I don't own Ashes to Ashes, or Gene – if I owned him, I wouldn't be writing about him, I'd be making use ;-)

"Wait 'ere Bols," Gene murmured, pulling up outside the station with his usual disregard for parking spaces. "I've just gotta check in with Wilson before we head back."

Alex looked at him, surprised. "What for?"

"Asked him to check something for me," Gene shrugged slightly. "Nothin' important; just some procedural bollocks that Harrison was too busy to talk about this morning…" He trailed off, switching off the engine and removing the key, pocketing it swiftly before reaching for the door handle.

"What procedure?" Alex asked suspiciously. "Maybe I could help you? I do work in the sta-!"

She was cut off by the closing of the Quattro door, and watched in disbelief as Gene stalked swiftly towards the building, his long legs taking him up the steps and in through the front doors in a matter of moments. Bristling slightly, she sat back in her seat, crossed her arms, and adopted a sulky pout not dissimilar to the one Gene himself so often used.

"What've we got Harper?" Gene asked, slamming into the CID office as though he belonged there and ignoring the looks of the bewildered officers yet to make his introduction. DI Harper leaped to his feet, surprised, his hand flying to his dark hair for a moment as he glanced around his meticulously organised desk. Gene rolled his eyes, but said nothing as the other man grabbed a handful of files placed carefully to the left of his work.

"Not much," Harper said, swiftly laying the files out on the desk in front of him and inclining his head towards them. "I mean – there was a lot of suspicious mail," he started, gesticulating slightly as he went on, "I looked through the reports from all of the women, but I figured you probably weren't looking for poison perfumes or kinky lingerie, so I've narrowed it down to these three…"

"Kinky lingerie?" Gene asked, eyebrows raising slightly. "Only in Birmingham…" He leaned forward, braced against the desk as he nodded towards the files. "So?"

Harper nodded, straightening his tie slightly, as though preparing to make a speech, before beginning. "Three separate reports, from three different pregnant women, all of whom are married," he cleared his throat slightly before continuing. "All of them reported post as suspicious on different dates, but the forensics investigations turned up no real leads, so they all appear to have fallen by the wayside a little bit." Harper shrugged then, reaching out and opening up the first file, eyes scanning the first page.

"How far apart?" Gene asked, frowning slightly as he watched the other man. "You said they were separate reports, but, how far?"

"The first was received in June of eighty-two," Harper began, flicking to the second and third files before adding, "the second and third were from December of eighty two, and April of last year." He wet his lips with his tongue as he spoke, looking up at Gene expectantly as he did so.

"What kind of threats were they?" Gene queried, knitting his eyebrows together and attempting to displace the urge to grab the files from the Inspectors hands. He crossed his arms instead, and gritted his teeth with frustration. Harper glanced down at the open file in his hands before responding.

"The most recent one was Karen Davidson, thirty-one," he began, scanning the information before him swiftly and efficiently. "She received an invitation to a baby shower listed as her due date; handwritten invitation, and written in-!"

"Unidentified blood?" Gene finished, his mouth slightly dry as he nodded knowingly. "What else?"

Harper grabbed the next file and flipped it open. "Jessica Alexander, twenty-nine," he said quickly, "received a blank birthday card, in an envelope marked for opening on her due date; address and instructions all written in unidentified blood." Without waiting for instruction, he reached for the next file and carried on. "The first case was reported by Teresa Blunt, thirty-two; received a bottle of wine labelled for the due date of her child… I don't think I need to tell you what was in the bottle of wine." Harper looked grim-faced, and Gene shook his head, pressing his fingers into his eyes as he cursed quietly beneath his breath.

"Christ on a bike," he growled softly. "Whoever this is, they're missing more screws than a flat-packed dinner table!"

He held his hands out, fingers twitching demandingly for the files; Harper handed them over swiftly, and Gene laid them out on the table side by side. In a few moments, he extracted evidence photographs from each, carefully aligning them on the table and assessing them swiftly. A few moments later, he clouted Harper round the back of the head, quietly savouring the hiss of pain that left the DI's mouth as he pointedly jabbed his finger at each of the pictures in turn.

"Look similar to you?" Gene growled, voice more menacing now as he glowered darkly at Harper. "Do Brummies' know what a detective looks like, or have you all been too busy jamming pencils up yer arses to notice that all three of these have the same bloody handwriting?"

