Chapter 17

The unlucky sod who had been left behind whilst the rest of the gang had scarpered was slumped against the wall, head drooping level with his knees. The laboured breathing resounded, along with a few whimpers here and there. After a couple of minutes had passed without some anguished noise escaping he scrabbled up, hands upon the brick for support. The attempt was thwarted before it had begun in earnest, Ray's laughter masking the groan of pain as Gene's fist socked the two-bit criminal square in the stomach.

"Thought I was finished?" Gene spat, pressing the bloke's face firm against the wall with one hand, "I'm only just gettin' started."

He dealt out a couple more blows at the same target, the toe of his boot kicking at weak ankles and his ears deaf to the pleas that came from the scrawny scrote. The effort quickly became too much to keep up and he stepped aside, resisting the urge to clutch at his chest at the same time as he gasped in metallic-tinged air. Ray and Chris eagerly took his place, fists aimed.

"Fill yer boots, lads."

The pair of them dutifully hammered away at the weakling of the bunch whose protests had long since fell silent, nearly unable to do so much as breathe in the face of a relentless onslaught.

The stretch in Gene's chest abated as he leant against the same wall a few paces away. He took a couple of slugs from the hip flask retrieved from the inside pocket of his overcoat to be on the safe side, enjoying the burn of the scotch as it coated his throat. Vaguely aware of the disapproving pair of eyes that were upon him he shifted his weight, lips curling into a sneer on regarding the DI. His second-in-command, standing there almost as still and stony as a statue.

"What yer waitin' for, Parker?" he addressed the fourth man with a rasp that barely disguised his contempt, "get stuck in."

The wheezes and groans and snatches of laughter that came from his right and Parker's left sounded ten times louder for a while as the DI did nothing other than stare at him, hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat, an equivalent level of disdain etched upon his face.

When he broke the silence his answer came so low that Gene struggled to hear, the other sounds rushing and swirling against his ears. Maybe he was going deaf as well as insane.

"Think three against one is enough, Guv."

He didn't like the way Parker said Guv, as though someone invisible to Gene's eyes was holding a gun to his head and forcing him to utter it.

He had no belief, no sense of how important it was to muck in and be part of a team. The only back he wanted to cover was his own.

"Worried yer gunna break a nail?"

He swore that Parker's lips moved, saying something that he couldn't catch, something much closer to his true feelings and not the deference he had to display.

All he heard was a resigned 'yeah', watching as Parker turned his back on the scene and moved back towards the parked-up Quattro.

He put his second wind down to the booze and the breather, not any need to prove the simple fact that he was the one in charge. No bastard could get the better of Gene Hunt and walk away unscathed, never mind what side of the law they were on.

He tapped one hand each on Ray and Chris's shoulders, signalling that it was time for them to step aside and let the sheriff take over again. They looked at him with the respect that he deserved, eyes aglow as he towered, grasping the near-defeated excuse for a bloke by the throat, nearly choking away the breath that was left in him.

He wouldn't go that far; this bit of scum wasn't worth it.

"That's what 'appens when you take pot-shots at me and think that they've gone unnoticed," he said, relaxing the grip of his fingers against the clammy skin beneath them. "And I'll tell yer mates the same when I've caught up with them."

Not deigning to waste any more of his breath or other faculties he let the bloke fall to the ground, leaving Terry and Romeo to scrape him up and bundle him into the back of the squad car.

"Good to see that gettin' hitched hasn't turned you into a fairy, mate," Ray uttered to Chris as they sat in the back of the Quattro.

"No chance," Chris replied, passing his left hand over the slightly bruised knuckles of his right.

Gene sat in the driver's seat, hands unmoving on the wheel, fighting off the regret that had been building within him since the whole thing began. Parker sulking silently in the passenger seat, grating upon his nerves without doing anything.

If he turned his head to look he would have seen her sitting there, the rage and disappointment unrestrained in her eyes. She didn't say anything in front of Ray and Chris but she'd be at him as soon as he was on his own, taking him apart when he'd only done what was right. At least it had been, once upon a time.

He put the car into reverse without warning, garnering a sharp "steady on, Guv!" from Ray in the back before speeding forth, most likely breaking limits that hadn't yet been put into place.

