This is a fairly long, scene-setting chapter. Hope you like it and please leave a review!! Thanks for all the ones left so far!

Manchester – April 1973

If he had to pinpoint the moment he fell in love with Meg, Gene would have said it was the day of her mother's funeral.

You could tell that Catherine Ryan had been a model in her younger days. Long, straight blonde hair, slim figure, always immaculately turned out both in clothing and cosmetics. She had also been the most charming hostess, an excellent cook and, if her husband Ted was to be believed, a fantastic shag.

It was Ted that Gene got to know first. They trained together in Manchester, both joining the force at the age of nineteen ready to take on the post-war world. It had been a rather rude awakening for both of them. But they had helped each other along, aided in no small measure by a shared loved of whisky, and Ted had become the closest thing Gene had to a real brother. His drug-addicted, biological brother didn't count, and hadn't done for quite some time.

When Ted met Catherine, their relationship had changed. Gene had always known it would one day, but he hadn't expected the transformation to be so dramatic. Ted had morphed from a hard-drinking, hard-living twenty one year old to a helpless quivering lovelorn mess. Gene had watched, rather perturbed, as his friend embraced couplehood, marriage and then parenthood, each stage taking him further away from the man Gene had met all those years ago.

Megan Frances Ryan was born on March 19th 1950 and it was clear from the very beginning that Ted was as besotted with his daughter as he had been with Catherine. Megan, or Meg as she became known, was Catherine's mirror image. Blonde, blue-eyed, she resembled an angel. Ted had asked Gene if he would be Meg's godfather. He had hesitated at first. Godparents were supposed to pledge that they would look after the child if anything happened to the parents. Ted might have been right at home as a husband and father but Gene wasn't convinced that it would suit him. A shag was about as committed as he got. A nagging wife and screaming child didn't exactly make for relaxing evenings down the pub, but Ted had pleaded however, stating that he could trust no other person, and Gene had reluctantly agreed.

The first time he babysat Meg it all went horribly wrong. Gone was the angelic child and in her place was a screaming, shitting devil, who refused to do anything he asked of her. He spent the best part of three hours trying to get her to go to sleep and almost, but not quite, resorted to pouring whisky into her milk. Deciding that he rather needed it himself, Ted and Catherine had come home from their dinner party to find Gene passed out on the couch and Meg crawling aimlessly around the floor. Catherine had been furious and it had only been Ted's successful attempts to placate her that saved Gene from having a frying pan cracked over his head.

Unsurprisingly, he wasn't asked to babysit again, much to his relief. Shortly thereafter, he was promoted to Detective Sergeant and shifted to a different police station. He started seeing less and less of Ted and, consequently, Meg. When he did see his old friend, it was on a rare night down the local boozer. Rare for Ted that was. Gene, of course, practically found himself living there.

It was a Friday night in 1965 when Gene saw Meg again. He had just got back home from the pub, when he heard frantic knocking on the door followed by a loud burst of drunken female laughter. When he opened the door, he was surprised to find two unidentified females, leaning against the door for support. The two of them were clearly pissed out of their brains.

"Uncle Gene!" Meg had declared loudly, throwing herself forward into his arms, "'Ow have you been? Not seen you in ages!"

"Meg!" he had said, "What the bloody 'ell…?"

"You 'ave to 'elp us," she had interrupted, turning wide blue eyes on him, "Me and Sandra 'ere…" she gestured behind her to the other girl who was still giggling uncontrollably, "we've 'ad…ad a little drink."

"I can see that!"

"We're meant to be staying at my place," Meg continued, "but me Mum and Dad'll go mad if they catch us like this. Can we stay 'ere?"

It hadn't exactly been his idea of the perfect end to the evening. He wasn't exactly sober himself and quite fancied thumbing through the latest edition of Jugs. Having two drunk fifteen year old girls to stay didn't exactly fit into that plan. But, she was his goddaughter and he knew the streets well enough to know that he couldn't send them back out. "Yes you can stay."

