Here's our second effort guys! Hope you enjoy reading it. Love Scully and Jeepster! Of course we own nothing at all, all characters belong to the BBC! Although we'd not mind borrowing Jim Keats from time to time, we'll return him in good condition; promise! xxx
Gillian took a deep breath and stared up at the stark hospital ceiling, the white light seeming to burn her retinas. "Can't believe you're actually going to go ahead and do this." Amy shook her head as she carefully filled a syringe, tapping out the air bubbles. Gillian smiled at her old friend. "Well, you know? It's not like I'm wanted here, is it, at least not for a while. The Guv told me to stay off the radar, keep my head down...what better than the past? I think I'd be of better use to him there-even if he doesn't know me yet." She tried to sound jovial, but her stomach churned as Amy wiped the back of her hand with a sterile wipe. "This guy that you're going after-he's dangerous, right?" Amy asked. "Of COURSE. I'm a copper, Amy, I catch bad guys. Asking me not to do that is like asking you not to treat ill people or mother me to within an inch of my life every God-given minute." Gillian looked at her pointedly, eyebrow raised, but Amy only rolled her eyes and reached for the syringe.
"How does it work, again? I know you told me, but...tell me again?" Gillian asked Amy, raised her eyebrows.
"It's gamma hydroxybutyrate...it'll induce a coma, much the same as the one Sam Tyler slipped into. If we are to believe what he said in his reports, this should get you where you need to be. We'll be monitoring your vitals 24/7, but it's not without its risks; you know that," Amy intoned, looking at her nervously. Gillian knew that look well; as a forensic psychologist newly out of school, she and Amy had become friends at Quantico when Amy traveled to the States for a 10-week course in behavioral science. As a bonus, Amy eventually became a psychiatrist with MI-5; the perfect person to do the perfect job in the perfect, most obscure location. However, Amy was once again going against her best judgement, hence said look. It nearly always occurred right before Gillian was about to do something reckless or illegal to crack open a case.
"I'll be fine, you know me. Always land on my feet! And I've got you here watching my back, haven't I?" Gillian patted the back of Amy's hand. "Come on, for Pete's sake, and do it!" With that, she thrust her hand towards Amy. Dutifully, yet reluctantly, Amy slid the needle into her friend's vein and slowly injected the drug.
Gillian's head rested on something hard...and she slowly became aware of music. Loud, loud music.
"Sometimes I dream
where all the other people dance
sometimes I dream
Charlotte sometimes
sometimes I dream
the sounds all stay the same
sometimes I'm dreaming
there are so many different names
sometimes I dream
sometimes I dream..."
She raised her head off of the table and scanned her surroundings. She was in an office; it was dark, dingy and smelled slightly of stale alcohol. She paced around the room, running her fingertips over the walls and the shelving. "It's so real, ha!" Gillian marveled as she took in the big picture. Eventually, her eyes were drawn to the desk calendar; the owner had been tearing off the dates in turn, and it was November 8th, 1984. "It worked! F**k me, Amy, it worked! BRILLIANT! HA!" she cried aloud.
With that the door burst open, almost off its hinges. "Who the bloody 'ell are you talking to, you daft mare?" There in the doorway stood a tall middle-aged man with mousy blond hair. He wore a grey suit with the worst pair of snakeskin cowboy boots she'd ever had the misfortune to lay her eyes on-and she'd lived through the 80's the first time. "Who the hell are you?" Gillian pretended not to recognize her own Guv. She squared up to him, hands on hips. "Oh, my God, she's a Yank, that's all we bloody need. Okay, come on, Daisy Duke, get your knickers on; you're nicked!" With that, he spun her around, slapping cuffs around her wrists. "You have GOT to be f**king kidding me, are you serious?" she protested, tempted to elbow this jackass in the groin. "Gene Hunt doesn't kid, and watch your mouth!" "Well, hello there, Geeene, SO nice to meet you," she began, elongating his name for effect. "So, you know, uhh, WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S HOLY am I being arrested for?" She looked up at him; her petite figure stood perfectly in his shadow. "This whole bloody place is under arrest, Dolly. We've reason to believe your fearless leader, Brian Simpson, is laundering money through this s*it hole." "Oh, great! Nice. Okay, LET'S go downtown. Let's do JUST that. This'll be good," Gillian replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
As Gene lead her through the nightclub to the exit, she saw people dressed in the most outlandish costumes being ushered out by police officers. There were goths, New Romantics, and some downright freaks! Quoting one of her favorite 'Family Guy' episodes, she smiled widely, saying, "This place is freakin' SWEET."
"Oi, Michael! Find the sodding plug and turn this bloody racket off!" Gene bellowed to a younger man, another plain-clothed officer. "Not a fan of The Cure, then, Guv?" Michael, the hapless officer, asked, grinning. He then smiled briefly in Gillian's direction. "If that's the Cure, I 'ate to know what the bloody affliction is!", Gene retorted.