One Another's Shadow
Disclaimer: I'm only using characters from the BBC's Ashes to Ashes for fun. I don't own them and didn't invent them.
Author's note: Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! Very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy the next bit. Again, some people, events and places are real.
Gene stayed beside the window in Alex's flat all night; awake and vigilant. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone had followed him even though he had used every skill he had to throw a tail off the scent. He didn't even give them the easy option of hopping on the same Tube or bus as him. No, if they were going to trail him, they'd have to work for it and he wasn't going to make it a pleasant stroll in the park. He didn't even come here by his usual route. Instead he had used side roads, he had doubled back and he used the alleyways through the various London council estates. Normally those estates were the preserve and boltholes of the villains he would be following but now? The warren of alleys and side roads that so often thwarted the Quattro, were now his refuge. He used the phone box across the road because there was no street light over it and it was partially obscured by a post box.
Yes, he had done everything he possibly could to protect himself.
So why did it feel like he had led someone straight to Luigi's and Alex's flat? Although, if they got close enough to write in his football programme they probably knew all there was to know about him already. So they would know where he ate, drank, worked, lived and they would also know who he associated with. And where they lived.
So Gene sat, in the quiet darkness, with his thoughts plaguing him and his fears growing. He watched everything and everyone out on the road. Every time a cat skulked near rubbish bins, he started, thinking it was something else. Every car that went by, he scribbled down the registration number on the back of Alex's phone book. A crash sent his heart pounding but it was only the milkman who accidentally dropped a bottle of milk from his milk float at the corner of the road. Gene noted a quick description of the man. Just in case. Dawn had now spread across the sky and soon enough, the postie appeared, dropping letters through letterboxes. Gene's watch bleeped for 8am and he decided it was time to get a move on. London had well and truly woken up, which is more than could be said for the still sleeping Alex.
Gene decided not to wake her and he went and used the bathroom first, splashing cold water on his face and trying to reduce the haggard look around his eyes. He badly needed a fag too. His hands were beginning to tremble from the lack of nicotine and caffeine. He was damn glad he couldn't shave. He stuck his head under the tap in the bath and the cold water helped to clear his mind a bit. His feet still ached and he figured he could do with a nice long soak but he was dammed if he was going to do that here. He dried off his hair with a spare towel he retrieved from the airing cupboard, running his fingers through it to tidy it as best he could. He pulled his shirt and jumper back on and then went to make some poison strength coffee. When there was still no sign of Alex and it was getting on for 8:30am, he went to her door and gave it a thump.
"Oi!! Bolly!! Shake a leg!!"
He gave the door another thump, harder this time, and then he heard her groan.
"Go away!"
"Not this morning, sulky knickers! Up yer get. I've got the kettle on."
There was another moan, followed by the distinct sound of feet hitting the floor. Satisfied that she was up, he went back to the kitchen and opened the 'fridge, where there wasn't much to choose from. Not proper food anyways. Plenty of rabbit food but he wasn't a soddin' rabbit, was he?
He heard her door open, followed swiftly by the bathroom door closing. He stayed in the kitchen, giving her some privacy to potter about.
All he could find that he would eat was cornflakes, so he had a bowl, more toast and coffee and waited for her. She appeared looking just as she always did and motioned towards the door.
"Will we go?"
"D'ye not want any breakfast?" he asked, nudging a piece of toast towards her.
She shook her head. "No, we're late enough as it is. Come on."
"Jus' 'ave it," he said, putting the crockery in the sink. "'Ave some coffee too. It's made and everything. Proper coffee – the spoon could stand up on it's own in it."
"Gen-"
"Bolls, you're 'alf-starved looking already. Eat the toast, 'ave a cuppa and then we'll go. I've got to put me shoes on anyway."
She relented and did as he suggested, figuring it would just be easier. When he was ready, and had shrugged into his jacket, he asked her to bring along a bag.
"What kind of bag?" she replied, rummaging under the sink and pulling out various plastic shopping bags.
"No, not that. A work kind of bag," he said, drawing a large rectangle in the air. "To put papers and files in."
"A briefcase?"
"Well, whatever a bird uses for a briefcase will do!" he said, getting frustrated.
"Okay! Keep your hair on!" she replied, giving him a cross look. She wished he'd stop snipping at her. "I'll have a look."
She went into her room and he did feel a bit bad for snapping at her. God – he needed a fag desperately. Alex returned in a moment with a large handbag in her hands.
"Is this what you're looking for?"
He nodded, "Close enough. Give us it 'ere." He took the bag from her and looked inside.
"Jesus – tat and more tat. We don't need any o' this," he said, emptying the contents out onto the coffee table. Various things such as lipstick, eye-shadow, mascara, tissues and a small bottle of perfume tumbled out.
"Hey!!" she cried. "That's my stuff!!"