"With respect, Sir," Harper said coldly, his stance suddenly defensive. "I only found out about these cases today – they were reported to our uniformed officers, and we had no evidence to further any investigations; nothing ever came of them, there were no follow up reports, so it never became a case for CID." His voice was firm and defensive, and Gene clenched his fists, opening his mouth to argue. "And even if it had," Harper said, cutting Gene off before he got the chance to speak, "there wasn't any previous indication that they might be linked, and they-!"

"They're three pregnant women receiving blood and threats into their post-boxes you daft twat!" Gene roared, spit flying from his mouth as he did so. "You don't have to be bloody Einstein to see that there's a link!"

"They were all filed months apart, and were singular occurrences!" Harper retorted, standing his ground. "Three women with dodgy mail, no known motive, no follow-up threats, and no bloody evidence!"

"There's blood all over the evidence you posh prick!" Gene argued, his face reddening as his frustration grew. "And surely even your plod can tell if there's a serial offender sending threats about to pregnant women – it's not exactly rocket science!"

Harper shook his head, his teeth gritted and green eyes blazing defiantly. "Are you telling me that the plod in London remember every single case of suspicious mail, enough to report them as soon as there's any sort of similarity, even if it's only three cases within two years? In fact, what's the latest trend in London's mailboxes DCI Hunt – can you tell me that?"

Gene glared at him, his eyes flashing defensively, but he started at the question a little, and he looked away very briefly, his teeth clenched as he refused to answer. Instead, he changed tact, rounding on the DI and squaring up to him. "You should remember, Harper, that whilst I may not be your Guv, I am your superior officer," his voice was filled with warning, his eyes slightly narrowed. Harper, looking overtly satisfied with himself, nodded his head, and looked down at the files, apparently opting to change the course of the conversation.

"Now that we've established that there is a connection," he said softly, his voice calm and reasonable, though there was a slight edge to it, "we can get forensics to take another look at the evidence, see if there are any similarities they can find across the three cases that might help us."

Gene ground his teeth, but made no reply, simply granting the DI a curt nod as he picked up the files and glanced through them in turn. "I'll need copies of these," he said eventually, closing them up and pushing them into Harpers' chest once again, with perhaps slightly more force than was necessary. "Hop to it, Harper."

Harper's eyes flashed slightly at the low growl in Gene's throat, but he said nothing, simply inclining his head and moving across the room and out of the door; Gene watched him leave with a scowl upon his face, deep in thought.

"You know, if you've got a problem with my department, DCI Hunt, you should probably take it up with me." Wilson's voice sounded across the office, and Gene turned round swiftly, aware that the working noise around the room had suddenly stopped, that each and every officer was now watching the exchange with rapt attention. Gene met the other DCI's eyes, his face impassive as he noted the small twitch at the corner of Wilson's mouth.

"Well?" Wilson asked, grinning openly now. "Would you like to discuss my incompetence and insult the groundwork of my team and all of my colleagues? I'd be the first to tell you they're a useless bunch of tossers when they choose to be, but I would usually reserve the right to bollock them myself if it's all the same to you."

Gene crossed his arms over his chest, his posture defiant as he answered. "Well if you'd like to explain how yer missed the link between three pregnancy-related threats, Wilson, I'll be more than happy to hear about it."

"As my DI explained to you," Wilson answered, "they were months apart, and nothing ever came of them; now that you've brought them to our attention, we'll look into them – satisfied?"

"Not exactly," Gene growled.

"Can I ask how long it was before you checked your own case history for suspicious mail, DCI Hunt?" Wilson's voice was light and inquisitive, but there was an undercurrent of knowledge, and Gene stiffened.

"What goes on in my station doesn't concern you, Wilson," he said.

"Then nor does what happens in mine concern you," Wilson retorted, threat edging into his tone. "This is my patch, not yours," he said softly. "I'm willing to help you out if I can, and I'll even spare my staff to trawl through cases for you if it catches us Baby Jones' killer, but if anyone is going to bollock my team and play king of the jungle around here, it's me. Understood?" His eyes were level, and challenging; Gene suddenly felt an unwelcome wave of respect for the other man as he met his eyes, gaze assessing. After a moment, he nodded his head.

"Fine," Gene said, voice gruff. "But fer the record, your DI is an insubordinate jack-ass with a poker rammed so far up his jacksie he's chokin' on it!"

"Duly noted." Wilson said levelly. "I'll be sure to send him to a Doctor on his next day off. Anything else?"

Gene hesitated, noting the looks of every Detective in the room and realising that he was coming all too close to appearing inferior. He stalked forwards determinedly, jabbing Wilson firmly in the chest as he growled low in his throat. "This might be your playground, Wilson," he said, "but this now involves my wife – so if I think it might help her, I will piss on your fire, stamp on your toys and crack your skull against the wall; understood?"