"You're the bloody best!" Meg had declared, kissing him on the cheek. She and Sandra had then proceeded to pass out in his bed, leaving Gene with the added luxury of the couch. Of course he had phoned Ted and Catherine to let them know the girls were there.

"They didn't have enough for a cab back to your place," he told a rather grumpy Ted, "I didn't want to send 'em back out so I said they could stop over. I'll drop 'em off tomorrow morning."

"You're a mate, Gene," Ted had replied, "thanks very much."

Of course the best laid plans always fall through. At five the next morning, he had been woken by a severely hungover Meg who shook him furiously awake and hissed viciously that she didn't think Sandra was breathing. One frantic dash to the hospital later and it was confirmed that Sandra had clearly drunk more than she could handle. Ted and Catherine were called to come and pick Meg up and all hell broke loose.

"You didn't tell me she was drunk Gene!" Ted raged as the full story came tumbling out.

"I didn't think it would do any good!" he had retaliated, "What would have been the point in worrying the two of you…"

"She is my daughter! And you should have told me!"

As this exchange took place, Meg sat shamefully in the corner, swinging her legs. When Sandra's parents had arrived and it had been established that Sandra was going to be all right, Ted hauled Meg to her feet and proceeded to frogmarch her to the door. As she passed, she paused and look sorrowfully at Gene. "Sorry Uncle Gene."

"It's all right love," he had replied, "any time. You know that."

Meg had nodded, but Ted had looked at him as if to say 'over my dead body.' Catherine hadn't even looked at him at all. "It wasn't me that got her drunk!" he wanted to yell after them, but he didn't.

Two days later, Meg turned up at the station to apologise. "I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't mean for Dad to yell at you."

"I'm used to it," he'd replied.

"I got bollocked when I got 'ome," she revealed.

"Oh yeah?"

Meg nodded solemnly, "Grounded for six months! For 'aving a drink!" she shook her head, "You'd think we'd killed someone."

"If you're grounded, 'ow come you're 'ere?"

She grinned at him, "Sneaked out, didn't I?"

Three years later, that same determination still lurked inside Meg. Gene met Ted in the pub one night, them both having long since put the drunk episode behind them, and he appeared to have something on his mind.

"Meg wants to join the force," he revealed, shaking his head, "dozy cow."

"What's wrong with that?" Gene asked.

"Come on, Gene, you know what it's like! My daughter, a plonk? I don't bloody think so. I know 'ow they get treated. I know 'ow I treat 'em," he glanced sideways at his friend, "and you."

Gene grunted. Ted was right. Women in the police force were generally considered a joke. Consigned to uniform, cleaning out cells, doing the shit work, making tea and coffee…he didn't want that for Meg. "Reckon she'd make a good copper."

Ted looked at him, "You think so?"

"She's got a brain in 'er head…"

"I don't know about that."

"I could use someone like her on my team."

Ted paused, glass halfway to mouth and stared at his friend, "You could use someone like Meg on your team? Don't make me laugh, Gene."

"I'm being serious!"

"What woman is going to be taken seriously in CID?" Ted shook his head, "Besides, she'd have to start in uniform. She'd still be a plonk."

"Only for a bit," Gene argued, "let 'er do 'er year and then I'll request her."

Ted looked at him as if he had gone mad, "'Ave you completely lost your mind?"

But Gene stuck to his guns and, six months later, in May 1968, Meg joined the force. Catherine was completely against it, and voiced her opinion rather forcefully when Gene met her in the street one day, but Ted had seemingly come round to the idea and almost appeared proud when he first saw Meg in uniform.

That first year flew past, not least because of the rise of 'Manc The Knife,' a serial killer stalking the streets of Manchester. He murdered three women, leaving a red geranium in their hands as a calling card. Women were afraid to walk the streets. Ted turned up at the station every night to take Meg home, much to her chagrin.