He was long past caring, despite what anyone might think.

It was far too cold to be sitting in the Quattro, talking about nothing and everything. Luigi had shut early for the past two nights, much to Gene's chagrin, and now she was busying herself with thinking about Italian traditions when it came to the festive season, along with keeping moving physically, arms pinned tight to her chest until it was essential that she unfurl them, prising her icy fingers apart to reach into her pocket for the key to the flat.

"We could 'ave gone elsewhere," Gene mumbled behind her back as she wrestled with the lock. The chivalrous thing would have been to help her, especially seeing as he had his gloves on, but instead he kept up his complaining. "There's a good boozer a few roads down. Wanna show you it."

"Another time," she sighed, thinking that surely every pub was exactly the same, aside from being populated by a different set of soaks. She cheered inwardly as the pesky lock gave way, opening the door to the miracle of warmth. "For now I just want to go inside and wrap myself up."

Now that she knew that heat and comfort were only a matter of seconds away she could let her mind turn to different matters, her voice becoming seductive as she curved her body halfway between the open door and the bulk of Gene's frame.

"Preferably around you, Guv."

He extended an arm, boxing her in the small space. Anyone else and she would have felt quite claustrophobic.

"Yer quench me thirst better than a pint any day, Bols."

"Funny," she smiled, her eyes flickering to his parted lips, temptingly close within reach, "you only ever increase mine."

He bundled her inside, pressing his mouth to hers, and the encounter unfolded quickly – no stain whatsoever on his prowess, the frantic passion precisely what she needed this evening. It took longer for her nerve endings to stop buzzing, her head and one hand resting upon his chest while the other still clutched onto the bedsheet to cover their rapidly cooling bodies, rather than being the victim of the euphoria that fuzzed her mind.

Her comfort was interrupted when Gene stretched out to the drawer at the bedside, forcing her to move.

"I'm givin' you this now," he uttered, never needing any explanation as he presented the package wrapped in garish paper, the same which she was sure she had seen poking from the top of Chris's desk.

"It's the 23rd," she could only think to respond, her head still not working properly and not given much of a chance to recover as he stared longingly at her, "you couldn't think to wait a couple of days?"

The corners of his mouth twitched for the smallest, most imperceptible of seconds.

"I've waited long enough, Bolly."

The quiet and sincere pleading in his voice went straight to her heart, not something she was accustomed to hearing. She lingered unthinkingly, holding the gift in her hands without moving to tear off the smallest scrap, still so affected by the emotion he was learning to be comfortable with showing.

"Well, 'urry up and get it out," he hurriedly barked, "put me out me bleedin' misery."

Those last words were said almost under his breath, and she smiled towards him as she wrestled with the paper and then the box, her hands made clumsy by factors other than the biting cold.

"Gene," she sighed his name, taking the pendant out of the velvet-lined box, tracing her fingertips around the silver heart that sat in her palm.

This wasn't something she had expected. She wasn't sure what she did expect; he kept surprising her in the last few months. She couldn't imagine what might come next.

"If you 'ate it, then I'll take it back." He had mistaken her stunned silence for dislike. "I mean, I 'aven't got a receipt, but I did buy it. Swear on me nan's grave."

She took her gaze from the heart with its glistening diamond, shaking her head as her eyes met his once more. "I don't hate it. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"Thank Christ for that." He went closer to her, crawling on his knees. "Took me bloody ages to pick it out."

She couldn't take the smile from her face, going between admiring the necklace and looking at Gene, getting thrills from the adoring expression upon his face. Eventually she turned around, placing the delicate chain into Gene's hands so he could fix it into place, shivering contentedly when his fingers brushed her skin.

"Looks good on yer," he remarked approvingly when she turned back, wordlessly seeking his opinion. She noticed that his gaze dropped a few inches lower after a few seconds and laughed to herself. Probably best to wear it just for special occasions, although she was never going to take it off her person.

"You have good taste," she commented, slipping her fingers beneath where the chain sat upon her collarbone.

He nodded. "Yer proof of that, Bols." His hands made their way to her waist, idly stroking at her hipbones. "Bloody expensive, an' all."

