Episode One, Part Two

Disclaimer: the idea I'm using in this story is not my property, as its original idea came from Ashley and Matthew for Kudos. The character Gene Hunt and several others that may appear in this story are not my property.

I'm attempting to make a full eight-episode double-series with this story – like Life on Mars. If I don't get Gene Hunt's character right, someone tell me – because I am not really familiar with his personality back in Ashes to Ashes, I've only watched Life on Mars… – or if I don't get a good spirit into the chapters, give me feedback and… review! :)

It had been several minutes of wait and finally DCI Hunt and DI Fields entered the interview room. Allan Rothfield sat behind a desk with the patience of an animal watching its prey. Gene didn't like people who liked to look as superior as he was, and less did he like lawyers, with their looks of superiority: shoulders behind, chest out, head held high with their chins up and the look that they always gave you…

They sat opposite to Rothfield. Fields placed the tape recorder on the desk, placed the questioning papers in front of him with pens lined up at its side neatly. Gene rolled his eyes: Fields was too much of a neat freak. This was reminding him so much of Sam… Tyler…

Gene sat up on his chair clearing his throat, to which Fields looked at him with the same look he had given him early in the day when he tried to convince Gene to not get into his way on this moment. Fields leaned forward pressing the record button on the tape recorder.

"Interview commenced at 16:47 p.m. The suspect will state his name."

Fields looked at Rothfield expectantly, who didn't say anything. Gene rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat.

"Mr. Rothfield, I need you to give us your name," Fields said.

Rothfield didn't answer. Fields made an effort to contain his irritation. He leaned forward.

"OK, let's try again," he said.

But he was interrupted by the sudden screech of Gene's chair pushed back and Gene's hands slamming loudly the desk.

"I'm not taking this any longer, Rothfield," Gene said. "You gonna answer my pal's question here or do you want us to take it on the hard way?"

Rothfield was about to say something when Fields stood up grabbed Gene by the arm.

"A word 'pal'," Fields retorted, pulling Gene outside the interview room with him.

Once outside, Gene started his complaints.

"Why did you need us to get out of there?" he asked. "To stop the urge of kissing the man? I don't need to be grabbed by the arm to tell me that your gayness was kicking in."

"Do you know who the man inside there is?" asked Fields in a low voice.

"A fucking fag, that's what he is."

"He is a lawyer," Fields said. "If we do something against him he can bring it up in court."

"There isn't and won't ever be a court," Gene snapped. "We have no flipping evidence of his suspiciousness."

"Even so, you didn't need to act like such a scumbag."

"Say that again."

Fields ignored the last thing. "The man in there was trying our patience. When we go back in there I don't want you to get in between me and him."

"What you gonna do? Lay him up on court for our impatience?"

"Just don't do anything."

Fields opened the door and gave a look at Gene. Gene grunted.

"Whatever floats your boat," he finally said. "It was your gut-feeling that made us take him in, in the first place."

"I know what I'm doing," Fields coldly said and they both entered the interview room again.

Gene sat down on his chair grumpily, as Fields leaned forward towards Rothfield saying: "I apologize for my 'pal's' incompetence."

Gene looked up to his DI with an exasperated look.

Rothfield sat straight on his seat, and placed his fingertips together and his elbows on the desk.

"Just keep a good eye on him and make sure that your DCI doesn't' go up at me again," the lawyer said. "I wasn't the one who even asked for any of this… bigotry."

Gene tensed up. "I didn't ask for this 'bigotry' either," he said still looking up at his DI.

Fields sat down, rewound the tape and started recording again.

"Alright, Mr. Rothfield: when I ask anything to you I would appreciate if you answered back?" Fields told Rothfield, to which Gene coughed at. "Interview commenced at 16:49 p.m. The suspect will state his name."

Rothfield crossed his arms and leaned forward. "Allan James Rothfield."

"Also present are Detective Chief Inspector Hunt and Detective Inspector Fields." Fields took one of the papers and showed it to Rothfield: the files of a young man in his late teens. "Recognise this man?"

Rothfield leaned forward to look at the picture and then leaned back against his seat. "Never."

