Bugger. A girl.

And not just a girl. A small, meek, mousy little girl, who couldn't have been more than six. Who would be no match whatsoever for William Jamieson and John Carter, should they choose to have a pop at him. He'd just have to hope that Brian's partner was reasonably good in a punch-up, and try to get the table next to theirs.

That said, this would be a walk in the park. He wouldn't have to do a millisecond of work, from the looks of things- this Alex Price would do the lot.

From the looks of 'er, she could write bloody War an' Peace without breakin' a sweat. Prob'ly speaks Latin an' all.

Hopefully he could use this golden opportunity to stay out of the way of that Mrs Hingston for a while as well. As in, until they went back to Manchester.

Alex sat down at a table, beckoning for Gene to take the chair opposite; he sat down, feeling a bit apprehensive, slouching back and dropping his bag to the floor unceremoniously. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Brian and his partner, a weedy-looking boy of about eight with thick glasses and hair so red he could have been mistaken for a traffic light. Not only conspicuous, but undoubtedly useless in a fight of any kind. Gene sighed, tipping the chair back until his head rested on the wall, turning as Alex coughed quietly, her cheeks almost as scarlet as Brian's partner's hair.

"Eugene?"

"If yer goin' ter call me Eugene, I may as well go an' join Brian. It's not my name. My name's Gene."

"But Mrs Hingston called you Eugene…"

"Yeah, an' nobody else does."

"Your mummy must call you Eugene. She named you it."

Christ, he'd got a wet one. Gene swore under his breath, chuckling to himself at Alex's eyes widening to an almost painful size.

"You said- you said…!"

"I said, bugger," Gene replied, revelling in the attention as Alex's mouth dropped open, her gasp caught in her throat. She was wet, but with a bit of luck, he could have some fun teasing her.

"You're not allowed to say that!"

"Am too. My dad says it all the time."

"Your dad's a naughty man. He shouldn't say bad words, especially in front of children."

Gene didn't quite know how to reply to that. He'd called his father many things in his time, most of which would probably send little Alex down in a dead faint, but 'naughty' hadn't been one of them. He decided to change the subject.

"Mm. What's this project then?"

"We have to pick something to do with London, and do a project on it," Alex replied, her posh accent enough to cut glass. Gene laughed.

"What?"

"Yer a right posh one! What d'yer parents do?"

"They're solicitors."

Gene laughed again, lifting a pen and scribbling on the piece of paper in front of him. Just the right kind for graffiti-writing on desks- nice and thick, nice and dark, and a real job for the cleaners to get off. Now he had to think of something that rhymed with Hingston, and try to figure out how it was spelled.

"Yeah, yer posh. 'Ow many million pounds they earn every year? What size is yer mansion?"

"We've got four bedrooms," Alex answered honestly, a little unnerved by Gene's examination of her family. "What about you? Mummy said people in the North are poorer than people in the South, and Manchester's really far North, so you must be very poor."

"We're alright," Gene said, his cheeks red. He picked the pen back up and started doodling again, drawing a crude impersonation of Mrs Hingston and himself holding Stu's bow and arrows about to shoot her. Alex, not yet possessing enough tact to change the subject, continued.

"Mummy said most people up there only have one room in their houses. How do you fit everything in? It must be really horrible when your mummy's cooking something smelly."

"We've got five rooms, thanks," Gene muttered, adding in blood spurting from Mrs Hingston's chest. Lots of it.

"Only five? We've got lots and lots. Does your mummy have to ask your dad for money to buy your Sunday roast?"

"Don't 'ave a Sunday roast. Only on Easter Sunday."

Or if he managed to sneak something under his jumper in the shop on Saturday. Gene's father never brought money home, having spent the lot at the pub, but still expected his dinner on the table despite this.

"Really? Does your mummy have to beg people?"

"No she does not!"

"Does your dad come home and hit you with his belt?"

Gene snapped.

"SHUT UP!" he yelled, leaping from his chair, letting it crash back onto the floor behind him. "Shut up!"

The room was suddenly silent, the only sound Gene's heavy breathing; Alex shrank back in her chair, too scared to look at Gene, crossing her arms defensively even as the tears welled in her eyes.

"I was only asking," she said in a tiny, tremulous voice, letting the first tear spill down her cheek.

Ah shit, now you've made 'er cry. Nice one, Gene. Even if she is a bloody nosy cow.