"Dad, I'm a police officer!" Gene heard her shouting at him one evening, "I can look after meself! Look," she said, catching sight of him, "Gene doesn't think I can't look after meself, do you?"

"That's not the point Meg and you know it!" Ted shouted back, "Anyway, it's DCI Hunt to you when you're in uniform. Now I've got to be at Bob and Sally's house in twenty minutes so let's go!"

"I'll take her," Gene had offered.

"I don't need anyone to take me!"

Ted glanced at his watch, "You'd be doing me an 'uge favour, mate. Thanks. You," he pointed at Meg, "Straight home." With that, he had hightailed it away, leaving Meg and Gene standing.

"He doesn't trust me," she moaned as she got into the car, "Thinks I'm an idiot."

"That's not true," Gene reassured her, "'e's your dad. Of course 'e's going to worry about you."

"I'm eighteen, not eight. Beside, if Manc The Knife did come after me, I reckon I could take 'im."

"Oh yeah, with what?"

"I'm quite good at self-defence you know. You should try me out sometime."

"I'll pass on that, thank you very much." By this point, he had reached the house, "Now, like your dad said, straight home."

Meg had made a face at him, but had kissed him on the cheek anyway, "Thanks Gene…I mean Guv…I mean…oh whatever!" With that, she had got out of the car and hurried up the path and into the house.

Eight months later, the killer was caught and the city breathed a sigh of relief. Gene didn't forget what he had said he would do and duly requested Meg to join the team. There were a few raised eyebrows, not least from DC Ray Carling, a fairly new addition to the team himself, who seemed to resent any female that wasn't prepared to jump into bed with him.

"A plonk?" he had said to Gene after the announcement was made, "In CID?"

"Yes Ray, a plonk in CID. Now before you go opening that big trap of yours and making any other stupid comments, let me remind you that WDC Ryan is my goddaughter and if I 'ear of anyone giving 'er an 'ard time, they'll have to answer to me, got it?"

"Yes Guv," Ray had acquiesced, but Gene was aware of the fact that he ribbed Meg whenever he had the chance, tried to make her look stupid and basically treated her like shit. At first, he was ready to wade in with the heavy boots and knock seven bells out of his cocky DC, but found he didn't need to. Meg was more than capable of looking after herself and could come out with some one-liners that even put Gene to shame.

"She needs a nice young man," Ted lamented one evening, two years later. It was summer, 1971 and the city was scorching. As usual though, he and Gene were downing pints in the pub, oblivious to the weather.

"Who does?" Gene asked, already slightly worse for wear.

"Meg. She needs a nice young man to marry 'er and give 'er kids."

"Give 'er kids?"

Ted nodded, "Women's place in the 'ome and all that. Granted I let her do this copper thing for a bit, but it's now time for 'er to pack it in and do something useful. Besides, I'm not getting any younger and it would be nice to have grandkids before I need a zimmer frame."

Gene had looked at him in disbelief, "You're the same age as me, you tosser!"

"Exactly!" Ted had drunkenly pointed at him, "You should be doing summat with your life too, Gene. Plenty of nice young girls out there you know."

"What, like Meg?"

"Hey," Ted looked at him warningly, "Don't even…"

"I wasn't, you nonce!" Gene ordered another round, "Meg's a good copper though. It'd be a shame to lose 'er off the team."

"Ain't there any nice young officers on your team who would marry 'er?"

Gene thought hard. Ray was out of the question. Not only did he disrespect Meg like nobody's business, but there's no way in hell Gene would let him anywhere near his goddaughter in the biblical sense. The newest recruit, DC Chris Skelton was a nice enough lad, but a bit slow on the uptake. Meg would eat him for breakfast. He ran through the others that he knew and drew a blank.

"I'll find someone for 'er," Ted said confidently, "I'll 'ave 'er married off by this time next year."