Wilson met his gaze levelly, and a look of respect and understanding passed between them as he did so; he nodded briefly, turned on his heel, and went back into his office.

Harper found him twenty minutes later, nursing a coffee and a garibaldi and silently wishing he'd remembered to top up his hip flask. The DI seemed to approach him with caution, though his steps didn't falter, and he stepped up to within a metre of him, holding a set of copied files out towards him. Gene took them, flicking through them habitually and avoiding the other man's eyes as he spoke.

"I want a report send through to my office as soon as you've got it," Gene said gruffly. "I'll be back up tomorrow – if you manage to extract the poker from yer arse for long enough to work with me, I'll need a hand."

Harper looked at him for a few moments, his eyes assessing, then nodded quickly. "Yes, Sir," he answered. "I'll call ahead and let them know to expect us."

There was a moment of quiet, an awkward silence in which Gene continued to peruse the files before him, and Harper, after a few seconds of uncertainty, turned on his heel to leave the room.

"Good work, Harper," Gene muttered gruffly, burying his nose in Karen Davidson's file. Harper turned round, slightly surprised, and then nodded his head almost hesitantly.

"Thank you, sir."

"Gene, there you are!" Alex's voice surprised him as he stepped into Wilson's CID once again a few minutes later, and he was grateful that he had already tucked the files away into his overcoat as she stalked over towards him, pointing at the clock. "You were gone ages! I thought we were going back to work on that armed blag this afternoon?"

"We are," Gene muttered gruffly. "Save yourself a pair of knickers and stop twistin' them up yer arse; we're going!"

Alex rolled her eyes then looked at him suspiciously, dragging her eyes over him as though expecting him to catch fire. "What've you been doing?" She asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Discussing the finer points of Policing," Gene drawled, eyes flickering to Wilson, who was stood in the doorway to his office with a smirk on his lips. The others in the office, barring only DI Harper, snickered slightly, and Alex lifted her eyebrows.

"Finer points?" Alex asked lightly. "Like what?"

"Like whether I can poach his DI and swap him for mine so that I can get some peace and quiet without drowning in pheromones!" Gene growled softly. "Are we going or what?" He held the door open and looked at her expectantly. Alex nodded, though she still looked suspicious.

"I'll just go to the Ladies room," she said sweetly, moving past him with a dark glower. Gene rolled his eyes, and was about to follow when DI Harper appeared at his shoulder, his eyes raking up Alex's legs as she sauntered down the corridor.

"Like what you see, Inspector?" Gene growled menacingly, and Harper shrugged slightly, shaking his head.

"I'm just wondering how you get all the men in your office to work instead of trying to get into her knickers..?" His voice was light, and joking, but Gene heard the silent question in them and glowered darkly at him as he clamped one hand on the younger man's shoulder, his grip like a vice.

"If you must know, Detective," he drawled the word sardonically, his eyes narrowing slightly as he lifted his left hand up and presented his clenched fist to within an inch of his face, making sure that his wedding ring was in plain view. "I married 'er; that's how." He met the younger man's eyes, flashing him a silent warning and seeing the surprise and embarrassment in Harpers gaze; he didn't give him time to respond, and with a forceful push away from him, he turned on his heel and followed Alex down the corridor.

"So what were you really doing, Gene?" Alex asked, plugging in her seat belt and looking at him expectantly, her eyebrows raised.

Gene pouted slightly, eyes narrowed. He knew he had to tell her something, or she'd be chasing after him like a dog for a bone. That being said, he was conscious that the last thing in the world he wanted was to tell her the complete extent of the psycho's they were dealing with… So he shrugged, glancing in the rear-view mirror and then pulling away from the parking space. "Asked Wilson to 'ave a look for any suspicious mail reported in the last two years; gotta come back tomorrow an' see if they've found anything."

Alex looked surprised, and Gene glanced at her, frowning as he changed gear. "Why d'you look as though I've started spoutin' French and doin' the flamenco?"

She shook her head, smiling softly. "I'm impressed, that's all; I imagine there was a time not so long ago that you wouldn't have thought to look into it at all."

"I wasn't that bloody bad!" Gene complained sulkily.

"If you say so," Alex smiled at him warmly. "So you're coming back again tomorrow… You'll be able to check up on the artist's sketch – I checked with Wilson; they're sending someone over to Alice Jones' this afternoon."

