A/N: Hi, Queenoftherandom here :D Here's chapter 9. SephyRose611 is on holiday at the moment, so I wouldn't expect the next chapter for a couple of weeks, sorry! So, to keep me going, I want lots of reviews please. Remember: I know where you live... Well, I don't really. Review anyway though.

Bursting through the broken door, Dan and Gene looked around, sticking close to one another, deciding without words to search together rather than separately. Something about the place was inexplicably unnerving. The flat seemed desolate, bleak. Almost uninhabitable. The air seemed significantly colder inside the flat than it had in the corridor.

The kitchen, lounge and bathroom were minimal, unlived in and deserted. This left only the single bedroom. The two men edged towards the closed door. Small scufflings could be heard from within. Gene reached out a wary gloved hand towards the handle. Bracing himself, Gene turned it, dreading what they would find within.

"Shit." Dan spoke under his breath as he and Gene stared, open mouthed at the scene which lay before them. The depravity of the flat's owner was more than clear from their environment. A small, dirty window on the opposite wall let in the only chink of light, filling the room with a sort of musky haze, partially illuminating the bare walls. Gene let out an audible gasp as his eyes were immediately drawn to them, half disgusted, half enthralled by what he saw there,

Every wall was plastered with image after image of Woodall, one of which showed him and Harry walking side by side on a busy street, arms wrapped round one another's waist, another showed Woodall supporting Dan as they left CID on that first day. All were in public places. All seemed to have been taken without the occupants' knowledge. Here and there, however, the odd picture seemed to have been slashed violently, leaving deep welts in the plaster behind them, rendering the exact subject indistinguishable.

As if this wasn't enough to take in, they were then hit by the almost unbearable smell of the place. It smelled fetid, like a mix of human sweat, the metallic tang of blood and rancid meat. The overall effect caused Dan to force back a retch as he and Gene advanced cautiously into the room. Dan glanced at Gene, waiting for silent instruction. His superior matched his gaze and nodded, signalling for them to advance, guns drawn and warrant cards aloft.

"Guv?" A hoarse, weak and quickly stifled whisper issued from the corner of the room, Dan and Gene squinted into the semi-darkness, where a shadowy figure loomed as another knelt before it, shrinking into the corner of the room.

"Don't come any closer," came a gravelly, rasping voice, presumably Dick's, "I'll kill 'im. Don't think I won't. I'll put this knife through his fuckin' head!" Dan gave an involuntary shiver at these words, a hand reaching instinctively for the back of his neck, prodding the hairline gingerly for any hint of a wound. A sharp intake of breath came from the quivering form of Woodall as he began to plead, straining against the hand that held him in place.

"Dick…please-?"

"SHUT UP!" roared his captor, "Don't you understand? You've got to die. You're fucking dead already!" He punctuated every word by shaking Woodall violently, impervious to his terrified whimpers. "You're the living dead, the lot of you! Don't make a blind bit of difference what I do."

"Dick?" Dan stepped forward, lowering his gun, "Can I call you Dick? Perhaps Mr Smythe?" There was no answer, although the shaking seemed to cease, as if the man was listening intently, poised, cat-like, ready to attack at the slightest notice. Dan registered this, though decided to accept it, for now. At least he was actually listening, and that was something. He continued: "I'm putting the light on, OK? Just the light, that's all I'm doing."

Dan waited for a few moments and, upon receiving no answer, backed away slowly, never taking his eyes off the three other men. He fumbled blindly at the wall behind him, and upon finding the light switch, turned it on, bringing the faces of the two men into clear relief.

Woodall blinked rapidly, clearly having been kept in the semi-darkness since his abduction.

His eyes were puffy and swollen, black and purple bruises visible on almost every inch of exposed skin. Dried blood congealed around a split lip, and a fresh trickle leaked from his hairline, glistening sickeningly in the glow from the un-shaded bulb. Dan noticed a moth begin to circle and flap around it. Drawn, as they always were, by the light. Unbidden, dark thoughts began to creep into Dan's mind, almost inexplicably; first Alex Drake, 'the rest of them,' (whoever they were) and now Woodall... with a jolt in the pit of his stomach, Dan began to wonder why people who knew-or were close to- Gene Hunt tended to end up getting hurt.

The man flashed briefly into Dan's field of vision, an unmistakable look of triumph upon the bespectacled face, glasses flashing menacingly.

Shaking his head slightly, as if to rid himself from the disconcerting illusion. Dan turned his attention back to the task in hand and, more importantly, back to the shivering Woodall, who still knelt in the corner of the room. He looked weakened, diminished, half the man Dan and Gene had known but a day or two before.

"You bastard." whispered Gene, shaking his head in disbelief. He then addressed Woodall, though kept his eyes upon Smythe, a look of distaste upon his face, "You're gonna be alright Woods, you'll see. Nothing broken?" Woodall shook his head, too afraid to speak as Smythe lowered his knife.

