sighed.
"You're not as thick as you seem to think you are, Gene." She'd observed him ever since he got here; especially when there was someone who was privately schooled nearby, most often her, Gene would shy away from anything academic, even though he was perfectly capable of muddling along. Gene huffed.
"D'yer mind? I took the 'Igher School Certificate."
Alex looked confused.
"See? Don't know everythin'," he muttered, grabbing a stack of knitted cushions in an attempt to soften the hard wood of the pew. Alex gave up, sitting down and grabbing a cushion from the pile, rubbing her hands together to try and get some warmth into them.
"Yer cold?" Gene noticed her movements straight off.
"Slightly. It's freezing in here."
Gene took her hands in his gently, rubbing up and down her slim fingers with his broad, elegant hands, the smooth leather blending with his rough skin in a duet rather like him: the jagged with the sleek, the good and the bad. It wasn't often that she saw Gene's caring side, and she treasured the moment, smiling at him as he checked her fingers over for any sign of blueness and returned them to her, stuffing his own hands in his pockets.
"Thanks," she murmured, getting no reply other than a quick nod of the head; it didn't bother her, as it was as far as Gene Hunt got with acknowledgement.
"Guv!" Shaz called abruptly from somewhere behind a massive church organ; while the two senior officers had been talking, she and Chris had been doing some exploring and had found some more cushions and a stash of blankets, along with several bottles of whisky.
"Must be the vicar's," Chris said happily, yanking a blanket out. Gene gave him a sarcastic look.
"Really, Wonder Chris? I was under the impression they belonged ter bloody Jesus."
"Ladies, ladies," Alex said, pushing between the two to bag a blanket and a bottle of whisky, smirking at the looks on their faces as she withdrew and blissfully unaware that her arse had been right in front of Gene's face, just at the perfect distance for ogling.
Stuck in 'ere all night wi' a div, a tea girl, a Neanderthal and my bloody DI. Oh Lord, if this is a test, I fear I may fail...
Alex couldn't see the hands on her watch, but she guessed that it was about three o'clock in the morning; Ray was once again in his spot behind the altar, snoring like a rhino with catarrh, Chris and Shaz were on opposite pews and fast asleep with their hands joined, and she was sitting shivering on her own pew, Gene fast asleep in front of her. She'd expected him to be a snorer, someone who would sleep soundly throughout the night, but she'd been surprised: he was snuffling gently, almost cutely, and tossing and turning every couple of seconds, as though there was something missing from his bed. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his lightly-shut ones, the long, gently curved eyelashes, the slightly open mouth as he turned slightly to face her, snuggling into the cushion beneath his head. She was tired, desperate to get some rest, but whenever she lay down the unforgiving wood and the rock-hard cushions forced her back up again and she was resigned to waiting until she got home to get some kip.
With a pang, she realised that there was just enough space on the two pews Gene had pushed together for her to lie there in his arms, her head beneath his chin, perhaps with her arm over his stomach... but that could never happen. He was her boss, for God's sake! He was a misogynistic pig with lungs like coal reserves, enough obscenities in his vocabulary for the entire Royal Navy and a diet that could only be described as a heart attack waiting to happen. And yet he was also fiercely loyal, intrinsically caring and a damn good copper. He was as far from her type as she had thought humanly possible, and somehow still filled her criteria. And, she thought as he shifted and turned away from her, he wasn't bad from behind either... that arse... she could see why he bought slightly tighter trousers. It still wasn't going to happen, she thought with a sigh. He was off-limits.
Then again, it was cold. The temperature seemed lower than ever; the blanket was doing little to keep her warm, and Alex was shivering, shaking if she tried to keep herself rigid, rubbing her arms under the thin cotton and pulling it up over her head. Maybe she could swap blankets with Gene, get his nice warm one instead of her freezing one? He was comfortably asleep, and she was frozen to the bone... surely he wouldn't mind?
Reaching out, she tugged cautiously on a corner of his blanket, finding to her delight that it was only draped over him, not tucked in anywhere. She began to ease it off, her fingers curling round the fabric, a tiny sigh escaping from her lips as she found how warm it was, his heat clinging to the blanket like a child to their mother. She slid it over from his legs, draping it over her lap, revealing Gene's sock-covered feet, surprisingly elegant, long-toed and with a strongly curved instep. God. What I wouldn't give to be sitting in bed tickling those feet... Jesus, where did that come from?
"Bolly?"
Alex jumped, managing to trap her yelp in her mouth, swallowing it down in a shaky gulp as she looked down at Gene, who was watching her with heavily-lidded, confused eyes.
"Sorry... sorry. I, er..."
"Yer cold?"
"Er, yeah. Sorry."
"Then say. I don't bite. Not unless invited."
She couldn't help noticing a little clump of sleep by his eye, clinging bravely to an eyelash as he blinked, taking in a measure of her.
"Yer look like an ice cube wi' 'igh 'eels. Come on."
He extended an arm to her, wriggling across, making space on the pew. For a second she hesitated, her previous arguments worming back into her brain, but the look of caring in his eyes- however disguised by the sheen of sleepiness- was enough.
She slid down onto his pew-bed, curling up with her legs brushing his, the blankets wound round her, both of them; she protested faintly, but he ignored her, wrapping his arms round her, either not feeling or deliberately not taking in the shudder as his breath ghosted over her shoulder, her crown.
"Gene, you need to keep warm too."
"I'll be fine. Yer like somethin' from a dodgy ice cream shop. Go ter sleep, Bolly."