Gene nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to hers; a moment later he surprised Alex, reaching for her hand as they pulled onto the dual carriageway. "See Bols," he murmured, briefly lifting her fingers to his lips, "we'll get 'em; nothin' to worry about."

Gene left Alex in charge of investigating a robbery, leaving her no room for argument when he made to head for Birmingham by himself. He slipped out of CID early, whilst Shaz was still busy making the first cup of tea of the day, and before Ray had even made it into the office. Chris was fiddling absently with a rubix cube, his brow furrowed in concentration; Gene snared him with a swift grab under the armpit, dragging him into the corridor whilst Alex was busy looking at files.

"Need you in the collators' office, Chris," Gene muttered, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up swiftly. "Might not be anything, but check through the files for any reported suspicious mail from pregnant women in the last two years. I've got a hunch they've moved since Baby Jones', but we can't take the risk, you got that? Ask Viv if he remembers anything coming up." He glanced into the office, seeing Alex sipping thoughtfully at her drink as she read, and glancing back at Chris. "An' make sure the good Lady Bollinger doesn't trip arse over tit in them ridiculous shoes of hers, alright?"

Chris nodded, glancing from Gene to Alex, and then shrugging. "Whoever's sending this stuff Guv, I reckon they must be mental."

"You really are a Detective, Skelton," Gene drawled dryly, rolling his eyes.

"Nah, Guv," Chris said, shaking his head. "I mean – you're scary enough as it is, but we've all seen DI Drakes right hook… Reckon she'd given Mike Tyson a run for 'is money on a bad day." He nodded in the direction of the collators' office and added, "I'll get right on it, Guv."

Gene watched him go, half smiling, before heading to the car.

"This him?" Gene asked, picking up the sketch on the topmost file of Wilson's desk and assessing the image before him. "David James?"

"Apparently," Wilson nodded, handing Gene a tumbler of whiskey and narrowing his eyes slightly. "The Jones' both agreed it was a good likeness."

"Both of 'em?" Gene queried, taking a mouthful of the amber liquid gratefully as he attempted to ignore the dull ache in his skull from the previous night's copious consumption of liquor.

"Apparently he went round immediately after your DI left; whatever she said, it seemed to work – they headed off on a cruise together and aren't planning to be back for a few weeks." Wilson shrugged. "Alright for some, I suppose."

Gene chuckled, shaking his head. "Probably the usual psychtwattery, scaring the knickers off 'em…" He shrugged. "She's good at that."

"Easy on the eye, too, apparently," Wilson said softly, meeting Gene's eyes with a knowing smirk. "Don't be too hard on Harper," he said, grinning. "He's a decent copper, but we've all been guilty of thinking with our dicks."

"Maybe so, but I usually try to avoid the wives of senior officers," Gene replied dryly, scowling slightly.

"Well I'm sure your fist in his face put him off," Wilson answered, grinning. "And if not, the pregnancy definitely will – lad hates kids these days."

Gene said nothing, not bothering to ask why, simply nodding his head and pointed back to the sketch on the table between them. "Any hits on this bloke?"

"Never seen him before in my life," Wilson admitted grimly. "Pretty average looking, no distinctive facial features – can see why being a journalist would suit him, really; you could miss him in an open field if he wore green."

Gene stared at the sketch, committing it to his memory as best he could; the man's face was slightly rounded, missing the definite jawline and cheekbones that might have made him good looking. His nose was small and straight, lips thin, and eyes small and round. His hair was close cropped, although slightly floppy at the fringe… Wilson was right; there was nothing memorable about him. "How accurate d'you think this is?" Gene asked, glancing at Wilson expectantly.

"I imagine the best person to ask would be DI Drake," Wilson grinned slightly, then shrugged, turning back to the sketch. "But I imagine the eyes are wrong – people always seem to get the eyes wrong."

Gene nodded, gritting his teeth slightly. "You'd think they'd remember them best, wouldn't you?"

Wilson sighed, shrugging again. "All I know is, Hunt, this isn't exactly going to catch us a kid-killer; you hand that out, we'll get fifty calls a day about suspicious looking blokes with short hair – we need more."

"Nothing on your files for David James?"

"Loads," Wilson said, his voice dry. "Unfortunately, the names as common as muck, and that's probably why he used it; we can't track down every David James on record and interview them about a stolen baby."

"Not like the good old days," Gene muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You mean when we could imprison 'em all on a hunch?" Wilson grinned. "I know what you mean – got to be by the book, following procedure to a T…"

"What I wouldn't give to shove that book up a Judge's arse an' get 'em out on the beat fer a week," Gene muttered, rolling his eyes. "Rules'd change in a second."