"Don't call me Bolly for nothing," she laughed, pressing a kiss against his cheek, her fingers caressing the back of his neck. "Thank you, Gene. It's beautiful, and I'll always treasure it."

He smiled a smile that was becoming less rare, at least to her. Staring at each other provided enough fulfilment for their desires for a minute or so until he pulled her forward – she would have pushed if he hadn't taken the initiative – and their lips met again, falling into a rhythm that had become second nature but was no less exhilarating.

"My present for you is going to look rather poor in comparison," she spoke between heated kisses, murmuring against his mouth.

For a little while she had forgotten they were both still stark naked, but then he reminded her quite clearly of the fact and she smirked as she was prodded insistently just above her stomach.

"I'm sure I'll find some way you can make it up to me, Bols," he replied, swallowing a groan as her hand trailed down his body.

"Hmmm, probably," she smiled, fingers wrapping carefully around him, head falling back as he dealt out kisses upon her neck. "Talk about Christmas come early."

He chuckled against her skin, hands pulling her yet further forward. "I 'ope that's the only thing that does."

She wasn't sure whether it was better that it had happened on a Sunday morning, and not when they were on duty, worst of all out in the field. The pain had been faint at first and she had made to get out of bed to go to the toilet slowly, so she didn't disturb Gene, who was fast asleep.

Her screaming had woken him with a start.

There was so much blood, everywhere. When she could bear to think back she would wonder how he didn't feel it.

She wanted to stay put where she felt safe, only have his arms around her getting her through the worst of it, even though she didn't know exactly what that part was. He was insistent on taking her to the hospital, dressing her in a robe and carrying her out to the Quattro. She didn't think of the snow, feeling numb enough without it. He drove faster than she wanted him to, though she could understand why. She couldn't stop herself from crying, the tears tight in her throat as he laced her fingers with his, squeezing her hand, speaking words of reassurance.

She told him otherwise, though it hadn't helped either of them.

"It's too late, Gene." She clutched at her abdomen with her free hand, the echoes of pain pulsing at her. "It's too late."

She kept him out of the bedroom for too long when they got back to the flat. Told him to go for a drive or to the pub, she just wanted to sleep. She couldn't close her eyes for long enough without being tormented by images that she had taken for granted would become reality in a few months time.

It was long dark outside when he sheepishly knocked on the door to the room. She murmured in reply, turning onto her side to come face to face with him. She was still so sore.

"Alex," he crouched to her bedside, looking into her eyes.

She had never felt so much guilt in her entire life.

"Please, Gene," she breathed, "don't. I don't..."

His bottom lip pouted and he made to move away from her. It was the last thing she wanted.

"Sorry. I'll...erm...I'll go."

"No." She clung onto his hand with a ferocity she didn't think she was capable of that moment in time, her knuckles turning white, her eyes wide as they roamed his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Gene. This is my fault."

His face shadowed, eyes darkening as they stayed looking into hers. "Don't you dare say that. This is not your fault, love." His free hand went up to stroke her hair. "I won't 'ave you sayin' that."

She felt weak as the tears streamed from her eyes down her cheeks, adjusting so that she was level with him.

"It is," she persisted, her throat burning.

"Alex..."

"I lose everyone," she exclaimed before he could say anything to comfort her. "Everyone who is close to me...I've lost them all. So it must be me. It must."

Her shoulders shook as the tears came harder. It wasn't fair. He had known for less than two weeks. She should have told him sooner, but then she thought perhaps it was a blessing that he hadn't got too used to the idea.

He had taken her into his arms, held onto her tight and let her sob into his shoulder.

"What...what if I..." She couldn't bear to think of it. "What if I lose you too?"

It would be the end of her completely.

He pulled her away from him enough that he could look into her eyes, hands cupping both sides of her face. Her tears were soaking the skin of his fingers.

"You are never gunna lose me," he told her, his voice steady and his eyes clear, his thumb rubbing little circles upon her cheek. "Never, Alex. Ever."

She managed the smallest of smiles before her face crumpled again, unable to look at him for too long.

"God...come 'ere, love."

