Three months passed since Gene- since you know what- and ever since that fateful day I had been sitting up in my flat, drowning myself in alcohol and rejecting Shaz's invitations back into CID. Carefully, she told me about the new DCI, a man named Thomas Thornton. Gene would probably have called him "a right poof", due to his love of golf and various Spanish wines. My heart ached every time she referred to him as "DCI Thornton"; the only DCI I want to work for is my very own Guv. I was reassured when she told me, with a small smile on her face, that nobody calls him by anything other than DCI Thornton and Gene's name has not been removed from his door, nor his possessions from his office, despite DCI Thornton's hatred of Gene's style of decorating.
Gradually I began to come back to myself; my senses began to return, although the block of sorrowful ice that was my substitute for a heart showed no signs of thawing. Slowly but surely I was regaining my sense of being, my raison d'être, the thing that got me through the first year or so of this strange world; getting back to my daughter. Maybe losing Gene had been a sign from whoever controlled this world that I was going home, that he was being defeated.
That left the question of why I felt like I was slowly dying whenever I thought of him unanswered, though.
The next step in my recovery was to start doing everyday things, like going down to Luigi's as of an evening.
Deciding that improving my general appearance would help my mood as well, I broke open my make-up bag for the first time since the funeral, applying electric blue eyeliner and eyeshadow with subtle blush and a little lipstick in my favourite pale pink. Remembering pressing lips that same shade to Gene's cheek as he slept next to me, blue-tinted tears tumbled from my recently-made-up eyes and splashed dolefully onto the vanity table, giving me up to fresh hysterics as I once again mourned my loss.
"For goodness' sake, Bolls, pull yerself together! It's just going down the boozer, nothin' amazin'. Yer'll be fine."
I jerk my head up, startled, his voice reverberating so truly in my head that I could have sworn it was real.
Swerving round, I saw that the room was completely empty except for me and my grief.
Turning back to the vanity table, my eyes drowning in tears still, I re-applied my mascara and eyeliner, blessing the gods of make-up for keeping my eyeshadow in place, and grabbed the high heels I hadn't worn once since- it- happened, I slipped out of the door and down into the trattoria, my determination renewed, Gene's spirit in my every step.
"Ma'am!"
Shaz threw herself at me, hugging me hard, her eyes teary but her smile rivalling a Cheshire cat's, dragging me over to the CID table and sitting me down, mothering over me like an over-protective hen. I smiled at her, but all I really wanted to do was sit in my and Gene's corner and remember the nights I spent here with him, holding onto his rough, caressing hand under the table, smiling into his mesmerising, bright eyes and letting him snuggle me into his embrace.
Chris nodded at me, his face grey and his eyes swollen, tell-tale signs of crying and misery that he clearly didn't want paraded all over CID; I gave him a tentative smile, my hand reaching out for Gene's under the table and then remembering, clenching hard, driving my brittle nails into my palm and breaking two of them. I didn't care.
"Ma'am, yer there?"
Hearing Ray's Mancunian accent made me want to sob my heart out, but I resisted and instead nodded at him, taking in his own drawn face and Shaz's worried expression as a new man came over to the table, settling himself at the head of it and giving me a wide smile, pouring a glass of wine for himself.
"DI Drake, this is DCI Thornton," Ray mutters, and I could tell from his tone of voice that he wasn't keen on DCI Thornton either. The man nods curtly at me, his smile not reaching his eyes.
"Just call me Guv. Nobody else seems to."
Ray's face became a mask. Chris turned away almost immediately, his eyes misting over. Silence descended throughout the trattoria, people turning from other tables to see what the matter was and Luigi stopping mid-drag on his cigarette.
I looked down at my lap, willing myself to stay calm, to keep it all inside and cry it out later, up in my flat.
But the tears, rather like the man whose death has brought them on, didn't wait.
And before I knew what I was doing I was sobbing, screaming in the middle of the restaurant, my tears staining my shirt and Shaz's as she leaned over and let me cry on her shoulder. I could feel Ray's arm round my shoulders, Chris's hand on my arm, several of the DCs berating Thornton. I didn't care.
Ray lifted me up from my chair like a child, his arms surprisingly gentle, carrying me outside and into the solemn night air, with Chris and Shaz flanking us and otherwise only my desolation, my grief, my all-consuming sorrow for company.
I fell asleep in my friends' arms, their friendship surrounding me but not penetrating through the icy loss that I could so keenly feel, the regret and desire seeming to swallow me whole and refuse to let me be.
A/N: Sorry about the delay on this, and I apologise if it's not up to my usual standard, as I feel absolutely rotten today. Hope you like it anyway! Jazzola :L