"Keep dreaming, Hunt," the other man drawled, shaking his head. "The only rules that are going to change around here are the ones they haven't even made yet."

DI Harper stood up the second that Gene entered the main office, and he had to roll his eyes at the inevitability as the DI fiddled awkwardly with a pen before falling into step beside him.

"Sir, I just wanted to-!"

"Did you call ahead?" Gene cut in, nodding towards the open files on Harpers desk. "Davidson and the others- did you call?"

"Yes, sir, I called; they're expecting us, but-!"

"Right," Gene nodded resolutely. "Get yer cardigan on before I change my mind."

"Yes, Sir, I will," Harper said, nodding profusely, "but I just wanted to apologise for-!"

"You got something on yer nose, Harper?" Gene snapped back, his eyes narrowed. The DI's hand flew to his nose, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he shook his head slightly.

"No, Sir, I haven't, I just-!"

"Do you want somethin' on yer nose?" Gene interrupted again, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting one eyebrow.

"No, Sir, I just-!"

"Then stop kissin' my ass and bein' a snooty brown nosin' pillock," Gene retorted, "and get your overly posh bollocks down to the car… Now!"

Harper looked at him, apparently taken aback, for several moments, until Gene lifted his eyebrows threateningly; a moment later, he had dashed for his coat, thrown it around his shoulders, and barked instructions at the DS opposite to inform Wilson of his whereabouts, before leading the way out of the office, closely followed by Gene.

They drove in silence for several moments, Harper looking decidedly uncomfortable and uncertain, whilst Gene quietly enjoyed allowing him to stew in his own nerves. It was several minutes later, after committing the triumphant feeling of superiority to memory, that Gene finally made the decision to speak.

"Fer the record," he said, his voice a low growl laced with warning. "If I catch you lookin' at my wife again, I will cut off yer bollocks with a blunt spoon and stick dynamite where yer todger ought to be. Understood?"

"Of course, Sir," Harper nodded, grimacing at the imagery. "I had no idea! I thought – Wilson didn't tell me- I was just-!" He took a deep breath, and then shook his head suddenly. "I won't look at her again, Sir."

"Good," Gene answered. "'cause I've only had to use a spoon once before, and it wasn't pretty!"

He saw Harper flinch slightly, felt the younger mans' eyes assessing him, apparently trying to understand whether or not he was joking, and Gene couldn't resist a grin as he swerved smoothly round the corner.

"Any news from forensics?" Gene asked, avoiding eye contact as he fixed his gaze on the road ahead.

"The blood on the notes is all unidentified, but the same." Harper said, swallowing slightly. "There aren't any fingerprints to match up, but as best they can tell the handwriting is the same… They're assuming the notes were written with a fountain pen, which isn't really surprising… And the paper the notes were written on- it wasn't paper."

"What d'you mean it wasn't paper?" Gene asked, glancing across at him. "What is it then?"

"Well, it is paper, sir, but – well, it's parchment; high-grade stuff too, by the looks of it, not the sort of thing you can just pop to the corner shop for."

"And it's all the same paper?" Gene said, frowning. "Thought one was a birthday card and another was an invitation?"

"They were," Harper said, nodding. "But the invitation was on parchment and the card was lined with it; the label on the bottle of wine was made of it as well…" He shrugged. "Still no real leads though; that's probably why nobody made the links before – there aren't really any links to make."

"Maybe not yet," Gene muttered thoughtfully, eyes narrowing ever so slightly before he spoke again. "Get someone onto finding out where you can get hold of that parchment; might be a longshot, and God knows nobody's gonna remember selling a couple of sheets of paper, but it might turn something up."

"I'll get Jamieson on it as soon as we're back, Sir," Harper nodded. There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again. "I'm sorry about DI Drake, sir."

"I thought I told you not to brown-nose me, Harper?"

"I don't mean yesterday," he said, shaking his head. "I mean the threat – the investigation… I'm sorry she has to go through it."

"Yeah…" Gene wet his mouth, swallowing hard, then nodding. "Yeah well, nothin's gunna come of it, Harper, so not worth worryin' yer y-fronts about." He swerved gratefully into the space outside the given address and added, "We're here."

I know it's not the most exciting chapter in the world but there's more interesting plot lines to come next time… Honest!

Thank you so much for all of the reviews for the previous chapter – it means so much and I am so glad to hear what you make of my writing, so please review and let me know what you think; it really does make all of the difference!

Mage of the Heart