"Gene, I think you'd best come with me for a minute," his teacher said softly, reaching out to grasp Gene by the elbow, gently leading him away. Gene tried to pull away, giving up when the teacher took both his arms, gripping more firmly, walking after her with his head bowed as sound slowly crept back into the room.

"What was that about?" his teacher asked as soon as they reached the corridor, parking Gene one side and perching on the radiator on the other. Gene studied the floor, hoping desperately he wouldn't be sent back to Manchester so early on. I'm not lettin' that smug bitch Mrs Hingston think she was right all along about me.

"She asked if my dad 'it me with 'is belt."

"Oh."

The teacher paused, a contemplative frown on her face; Gene pressed his back against the wall, looking anywhere but the teacher, playing with a loose thread from his jumper.

"I can see why you blew up, Gene, but that doesn't make it any better. You upset Alex an' Mrs Hingston will be askin' me if you should be goin' back to Manchester. I'll make your excuses, but you have to reign in that temper of yours, young man. You understand?"

Gene nodded once, gritting his teeth.

"Do you want me to talk to Alex? Tell her-"

"No!"

"Gene, calm down. Nobody'll tell her anythin' unless you say so. Are you goin' to go back in there an' apologise to Alex?"

"Only if she apologises too."

"I think an apology is needed from her too. Come on, Gene, chin up- you were so excited this morning!"

"That was before I knew my partner was goin' ter be a girl," Gene muttered under his breath, reluctantly letting his teacher shepherd him back into the hall and direct him over to a tearful Alex and a fuming Mrs Hingston. Gene had to give her credit, her impression of a bull with a red-hot poker up its arse was pretty realistic. Even if he was observing it in the same way a criminal on Death Row might survey their electric chair.

In trouble with 'er again. I may as well sign my bloody death certificate an' 'ave it out the way.

"Eugene Hunt. In trouble already, are we? I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you. Alex has been in floods of tears, this is quite out of order. I've a good mind to call your parents and have them collect-"

"Actually, I think apologies are deserved from both sides," Gene's teacher interrupted firmly, pulling Gene forwards. "Alex asked Gene quite a rude question: I'm not excusin' his behaviour, but it wasn't unfounded."

Mrs Hingston sniffed, her nose pinching as though she found Gene foul-smelling. Gene did his best to reign in a glare.

"And could I ask what this question-"

"Sorry, Gene," Alex said quietly, cutting her headmistress off mid-sentence. "I was being silly. I'll try not to do it again."

She met Gene's eyes underneath her hair, her own watery but wide with honesty; Gene sighed under his breath, wetting his lips as the two teachers watched him expectantly.

"Sorry, Alex. I won't blow up at yer again."

The apology left a bitter taste in his mouth- Gene Hunt never apologised, especially when he didn't think it was his fault- but at the sight of Alex's small, shy smile, it dissipated.

Well, she'd stood up for him, in her own way. He owed her that much.


Playtime found Gene perched on top of the monkey bars in the playground, playing yet another game of Top Trumps with Brian as Alex swung up and down beneath them, occasionally surfacing to whisper a hint in one boy or another's ear; Brian's partner Joseph had skulked off to the library, a place no self-respecting Mancunian eight-year-old would follow, but thankfully Alex had felt like some exercise and had accompanied the boys outside. And, she thought idly as she swung round to go back again and tried not to hit Gene's dangling ankle, if she stuck to the monkey bars, Amelia Forester would stay away. Gene had shown himself to be quite capable of getting angry, and Amelia wouldn't risk his wrath just to get in one more snipe at Alex.

"I win!" Gene announced triumphantly as he snatched Brian's last card from him, holding the whole pack up above his head, victorious. Brian groaned, trying to grab the cards back and unbalancing himself; Gene hurriedly caught him, helping Brian get back up onto his perch.

"Yer worse than Christopher Skelton."

They looked over at the corner of the playground in unison, just in time to see Christopher running after William Jamieson, who had his lunch in one hand and his bag in the other. Brian rolled his eyes.

"Nobody's worse than Christopher Skelton."

"Gene? Can you help me up?" Alex's voice called from beneath them, one small hand waving through the gap between the bars; Gene hauled her up to sit with them, forgetting he was still holding the Top Trumps and managing to spill them all over the tarmac beneath the monkey bars.

"Gene!" Brian howled, dropping to the ground to collect his cards up; Gene rolled his eyes, ignoring the little voice in his head saying he should get down and help him. He turned instead to watch Christopher Skelton again, his eyebrows rising and then pursing together as he saw William Jamieson and John Carter heading his way, having dumped Christopher's things in a tree and left him to jump up hopelessly at them.