She fell into his arms and stayed there for the rest of the night, until he had to leave for work the next morning, but he promised he'd come back. She nearly thought that she would stop breathing, only starting again when he closed the door behind him the next night.

She didn't know if she was sure, or if she was merely dreaming, but she thought she heard him cry along with her.

Sitting in his office, he did his best to ignore the pain that stretched the length of his back and the way his hands were still throbbing. The whisky helped, for all of a couple of minutes.

Christ, I'm gettin' too old for this.

He thought about the idea of handing in his card and everything that went with it with greater frequency now. It was tempting; sell it all up for a little somewhere in the Costa Del Sol, spend the rest of his days frying in the sun and treating himself to a diet of fry-ups. There were likely more than enough dodgy ex-pats there to keep his brain occupied, without all the paperwork and red-tape that was getting to overshadow doing the job that he was meant to.

The dream lost its shine quickly. For all his years of service he didn't have much in the way of savings and doubted that he'd make much flogging what he did own. He'd built a kingdom for himself here and he'd be damned if he let it go to ruin in the hands of someone else who didn't have the first clue of what it took to be DCI of Fenchurch East. The force was his life, ever since he'd been a lad barely out of short trousers, so he might as well stick to what he knew; staying where he could make a difference, even though it didn't feel like he was fit for much at the moment.

It's just a bad patch. Happens to the best of 'em.

He glanced towards the far wall, the shelf containing the darts trophies and the solitary picture of Her Majesty in her Coronation regalia. He wasn't really sure why but he raised a glass to her.

You're the Manc Lion. King of the Jungle. Things knock you down, you lie low for a bit, lick your wounds and then come out stronger than before.

He was right, he thought, but then he was also sick of the sound of his own voice. Then again, he wasn't sure that he wanted to listen to another.

Anyway, what was the point of running off to the sunshine when there wasn't anyone to share it with?

The image of Bolly in a tight swimsuit – scratch that, a bikini – came unbidden to his mind, her hands tenderly rubbing aftersun on the blistering skin of his shoulders.

One of the biggest regrets of his life; that he'd never had the pleasure of seeing that lovely sight for himself instead of only dreaming about it.

It was probably a good thing that the knock on the door interrupted his thinking, otherwise he could have landed himself in a lot of trouble.

Parker's face and his hesitant stance standing in the doorway irritated him to no end. He knew he needed to try harder but the bloke just pushed all of his buttons.

"Don't bloody dither, Dozy," he commanded, aware that the DI disliked the nickname. He hadn't been able to come up with anything better or more fitting.

After another minute Parker closed the door behind him though he stayed fairly close to it, keeping his distance from the desk which suited Gene down to the ground.

"The guy in custody..."

"Is a piece of scum," Gene decided to finish Parker's sentence for him, "tell me somethin' I don't know."

Parker huffed out a breath before continuing. "Doctor's examined him and he's in a bad way. Several bruised ribs. One of them might be broken."

Gene raised both hands, propping his feet up on the desk in an act of defiance. "What d'you want me to do about it? Buy 'im some grapes?"

The DI ran a hand through his hair, leaving the question hanging in the air. "I know I'm second-in-command..."

"That's right, you are."

Who gave him the right to come in 'ere, tellin' you what to do? Nobody does that.

He huffed louder this time, ensuring that Gene couldn't just push aside what he was going to say without a second thought.

"I just think things would go better if we thought about what we were doing before going in, all guns blazing."

"We? We?" He was thinking that he shouldn't have let Dozy in to begin with. "I dunno if you've noticed, but Queen Liz is sitting up there, not with a bloody desk outside."

"There's a suspect in our care who can barely string two sentences together because his jaw has nearly been smashed to pieces!"

Even if he was ranting about the wrong thing, Gene was impressed and also surprised that Parker had got so fired up when so far he'd shown all the enthusiasm and commitment of a damp dishcloth.

"Well, it'll teach 'im not to shoot his mouth off and expect to face no consequences."

"And while you were busy beating him to a pulp, the others got away."

"You could 'ave gone after them, seein' as you were about as much use as a condom machine in the Vatican! Anyway, don't tell me you never 'ad your share of scuffles at that public school of yours. Did yer just lie there and take it when one of the bigger blokes used 'is rugby tackle on you?"