Fields raised his eyebrows. "Never?"

"Never."

Gene leant forwards. "Liar." Gene stood up and started to pace around the desk towards Rothfield. "Liar, liar, liar, liar." He leaned near Rothfield's ear. "Liar."

Fields closed his eyes in frustration. "Hunt."

"You know why you're a liar?" Gene yelled. "Because that kid was beaten up in the streets two nights ago and was on TV."

"I didn't watch TV this week, sir," Rothfield responded.

"Do you have witness to that?" Gene snapped.

"And again, I apologize for my mate's behaviour," Fields said, standing up and dragging Gene away from the suspect. "He has had a pretty rough day and needs rest."

Fields dragged Gene to the door and pushed him out of the room.

"You can't do that to me," Gene yelled.

"I can if my DCI is becoming too much of a scum to my suspect," Fields replied, slamming the door at him.

Gene tried to open the door and, suddenly, the sound of the lock, and the door wouldn't open. He slammed at the door, and no one answered.

"Bastard," he yelled and walked away.

It was quite surprising. From all the people he had ever had in his team, from all the most annoying people, Sam, Annie, Shaz and Alex – Chris and Ray had been just fine and obedient, most occasions – Fields was the only person who had the guts to kick him out of the interview room. He's own boss! He didn't seem to care what Gene thought about that. Maybe he figured he wouldn't – or couldn't – fire him or send him away anyways. Or maybe he still thought he was the DCI in CID and he wouldn't care about Gene because he couldn't fire a 'superior'.

Gene didn't even know why he was letting Fields humiliate him. Gene was supposed to fight back: kick the door when it was slammed at his face, yell back at his DI, get his fists on him. He was the man with the guts. Why wouldn't he do that? What was wrong with him? Ever since that night… the same night Fields came acting king of the jungle in his department, the same night he Jim Keats disappeared out of thin air; the same night… his team… Ray, Chris, Shaz… and Alex… had gone to the pub, everything started to go wrong.

He couldn't… just couldn't figure what was up with him. Everything seemed… different. It seemed so hard and… hard and… just hard. His life didn't seem the same since his last team went off. He had had people go of his team in his past, but it wasn't anything compared to this… farewell. For the first time in his life he had felt… appreciated. Maybe even l–… … well… let's just leave it with appreciated.

As he walked into CID he wondered if he would ever get out of that place. Would he ever go into the pub? But then if he did, what would happen to the people that died and went there? Would they be able to figure out where they were and about the pub? Of course they wouldn't. He was the only one who could understand the nature of that place. He had to stay and helped the rest of the dead cadavers left in that purgatory. It didn't matter how hard it was, he had to do it.

He stopped for a second and turned to the side to take a good look at a guy sitting on his desk with a couple of papers at hand.

"Oi," Gene called. The fellow looked up at his DCI, "what are you supposed to be?"

"Detective Sergeant Benjamin James," the young man responded.

"No," he said waving his hand at him, "I'm talking about what you are supposed to be."

Gene looked at him indifferently up and down. BJ looked at himself and shrugged at his paint splatter pants, his yellow electric neon jacket with a strap of black across the chest, his white sleeveless shirt and his fingerless gloves. Gene rolled his eyes and went on to his office.

That… BJ guy was too much of a youngster. He was always filling his department with new fashion trends and stupid new haircuts, which really annoyed him. Apart from the way he dressed and looked, Gene couldn't argue or get up to him: he was obedient and loyal to him – the first team member that actually showed very much of his respect towards him.

He didn't talk much, but Gene didn't know how he did it, but he was renowned around the whole of Fenchurch East building. Every single person knew him: guys would always greet him every morning, afternoon and evening; girls would get crazy to see him.

"Guv."

Gene turned around to see BJ at his door.

"You know the guy that was on TV two nights ago?" the DS asked. "The one that was beaten up?" Gene nodded. "And the girl with the cuts?" Gene nodded again. "Do you have their files?"

"I'm a bloody police, what do you think?" Gene responded as he started to browse through the piles of papers on his desk.

"Guv? Need any help there?" BJ asked looking over his DCI's shoulder.