"What do you mean 'e's 'ere for me?" Meg asked Gene, three months later as they stood in the doorway of the community centre, smoking, as her parents anniversary party was in full swing.

"You dad invited that bloke 'ere for you," he had repeated, "'e thinks you'll fancy 'im enough to marry 'im and quit the force."

Meg screwed up her face, "You've got to be bloody joking! 'Ave you seen 'im? He looks like Tony bloody Hancock! God, me dad has no idea what kind of blokes I go for!"

"Oh yeah?" Gene was interested in this, "What kind of blokes do you go for? Men like Raymondo?"

"No!"

"Chris?" She shook her head. "Who then?"

"I dunno, but not 'im," she gestured again across the room. "I wondered why 'e was sat next to me. I wanted to talk to you about the case." At the time, they had been investigating a spate of armed robberies. "Oh God, 'e's coming over. Quick, let's get out of 'ere!" She had grabbed his arm and hauled him round the side of the building. "Let's go to the pub."

"It's your parents' party," he had pointed out, "Don't you think they'll wonder where you went?"

"Nah, they're bladdered already as it is. Come on! Quick, before he comes out 'ere!" So, they had taken off to the nearest pub where they had both proceeded to get very drunk and had to be thrown out come closing time.

"You know what, Meg," Gene had slurred as they had fallen into a taxi, "You are my kind of woman…"

"Howzat then…cause I can 'old me drunk…I mean, me drink?"

"Exactly! Too bloody right!"

"Shame then that you're me godfather. Not to mention far too old for me."

He had nodded in full agreement, "Bloody shame."

Eighteen months later, Christmas 1972, Meg announced she was getting married. The lucky young man was Robert Hathaway, a lawyer whom Meg had met during a particularly intense interrogation where she was holding the suspect down by his ears while Gene proceeded to torture him. Robert had come bursting in and demanded that the questioning stop. Meg had been instantly smitten.

Gene had found he didn't like it. She started talking non-stop about Robert. About how clever he was, about how honest he was. Not to mention the fact that she started questioning his methods as being out of date and inhumane, things she had never done before. She was slipping away from him and he didn't like it one bit. It also didn't help that Robert was a sanctimonious tosser whom Gene would have liked nothing better than to have mown down in his Cortina.

Ted and Catherine were delighted. They thought Robert was the perfect young man for their daughter, destined to make her happy and take care of her. Gene boycotted the lavish engagement party they put on for her, claiming that he had business to take care of. Meg hadn't believed a word of it and, after the party was over, had come storming round to his flat for an explanation.

"Why weren't you there?" she demanded when he had opened the door, "I thought you of all people would have been there."

"I told your dad I 'ad work to do."

"In a bottle, was it?" she replied, anger marring her features. "I thought we were friends Gene."

"We are."

"I thought you cared about me. You're me godfather for Christ's sake!"

"I do care about you, which is why I can't understand why you're marrying that bastard!"

"Why? Because 'e's smart? Because 'e's a lawyer? Or because you just don't agree with 'im? You're pissed off because 'e stopped that interrogation."

"That were months ago! Despite what you might think sweetheart, I've got better things to do with me time than worry about one poncy lawyer!"

"Fine! She said, "Don't bother coming to the wedding then!"

"I 'adn't been planning to!" he shouted after her as she had left. "Stupid cow."

They didn't speak for weeks unless they absolutely had to, usually by Gene barking an order at her and Meg silently complying. He knew she was angry and hurt, but then so was he….and he wasn't quite sure why.

In the end, it all came to a head one night as he worked late, trying to catch up on the bastarding paperwork he had let slide over the last few weeks. Everyone else had left hours ago, so he was surprised when there was a soft knock on the office door.

"Come in." He had been even more surprised when Meg had appeared. "Oh yes, what's this then? Come with me wedding invite 'ave you?"

"No," she had replied, and that's when he saw that she was crying. "It's not me, it's…it's Mum."