"I'm not doin' it any 'arm!" he said, "I need the bag fer work Bolly. Not fer tartin' yerself up."
"Yes Gene. That's exactly why women have bags. To tart themselves up. My tiny little airheaded brain isn't capable of grasping bigger and more important concepts such as work," she spat in annoyance, gathering her scattered posesions together.
He paused in the process of filing the bag with his various bits and pieces. "No need to be so 'ard on yerself Bolls. Yer don't mind if I rip this, do yer?" He tore the back off her phone book without waiting for a reply.
She gave him an incredulous look. He was the most insufferably arrogant man she had EVER had the misfortune-
"You got any scissors?" he asked.
She huffed a loud sigh of annoyance and stomped back into her room. Depositing her "tat" on her dressing table she then went into the kitchen and found the scissors. Which she handed to him, sharp end first.
"Weren't you never taught how to 'and over scissors?" he asked, taking them from her, knowing full well what was going on.
"Oh can we just go already?" she asked crossly.
"No problem Bolls!" she said, handing the bag to her as he marched towards the door.
"Hey! You wanted the bag so you can carr-"
"No. You can carry it," he said firmly, pulling the front door shut behind them. "I'm not trottin' across the town with a woman's 'andbag under me arm. It's not that 'eavy. I think you'll be able to manage, scrawny an' all as ye are."
"You really are insufferable sometimes!" she glowered. "A few hours without a smoke and you're in a foul-"
"I'll be in a fouler mood if you keep on at me," he said, a cold look in his eyes. He was rapidly running out of patience with their bickering. "Give us the sellotape and scissors, please.
She rummaged in the bag and handed him the requested items. "What are y-"
"Watch and learn," he said curtly.
He tore off a long strip of tape and then, using the scissors, he split the strip down the middle. Trimming the edges, he carefully stuck one of the narrow strips from the top of the door out to the top of the door frame and then did the same thing to the side of the door near the bottom. Now, if anyone entered the flat, they'd dislodge the tape. He had placed the strips of tape as unobtrusively as he could and unless you knew they were there, you'd never notice them.
He surveyed his handiwork and was satisfied with it. If one strip fell off the other might hold.
"Nice work," she said, standing beside him, impressed that he thought of securing the flat.
"I 'ope they don't come in through the bloody window," he replied before handing her back the tape and scissors. "Right Bolls! Work to do." With that, he turned on his sore heels and led the way out of the building.
He still insisted on walking even though his feet were killing him and she was in ridiculously high-heeled boots.
"You could've said we weren't going to be getting the bus," she lamented and she walked along beside him.
"I thought that was bleedin' obvious seein' as how I didn't use public transport yesterday," he replied, striding away. "I'm going to check your personnel file. A Detective Inspector? I think someone is pullin' me leg!"
Alex made a face at him and began to fall behind.
"Bolly - step lively! 'Aven't got all bloody day!" he barked at her.
She rolled her eyes and picked up the pace a little. They stopped off in a corner shop for cigarettes, he then led her through every side road and alleyway on their way that he knew of until they got to the church. He held the door open for her and sighing in relief, Alex stepped inside.
It was quiet inside, not a sound could be heard, apart from the very faint rumble of traffic outside. Gene walked down the centre ailse and she followed on tiptoe as her heels clicked loudly against the tiles. It seemed… disrespectful to make a noisy entrance into this quiet place.
Moving to the side of the altar, Gene tapped on the sacristy door.
"Father Mike?" he called softly
The door opened and an old priest stood there with a hymnbook in his hands. He smiled as soon as he saw Gene.
"Well, well, well! Gene Hunt. And what brings you to my door at this early hour, Sir?" he asked, extending his hand in welcome and Gene shook it. "Come in! Come in! I'm just getting ready for 10 o'clock mass."
He ushered Gene and Alex into the sacristy and closed the door behind them.
"Father, this is my colleague DI Alex Drake," said Gene, introducing her. "We've got a bit of a problem that I hope you might be able to help us with."
"Oh ho! Who's in trouble now?" smiled the priest.
"That's what we hope you can tell us," spoke Alex, taking the programme from her bag and opening it at the relevant page.
"We we're wondering if you'd be able to translate that?" asked Gene, pointing to the writing.
"Oh! Oh I see," said Father Mike, searching for his glasses.
Alex spotted them on a small side-table and handed them to him. He took them with a grateful smile.
"I'm always leaving them out of my hands," he explained. "I once found them in the baptismal font. Now… what's all this about then…"
He took the programme over to the light and looked at the writing closely, his face giving nothing away as he read it.
"Is it Irish?" asked Alex, attracting a look from Gene. Of course it was Irish!
"Yes. Yes it is," he replied, turning around to face them and reading it out loud. "An tÚsail Eoghan Ó Fiaich. Ar scáth a chéile a mhairimid. Óglaigh na hÉireann." He turned to face Gene with a sad look in his eyes.