"Stay up 'ere, Alex," he told her quickly, wriggling between the bars and down to the tarmac. Alex watched with wide eyes, stifling a gasp as she saw the two boys approaching from the other side of the playground, both bigger and older than Gene and Brian, both squaring their shoulders and snarling at the two boys beneath her.

"Gis the Top Trumps."

"Piss off," Gene spat, hands on hips, chest swelled with anger. "Go an' bully little kids like yer always do."

"Skelton's no fun after a while," William sneered, moving forwards, his black eye resplendent against his spotty face. "You want a fight, little Eugene?"

"If yer think yer tough enough."

The boys glared at each other, both trying to stare the other out; Alex saw John Carter approaching from the rear, realising with a rush of anxiety that John would grab Gene from behind, leaving him completely vulnerable to William…

Only one thing for it, then. Gene was her partner.

Just as John approached, she swung her foot back, smacking him full in the face with the heel of her shoe.

"OW!" John screamed, clutching his face with both hands; Mrs Pankhurst ran over to see what had happened, immediately halting any prospect of a fight between Gene and William as she began tending to John.

"He walked into my foot, Mrs Pankhurst," Alex said innocently, putting on her best 'oh-dear-poor-person' face as William scowled and Gene tried his hardest not to laugh, hurriedly scurrying back up the monkey bars and pulling Brian up behind him.

"Please watch where you're going, dear," Mrs Pankhurst advised John, heading off to deal with a wailing Christopher Skelton; Gene grinned down at the two boys from on high, his grin only growing as they skulked off, hands in pockets and growling up at him that they would get him at the hotel later.

"Nice work, Alex," Brian laughed, shuffling the pack of Top Trumps once again; Gene smiled shyly at her, reaching out to gently punch her shoulder.

"Thanks fer watchin' our backs."

"It was surprisingly satisfying," Alex replied, a beam on her own face. Gene ducked his head, watching her from under his scruffy fringe; maybe she wasn't too bad, for a girl especially…

"You watch my back, an' I'll watch yours." Gene held his hand out formally, his bright blue eyes glittering as they met hers. Alex glanced down at his hand and then back to him, the smile on her face growing slightly as she reached out to shake with him, grasping his warm, rough hand for a second longer than necessary as she basked in this new-found friendship and protection.

Brian grinned at her, and dealt her a hand of Top Trumps cards.


The hotel the coachful of Mancunian children was unloaded in front of wasn't five-star, or even two-star, but provided cheap rooms and cheaper food and was less than an hour from the school, and so had been hastily booked a couple of days before when their headteacher realised they would need somewhere to sleep during their stay. The building didn't look particularly welcoming, streaky concrete covered in scrubby ivy and leaking drainpipes, but the plump Cockney woman who came out and started fussing over the children seemed welcoming enough to make up for her depressing guest-house.

After a rather unsatisfying dinner of sandwiches and crisps, Gene and Brian were given the keys for a three-bed room and told firmly to keep them safe and not be too mean to their room-mate, Christopher Skelton, who grinned goofily at the older boys as he lugged his bulging rucksack along to their room. Gene and Brian shrugged at each other, rolling their eyes as Christopher demanded to be let into the room.

"I want the top bunk!" he squealed as soon as he'd pushed the door open, running over to the bunk bed and tripping on the corner of the rug in front of it, sprawling on the floor like a puppy on an ice rink. Gene sniggered, climbing up into the top bunk and depositing his bag there as Christopher blinked up at him and immediately ran to claim the single bed by the window.

"I got the bed by the window!" he sang, unzipping his bag and pulling a copy of The Beano out. Gene eyed it wistfully, lying back on his bunk and studying the damp-stained ceiling for something to do, shifting to try and get comfortable on the lumpy mattress.

Welcome ter London. Pick up a bad back while yer 'ere.

"D'yer reckon we could get somethin' else ter eat?" Brian asked dolefully, rubbing his stomach; Gene leaned over the side of his bunk, eyeing him upside-down in thought. Christopher giggled.

"We could nick somethin' from the kitchens."

"Are yer goin' ter steal somethin'?" Christopher asked excitedly, abandoning his Beano on the bed and leaping up, staring at the two older boys. Gene rolled his eyes.

"We're not takin' you. Only if we actually wanted ter get caught."