"What about 'er?"

"You know 'ow she hasn't been well the last few weeks?"

"No I don't seeing as you've been giving me the bloody silent treatment!" At that, Meg burst into loud sobs. "Shit, Meg," Gene had got to his feet and walked over to her. "Time of the month is it?" He patted her awkwardly on the back, "Come on, sit down." She had sank into the chair and put her head in her hands. "What about your Mum?"

"The doctor says she's got cancer," Meg had replied, lifting her head, "Only a couple of months to live."

Gene had been so shocked he couldn't respond at first. Not Catherine. Bright, beautiful, if at times irritating, Catherine. Not Meg's mum. "'ow…I mean…when…"

"She's been coughing dead bad for the last few months," Meg explained, "she went to get it checked out and…it's cancer…" she started crying again, "Me mum's going to die Gene…"

"Come on," he said, pulling her to her feet and into his arms, "Come on, you're all right."

"What am I going to do?"

He didn't have an answer for that, so instead held her and rubbed her back and let her cry against him. "How's your dad?" he had asked finally.

Meg pulled back, "'e went straight down the pub," she said, "'e can't handle it. I don't think I can either…" she stepped into him again, "It's like…Mum…she's not meant to die. She's not supposed to…"

"What about Robert?" Gene said the name trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

Meg didn't say anything for a long moment. "It's over between us," she said finally.

"Oh."

"Don't pretend you're not 'appy about it."

"I'm not."

She pulled back, "You're not pretending or you're not 'appy?"

He didn't reply, "Come on, I'll take you 'ome."

They had driven there in silence, back to a house which seemed bleaker than it had done before. When had pulled up, Meg had sat looking out of the window, seemingly in no hurry to move. "They want to keep Mum in the 'ospital," she said, "it'll be weird, just me and Dad." She turned to look at him, "If I need to get out, clear me 'head…can I come to yours?"

He nodded, "Course."

She hadn't done it. As Catherine's condition deteriorated, so did Ted and Meg was forced to look after him. More often than not he would go home practically paralytic. If he went home at all. Some nights he would take himself down the hospital and sleep off the effects in a chair next to Catherine's bed. The nurses gave him leeway because he was a copper and because his wife was dying.

A few months later, Gene, Meg and his new DI Sam Tyler were all involved in an interrogation. Meg was once again playing the role of holding the suspect down, Gene was hitting him and Sam was standing nearby trying to interject. Gene would never forget Sam's bizzare reaction when he first met Meg ("Your name's Meg Ryan?") but the two of them appeared to get on well. Nothing too close of course, he would never permit that. Besides, it looked suspiciously as though Tyler was wanting to get into WPC Annie Cartwright's knickers.

During the interrogation, Annie came in, her expression anxious.

"No place for ladies Cartwright," Gene told her, causing Meg to glare at him.

"It's a message for Meg, Guv," Annie said.

"What is it?" Meg asked from her position on the floor.

"It's the 'ospital," Annie said, "they said you should go now."

Four hours later, Catherine had died. She was forty. Gene went round to the house that night to find Meg there alone. Ted had, predictably, taken himself off down the pub to drown his sorrows. She had clearly been drinking herself but, and he surprised himself here, he knew that it wasn't what she needed. So, he made her a cup of tea and they sat together long into the night talking about the old days. About the time she and her mate Sandra had come to the house, about how Ted hadn't wanted her to join the police, about Catherine. And when she had cried, he had held her and promised her that he would be at the funeral.

"I need someone there," she said, "someone to be strong for me, because I'll need to be strong for me dad." And he had looked at her and thought that, at twenty-three, why should she have to be?

And so, here he was. And here she was. The day of her mother's funeral. Sitting beside her in the church, squeezing her hand when she grabbed his, watching as she cried, watching as Ted drunkenly sobbed, knowing that whatever happened, he would look after Meg.

And realising for the first time that he was in love with her.