Years of policing experience had taught Gene that pussy-footing around kidnappers was certainly not the way to do it. You give them what they want, make them think they're in control, then, funnily enough, they ARE in control. The more time you give them, the more time they've got to kill innocent people. No, that wasn't the way to deal with it. Go in. Bang bang. Dead scumbag, free hostages and we can all be home in time for tea. In normal circumstances, Gene would have been all for the 'direct' approach, but when it was one of his own…well, he felt as if he'd rather this nutter got what he wanted, rather than him sticking a knife in his DC.

"Eh…Dick? Why don't you put the knife down? There's a good lad." The stony face of Smythe remained impassive, the cold grey eyes fixed upon Woodall and the knife, almost without seeing. There was nothing behind those eyes, they were blank. There was nothing behind them but a madness, a depravity, a stark, bleak hunger. Despite having seen many such eyes in his time, the inhuman quality never failed to shake Gene to the core.

Feeling intensely awkward, but also an overwhelming urge to help the young officer, member of his team, Gene continued: "Look lad, what have you really got to gain by sticking a knife in 'im 'ey? I know he's a bit of a happy clappy sod at times, but he's not that bad..." he trailed off pathetically.

"He left me." Smythe spoke to Gene at last. 'Oh here we go…' thought Gene, inwardly rolling his eyes. "He broke my heart and he's going to pay for it."

"Why does Scott have to pay for it, Mr Smythe?" Interjected Dan, half heartedly employing the few features of his psychological training that he vaguely remembered. As he recalled, he had spent most of that course doodling on his notepad. Dan was a hands-on sort of man, he'd never had much time for this psychological crap, but right then, he wished that he'd paid the slightest bit of attention. This 'crap' could mean the difference between Woodall coming out of here on his feet, or Woodall coming out of this in a bag. Dan swallowed as Smythe gave his reply.

"He drove me to this. He's made me do this. Now he's shagging that other bastard and, erm…" He paused, giving a look of mock- thoughtfulness, "…I'm going to kill him." Smythe spoke matter of factly, grinning and looking down at Woodall as the young DC desperately tried to extract himself from the other man's grip.

"Fuck this for a game of soldiers." muttered Gene. Operation 'pussy foot' seemed to be gaining them no ground. Tyler had sworn by this sort of shit, but in all his years in the force, Gene was yet to see it get anything done. The longer Woodall was near that knife, the more opportunity that complete nut job had to kill him. Gene was about to act on these musings, when Dan's voice came from his right.

"The poof will die. Why write that, Mr Smythe, if you're gay yourself? You and Scott were a couple."

"Don't be a dick Danny," answered Gene, "What better way to cover 'is tracks, throw us off the scent. Why would we go after his ex if we thought it were a homophonic crime."

"Homophobic, Guv."

"Whatever. Thought you were clever, though, didn't you Dicky?" For the first time, Smythe's eyes met Gene's, grey boaring mercilessly into blue. Steeling himself, Gene concentrated the full might of his gaze and his fury onto Smythe, determined not to let him win. Fixing his face into it's most fearsome glare and with renewed menace in his voice, Gene continued, "Now then. if you know what's good for you, you'll put that down. Both me and my DI are armed to the back teeth, and believe me, sonny jim, neither of us are afraid to put so many bullet holes in your arse that you'll be able to use it as a bloody colander. Your choice."

"Then shoot me." Smythe said, his face cracking into a terrifying, evil grin, "just be careful not to hit Scott here. Wouldn't look good that, would it? A gay-hating DCI shooting the DC he calls a bender, on a daily basis." Smythe continued to smile humourlessly as Gene looked away, a look like shame passing over his face. He waited until Hunt met his eyes again before adding under his breath, a barely audible challenge, his eyes glinting with a deranged happiness.

"Shoot me."

In less than a second, several things happened at once, Gene lunged forward wildly, the knife tore downwards, and a gunshot like thunder shook the room.

From his face-down position on the floor, Gene looked up to where Dan stood, paralysed, a rigid arm holding a smoking gun straight ahead. In a millisecond that felt like an eternity, Gene turned towards the other side of the room.

Smythe was dead, sprawled on the bare floor, a single bullet hole between the eyes. Blood leaked steadily from the wound and splattered the wall behind him, in which Dan's bullet was now lodged. Gene watched as the blood stained the floorboards and ran between them, forming a scarlet river. For a moment, the only thing to break the silence was the horrible drip dropping as it flowed down a crack. Gene continued to stare, transfixed, until a clang and a gasping came from the corner of the room.

There Woodall lay, his eyes wide, breath a rasping gargle in his throat. The knife had fallen beside him on the floor. Yet more blood glistened there. Gene crawled over to him, casting Smythe's corpse aside roughly, as he went. Woodall's eyes, pupils dilating, fell upon him as he clutched his heaving stomach with both hands, blood seeping between his fingers.

Instinctively, Gene took Woodall in his arms, cradling him as he would a child. Hunt's voice came out a croak as he found his throat dry.