Funnily enough, now that she was lying on his arm, one blanket beneath her and one covering her, Gene's warmth permeating her body and his scent all around her, she felt soothed; her eyes began to close, and as she felt Gene's thumb gently stroke over her eyebrow they drooped even further.
"Night night, Bolly," he murmured as quietly as he could, resting his chin on her soft thick hair, his arm firmly round her, a tiny smile on his face as her breathing evened and deepened, blowing gently onto his neck. He was already shivering, but he didn't care: she needed warmth more than he did.
Closing his own eyes, Gene fell slowly into a restless, cool sleep beside Alex.
Alex didn't know what woke her a couple of hours later, but when she turned to see who was holding her her heart soared; Gene's arm was draped gently over her waist, his chin brushing her scalp, almost beautiful in the early-morning sun, so peaceful, almost innocent. But there was something wrong, she could feel it; as she came to a little, she realised he was shivering violently, having given up his own warmth to help her defrost. Idiot. Bloody stubborn selfless wonderful idiot.
His lips, slightly open still, had taken on a slightly dangerous blue tinge; Alex wriggled out of her blanket, clamping it round his body, feeling him trembling beneath her arms. Oh, Gene.
"Gene, wake up," she murmured, stroking over his cheek to try and bring some warmth back to his chill skin, putting a hand up to feel his forehead. He opened his eyes, instinctively drawing his body in and curling up, teeth lightly chattering as his gaze met hers, blurred with fatigue but still bright, his vivid irises boring into hers.
"Urgh."
"You idiot, I told you to keep a blanket for yourself," Alex murmured, draping the other over him and watching as he snuggled into it, rubbing his nose against the fabric sub-consciously, closing his eyes again, so different to the aggressive, brash, uncouth Gene she knew.
"Go back ter sleep," he muttered, taking one blanket off and easing it back onto his DI's body, his eyes widening a little as she cuddled into him, her beautifully snug body warming him from the inside and the outside. One slender hand found its way to his back, beneath his shirt, and he shuddered for a very different reason to cold; her fingers slid up and down his back, and he bent to bury his face in her hair, still half asleep, wanting to savour the moment, letting the tough façade drop and smash on the stone floor.
"Goodnight, Gene," Alex murmured, her breath tickling his neck as she turned her head to nestle beside his, smiling as his hand reached out to grasp hers for a brief second before falling back to her side and stilling. A tiny part of her wanted all this to be forgotten by the morning, or a dream, but the vast majority was revelling in her chest, so happy she was sure he could feel the delight against his body.
Content that they were both warm and happy, Alex closed her eyes to slide into a dreamless sleep.
Reverend Dibson trotted up the path towards the church, feet crunching on the gravel in his thick-soled shoes, small eyes glinting out of huge spectacles as he reached the door of the church. Closed and locked. He frowned, reaching out to touch the lock, as though ascertaining it was real. That's funny, I could have sworn I left it open! Must be my old age catching up on me...
He yanked on the lock, sliding it up with a grunt of exertion, the same manly grunt that he had given out many times as a miner. He smiled at the strength left in his withered old arms.
Opening the church doors and letting the light stream in, Reverend Dibson entered the church, feet padding on the well-worn stone floor, preparing for the Sunday sermon and awaiting the arrival of the bell-ringers to call his congregation from their homes. The old reverend sighed in happiness, hanging his coat on the altar and removing his spectacles, sitting down on the comfy seat behind the altar.
"Bloody 'ell!"
"AAAAH!"
Reverend Dibson leapt straight back up, screaming as he stumbled forwards, banging into the altar and sending it sprawling on the floor. The drawers burst open and a mouse scrambled out, closely followed by a spider, pausing for a second by the Bible now lying open at Genesis on the floor and then scurrying on.
"What the-"
Reverend Dibson looked up, his glasses now sitting on the nose of the statue of Christ. On one side of the room, a young dark-haired girl stared up at him, her mouth open, a young man looking gormless and sleepy in the pew opposite her; in a couple of back pews, a man with tousled blond hair and a pretty woman with a brown bob were sitting up and disentangling themselves from several blankets, a scotch bottle clattering onto the floor and bouncing on a knitted cushion.
"What in God's name is going on in here?"
The reverend turned round to look at his cushioned seat, finding a middle-aged man there instead of his Egyptian cotton cushions, rubbing his stomach with a disgruntled look on his face.
"Who are you?"
The group exchanged glances, the young girl coughing, the older woman frowning at the blond-haired man, who hurriedly stood up, his suit creased. The reverend's eyebrows climbed his wrinkled forehead. They'd slept in here all night?
"We, er, were lookin' fer some spiritual epiphany. Don't think we found any, but thanks fer the whisky."
With that he pulled the woman up, heading past her with the others following, all stopping as he turned and regarded the reverend.
"Oh, an' by the way... specs don' suit 'im."
He motioned to the statue of Christ in front of the reverend, turning and heading out with the others behind him once again. Reverend Dibson shook his head, retrieving his specs and sliding them back onto his nose.
"Spiritual epiphany... it takes all sorts," he muttered to himself, deciding to recruit the bell-ringers' help with standing the altar back up and watching as the group argued which direction to take to get back to something, something to do with a quad?
Sighing quietly to himself, he headed over to his stash for some whisky.
"COME BACK HERE, IN THE NAME OF THE LORD!"
It was fortunate for Fenchurch East CID that Brandon Pope happened to walk by at that moment.
As the shouting began and Pope took off, Christ's stained-glass eyes stared blankly out at the young man running from the ragged group of detectives, followed by a very angry reverend, heading towards Fenchurch in a crazy sort of crocodile.
Just for a second, a trick of the light made it look like he was holding a warrant card in one hand.