"Just tell me Father," said Gene, already knowing what that look meant.
"It says; Mr Eugene Hunt. We live in one another's shadows. The Soldiers of Ireland. Or, as you know them, the Irish Republican Army. The IRA."
"It's got his name on it?" asked Alex, shocked.
"Yes. An tÚsail Eoghan Ó Fiaich. An tÚsail is the formal way of addressing a man. Eugene is the Anglicised version of the Irish name Eoghan. Ó Fiaich is sometimes said to be the Irish form of the surname Hunt."
"Well, at least they're polite murderin' scum bastards," said Gene. "Oh… 'scuse me language, Father."
"I think Mr Hunt, given the circumstances, it's understandable," said the old man kindly.
"Can you write that out phonetically for me please?" asked Alex, now feeling terribly anxious.
He took out a pen and a blank sheet of paper and did as she asked. Then he helped her to read what he had written.
"On too-sal O-wen O'Fee. Air scaw ah kay-la ah war-ih-meed. Oh-glee nah hair-in," she repeated, in a halting monotone. It really didn't sound like what he read a few minutes ago. She tried again and the old priest smiled.
"You'll get there in the end DI Drake. It's not an easy language to pronounce."
"Can't we just stick to the English translation?" grumbled Gene, not seeing any benefit in this stammering repetition in Irish.
"I just wanted to know what it sounded like," she explained.
"I'd rather know what it means," he shot back, not wanting to get into a debate with her now. "Any ideas Father?"
"Well, we live in one another's shadows can mean different things. It could mean that someone is watching you. It could mean that you have someone under surveillance and they know about it, keeping a close eye on you at the same time. It could mean that your actions impact on others, just as their actions will impact on you. I'm afraid it very much depends on the context and this," he gestured to the note, "is very much out of context. It means something to the person who wrote it and all you can do is interpret their intentions."
Gene sighed, "We've not got a lot to go on, 'ave we?"
"Not really, no," agreed Father Mike.
"It's not a quote from the bible or anything is it?" asked Gene, thinking that it sounded a bit like it could be.
"Not that I'm aware of," he said.
Gene gave him a small rueful smile. Something else was troubling him about the note. "Ó Fiaich… Ó Fiaich…" he said, speaking thoughtfully. "Where… why do I think I've seen that name before? Recently like…"
"Tomás Ó Fiaich," interjected Father Mike.
Gene looked at him in amazement, "That's it!"
"It's no wonder," replied he other man.
Alex, however, was completely in the dark. "Would someone clue me in?"
"Oh for the love of…" sighed Gene. "Bolls… you have GOT to start reading the odd security report that might land on your desk. Or maybe, ye know, even watch the news once in a while!"
"Cardinal Tomás Ó Fiaich, DI Drake," explained Father Mike. "He was much involved with the Hunger Strikers and the Dirty Protests. There was a lot of coverage about it this year. Especially after the whole Bobby Sands incident in May although I'm sure the police would know more about it than I would."
"Yeah, well Father, I wouldn't bet the farm on that," glowered Gene, looking directly at her. "Eh, look. We 'ad better be off. Thank you for helping us out on translatin' this."
"I'm sorry that it is directed at you Mr Hunt. Do take care of yourself."
"I'll be fine Father. And err… you never saw anything. For your own sake. We won't be sayin' 'oo translated this fer us. To anyone."
They all said their goodbyes and Alex and Gene left the church swiftly, just as the small congregation was beginning to arrive for 10am mass. Once outside, they walked in the direction of Fenchurch station in silence. Gene smoked his way through one cigarette after another, daring Alex to say one word to him when she caught his eye.
She wasn't going to say anything about his smoking. Not today. Not with what he had just heard. The English translation swam around her head. Mr Eugene Hunt. We live in one another's shadows. The Soldiers of Ireland. Alex was scared. She was stuck in the bad old days of IRA activism and she couldn't remember important details. Things like bombs that were about to go off… she tried and tried but there was nothing. She couldn't make the connections. There would be one in Harrods but she didn't know when. Another one on a bus. There would be a big one in Brighton… Manchester… Canary Wharf… All going to happen but when? When?
"Why are you so quiet then? asked Gene eventually. When Alex was thinking or was this quiet it had, to date, always meant trouble for him.
"I was just wondering errr… is your first name really Eugene?" she asked, the question sounding even stupider once she said it.
"'Course it bloody is," he barked. "Where do you think Gene comes from? Anyway, nobody, and I mean NOBODY, calls me Eugene."
"It's a nice name."
"It may be. But it's not mine. Got it?" He gave her an angry glare.
"Got it."
He took another long drag of his cigarette. "Let's get back to the station Bolls and 'ope we don't 'ave any more problems this morning."
Alex nodded her head and then paused as something hit her nose. "Is that... rain?"
.oOo.