"Scott…" But Woodall just continued to look at him. Gene swallowed before continuing. "You are not going to die on me. Got it?" There was no answer. "Woodall, pull yourself together. Come on. Stay with me." At last came the weak reply.

"Yes Guv."

"That's it Scott, just look at me. Please." Woodall's eyes slid in and out of focus. Gene panicked as he felt the young man slipping away in his arms. He redoubled his efforts, shaking Woodall slightly as he continued to speak to him, an edge of fear now lacing his breaking voice.

"Come on now Woodall. Stay with me…." He paused slightly before saying: "Now call this bribery, but if you just stay with me, there's probably a promotion to DS on the cards. God knows you're long overdue. You need a new warrant card anyway, after what that nutter did to it, we may as well update it while we're at it." Woodall smiled at this. Strengthened by this small ray of hope, Gene continued to speak, " and also, you need to stay with me long enough to hear what I've got to say. There's very few people alive who can say they've witnessed one of these. It's a Gene Hunt apology. Like a total eclipse they are, don't happen very often." In a low, breathy voice, Woodall managed a good natured reply:

"Ooh, I am honoured."

Dan stayed back, sensing that he was not needed in this scene, sensing that it was his Guv that Woodall needed now, not a bloke he'd only met just the other day. The corners of Gene's mouth twitched as he took a deep breath, looked Woodall full in the face and began.

"Look. I've been a total shit to you. You've been nowt but great on my team. You've made some excellent collars, 'member Ross Collins?" Woodall nodded as Gene smiled reminiscently "You've been brilliant. More than brilliant. I'm an utter bastard." Gene felt a hot, burning feeling behind his eyes, but bit back the tears, instead focusing his energy solely upon the dying young man in his arms. Not much more than a kid really. "I was just too much of a twat to see it. Brought up in the dark ages, I was. I was taught to think that sort of stuff was wrong, not that that's an excuse. But that's not the reason Scott, not really. I've always been too wrapped up in me own stupid little world to think about anything different. I'm just an old git."

"Well there's no arguing with that." replied Woodall, his voice beginning to catch in his throat with the effort of talking.

"I know now though. Just because blokes shagging other blokes isn't my thing doesn't mean it's…wrong." Gene avoided Scott's eyes for the briefest of moments, be fore reconnecting their gaze and continuing. "If it's any consolation though Scott, I think Harry's a lucky man. No one could ask for a better bloke and I couldn't ask for a better DC. I reckon if I were that way inclined, Scott, you'd be top of my list, you would."

"Sorry Guv," whispered Woodall, "You're not quite my type." Gene laughed and allowed a single tear to fall down his face as he jerked a shaking thumb in the direction of Smythe.

"Well if that's your type Woodall, I have to say, I'd be offended if I was." Woodall gave a snort of laughter, though began to wheeze, voice gurgling through the blood that had risen to his convulsing throat. In spite of himself, Gene let the tears roll down his face in earnest, lips trembling, attempting to form words of comfort that would not come.

"Guv?"

" Y-Yes Scott?"

"Stop crying. You're acting like a poof."

Gene made an odd barking a noise part way between a laugh and a sob as Woodall's breath caught in his throat, becoming irregular, more ragged. The blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to remain conscious. Knowing that there was no way Scott was going to come back from this, Gene's hands moved, automatically from his body to his face, placing a firm hand on each cheek, thumbs caressing his face gently. Gene caught his gaze and held it, trying to focus upon Woodall's eyes through his own, bleary from tears. It was imperative Gene did it properly, he owed Woodall that at the very least. He always tried to avoid doing it this way, he had always thought it was best for them to go of their own volition, but at times like this he was left with no choice. He stared into the deep brown and saw himself reflected there. He saw everything about the man he cradled; Gene had seen scores of men die, and how many of them had cried, begged for mercy, asked 'why them and not someone else.' In stark contrast though, even on the brink of death, Woodall had retained his selfless nature, his humour and his determination to live.

From the other side of the room, Dan looked on, almost uncomfortably aware that this was more than comforting Woodall, that this was more than just cradling a man. He recognised the action of Gene placing his hands on Woodall's face as a significant action, not just holding him….No, Gene was doing something. Something strange…other worldly…taking something. Setting something free.

Woodall spoke once more, forcing the sentence out, now. Every syllable was an effort, bubbles of blood seeped from his mouth as he retched out the words:

"Gene…Tell Harry that I love him. I-I've always loved him."

As he finished, Woodall's breathing gave one last gutter as the eyes glazed over, the last embers of life fading as the pupils became still, unseeing and glassy. The air seemed to swirl and whisper around the two men as Gene closed his eyes in concentration. After a second or two, the sound faded away.

Scott Woodall was gone.

Gene opened his eyes. A tear ran from the bridge of his nose to the tip, where it lingered for a second before dropping softly onto Woodall's forehead.

"He knows, Scott… He knows."