Christopher fell silent, trying to work out what he meant; Gene sighed under his breath, leaping down from his bunk and crouching to tie his lace. This could be fun, sneaking out to steal food, like posh kids at boarding schools sometimes did.

"I could be the lookout," Christopher said suddenly, sensing that the two older boys were contemplating leaving him behind. "I could stand there an' make sure nobody came."

Gene and Brian exchanged looks, raising their eyebrows; the idea had merit, and if the worst came to the worst, only Christopher would get into trouble and they'd hear and be able to run.

"OK," Brian said decisively, leaping up from his bunk and grabbing the room keys, motioning for the other two boys to come closer. "We grab whatever's nearest ter the door, an' run back. You stand outside the kitchen, an' tell us if someone's comin' inter the kitchen, so we can hide or run. OK? An' if yer mess up, Skelton, yer won't live ter see next week."

Christopher nodded solemnly, the sincerity on his five-year-old face shining out.

"I won't mess up."

Gene and Brian glanced at each other again, shrugged and pocketed the room keys, sliding the door open and beckoning for Christopher to stay close as they headed out into the dark corridor.

The smell of roast potatoes led them to the kitchen, two large oak doors standing slightly ajar as the lady of the house whistled merrily, bustling about; Gene and Brian exchanged glances, crouched on the floor outside the kitchen, motioning for Christopher to stand at the entrance and remain silent as they eased forwards with all the stealth of a hunting panther and one small hand pushed the door slightly open, three young mouths watering at the smell of thick salty pork. Gene licked his lips, staring at the tray of roast potatoes three feet from him, almost within arm's reach: yes, that was his target. He nudged Brian, pointing to it, and got an affirmatory nod back. Target confirmed.

"Run," Brian whispered, holding the door further open as the woman busied herself with a book, sinking into an armchair on the other side of the kitchen. Facing half away from the roast potatoes as she was, Gene figured he could just about sneak in, grab the tray and get out of there before she turned round. He'd done this before, sneaking food from the kitchen while his father drank in his favourite armchair, snatching it and running up the stairs before his father could hear or see him through the haze of alcohol.

Still crouched as low as possible, knees brushing the carpet, Gene slid through the doors and reached up to grasp the handles at either end of the tray, carefully and silently lifting it off the countertop and into his protective grasp.

Edging backwards, Gene eased out of the doors, straightening up and running the rest of the way back to his room, Brian and Christopher hot on his heels and whooping in triumph.

"You did it!" Brian yelled as they tumbled through their bedroom door, locking it behind them as Gene put the tray down on the floor, taking one perfectly-roasted potato and stuffing it whole into his mouth, chewing with a look of bliss on his small face. Christopher attempted to do the same and choked; Brian rolled his eyes at him, munching on his own potato with his oily lips curved in a huge grin.

"Yummy," he mumbled, diving in for another one.

Twenty minutes later and the empty tray was hidden, the light out, and three incredibly full boys fast asleep, Christopher snuffling quietly by the window and Brian snoring softly on the lower bunk as Gene curled up under his duvet above him, one thumb just in front of his mouth, as though he'd just grown out of sucking it. His spare hand grasped a tattered blanket, hidden under the duvet; he'd sprayed it with his mother's perfume when his father wasn't there so that he could smell it whenever he needed to, cursing himself for being a soft nancy all the while. Eileen Hunt had glimpsed the corner of it sticking out of Gene's rucksack and simply smiled to herself, glad that her husband couldn't deny him this one little comfort.

He dreamed of his mam, and Alex, and running through the faceless streets of London as his father chased after him with the belt, turning the air blue with his curses as Gene's legs became enmeshed in thin air and his father got closer and closer and closer.


A handful of miles away, in her baby-pink bedroom, Alex Price was also fast asleep, curled round her teddy bear as her parents snored softly in the bedroom opposite.

She dreamed of them, and of Gene, cowering in the corner of a dingy, smelly little room as a faceless man raised his hand to him, watching as he struck Gene again and again with his belt, ignoring his son's screaming, as she thrashed against the invisible restraints all around her to try and stop him.


A/N: My humble little offering! Please, pretty please, review- I got loads of lovely reviews for chapter one, it really helps if people just write a line or two saying what they think. You're all wonderful people! Massive thanks to you if you review, and I'll come and trip you up if you don't. That's right. I have new Converse, ideal for tripping people up. *evil look* Jazzola :D