"Do you think I need any?" Gene asked as he calmly looked through the papers.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"You're taking it as a no." He lifted each page of each pile one by one, looking and looking. "I put it here somewhere…" He lifted one of the piles – no, not there – and he was starting to lose patience.

"I really need a 'Shaz'," Gene muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Guv?" BJ asked.

"Nothing," the Guv snapped.

"I don't really need the copies, Guv," BJ said, "I can get the original files and photocopy them again instead…"

"It's around here,' Gene snapped. "Paper don't walk."

Gene lifted the papers violently and then his impatience pushed the whole piles of paper to the floor in frustration. He wiped his face with one hand. BJ looked at his superior with concern.

Gene sat down on his chair. "Get the originals. Make sure I get another copy…"

BJ nodded and walked away from his office, leaving the Guv bereaved.

You can't do this by yourself. You need someone to help you. You need someone to get you back up.

Gene stood up to the window looked outside.

But that person is gone.

Gene's eyes started to swell up. Man! He was a man! His eyes weren't supposed to swell up. He didn't want anyone to see him…

Hide. Then no one will see. Block the rest of the world. Don't let them in.

He closed the blinds of the windows.

He was so wrong… Too wrong. And it bothered him so much. He didn't want this to keep going, he wanted to go back to his old self. But every time he did, a little voice would tell him 'you're not supposed to move on, you should be miserable because Alex is gone'. He didn't want this. He couldn't take it.

Gene was pacing in thought as DI Fields entered in CID. He looked up at him, irritation filling his mind for a sudden moment. Fields was smiling.

"What? Did you get to boink Rothfield?" Gene asked out of sorts. Fields patted Gene's back happily, receiving a frown from Gene. "What's that for?"

"For being such a lame lousy scumbag," Fields laughed.

Gene just raised his eyebrows. "The man must have had a dildo: made the flamer get high on his heels."

Fields pointed at him. "You were wrong. So, so wrong!" he clapped his hands.

Gene shrugged. "So?"

"So?" Fields asked. "So, he told me what he had done on the night the beaten bloke died and he didn't do anything."

Gene looked at Fields impassively. "That made no flipping sense."

"He doesn't have any witnesses to say he didn't do it," Fields replied with a laugh.

Gene wiped his face again. "And what? You want to lay him up for having no witnesses? That won't work with the beak."

Fields rolled his eyes. "You always have to get everyone's black dog out, do you? He can be our killer!"

"Wait, wait, did you hear that?" Gene said, placing a hand at the side of his ear. "Do you want to know what it sounded like? It bloody sounded like a bloody hunch."

"We can lay him up if we show the jury the evidence of his doings," Fields said excitedly.

"Of course! What do you want to show the beak? We have no freaking evidence."

"Oh, but this proves something," Fields said.

"What?"

"That I can do the interview without you."

"You didn't even get anything from it."

"Oh, but he didn't have any witnesses to what he was doing that night. That's a first step. Next step is to get more information of his night two nights ago."

Gene didn't speak because he already knew that Fields would keep on trying to be right. He couldn't be bothered. Fields knew, by looking at Gene's face, that he had won this argument. He walked out of the room laughing in satisfaction.

Gene turned around and went again into his office as some DC's watching him with disquiet.

Fields liked to have the front, so why wouldn't he let him be? But the old Gene Hunt would have fought back: the old Gene Hunt would have never let any man that had the guts to mess up with the Manc Lion to have the satisfaction to have the front at his front.

The old Gene Hunt was the man with the guts. He would have snapped back, he would have gone with fists to him, he would have… it didn't matter… There wasn't any point on doing so. He was just a lame duck. No purpose on his being there.

Gene closed the door of his office, making the room dark and closed off from the world outside, a world that didn't even exist in reality. His blinds to his windows were down and he didn't turn on the lights. He wanted to hide in the dark from the rest of the world.

Don't let anyone in. Gene heard the little voice say. Just hide away from everybody else. Just hide: it's the only thing you can do.

And he did.

Waiting for more reviews and feedback – I need to get rid of all my virtual cookies!