Parker's face went back to its usual stony guise. "This isn't about me, Guv."

"Damn right, it isn't." He didn't stand to square up to the DI, feeling like he'd only be proving the point, but he did straighten himself up, removing his legs from where they had been draped across the desk and leaned over it instead. "While you're 'ere and you're under my command you do things my way. You don't ask why and you certainly do not think to question me. Is that understood?"

He couldn't help but think back to the many times that he and Bolly had been in the middle of blazing rows, holding the rest of CID enthralled as they bawled at one another, his office doing precisely nothing to keep things private. It seemed strange to think that she got on his nerves so much, and yet her winding him up was precisely what he thrived upon.

Never mind it being part of the reason he'd fallen for her in such a life-ruining way. She never let him get away with anything, always did what she possibly could to raise his game.

It made it all the more frustrating when Parker simply shrugged his shoulders with a quiet "yes, Guv" and headed back out of the door.

The Met's standards were definitely falling, seeing as they let any sod become a Detective Inspector nowadays.

In the quiet that returned her voice came back to him.

Go easy on him. Not everyone responds to the same stimulus.

"Bloody easy for you to say, Bols," he muttered under his breath, knowing that he was going round the twist to talk back.

He'll come round. I'm worried about you, Gene.

A different air seemed to fill the room; he swore that he felt something brushing against his arm, his neck. He closed his eyes, swallowing down a gulp of amber. Bloody insane.

You're losing grip.

"Whose fault is that?"

That's too easy, and you know it. Please don't undo everything. All of the things Sam taught you.

"Stupid bastard didn't listen to me." And I shouldn't be listenin' to you.

Don't let it have been for nothing. You and I...you have to keep it together.

He was starting to lose his rag, even if he didn't want to be angry with her.

"If you want me to do that then you shouldn't have bloody left!"

I couldn't control it. I had to go. I have a life...

A life without him in it, while his was going to shit in spectacular style.

"Well, good for you, Bolly. You can bugger off and stay out of mine, at least until I need you for somethin'."

He couldn't even have a shag ever again, thanks to her. Might as well jump off a bloody roof, or blow his brains out.

Another knock on the door and the phantom of Bolly was chased away. He sighed and prepared to give both barrels to Dozy. Instead he was confronted with another member of the team.

"Christopher. Tracked down those other wasters yet?"

"Er, Terry and the lads are workin' on it."

Brilliant. He was never going to hear the end of it from Parker now that squad were in charge.

"A call's come through from Central Division," Chris continued, though Gene was sure there wasn't much point in listening. "There's been a raid on that posh jewellery shop, Brokeborough's."

"Another one? Jesus, they want to do somethin' about their heavies."

"Well, that's the thing. There was nobody on site. They saw nothin'."

Gene furrowed his brow in confusion. How the hell are we supposed to follow that up?

"The only thing to go on is the fact that the safe and housin' room was blown to bits," Chris supplied. "It could 'ave only been a bomb, planted in advance."

The days were moving a little quicker, and she had advanced from lying in bed all day to sitting in a chair for a few hours at a time, still in her room. It was a relief in one way – she found herself being wary, if not exactly scared, about the world beyond the hospital's walls and doors, not knowing how much had changed. In other respects it was deeply frustrating.

Her world couldn't have been so limited that it could exist within these confines, but what else was there to know about?

Molly was permitted to stay for a little longer than the standard visiting times, always coming alone even though Alex had encouraged her to bring a friend. Although, whose idea of a good day out consisted of humouring a friend's amnesiac mother? She requested that her daughter tell all that had happened to her; it felt horribly selfish and egotistical to constantly put the focus on herself, even if it might do something to stimulate her mind. Alex couldn't help but believe the opposite to be true; the less she raked over her own life and took in the details of what was outside of her existence, the better chance she had in remembering.

After a few days with no success the previous night had brought some slivers of hope.

"I had a dream," she explained a little tentatively as Molly sat in the easy chair opposite, "a couple, actually. I think they were dreams...they might have been memories, I don't know."

A gradual smile brightened Molly's face. "That's brilliant!" In her excitement she leaned forward quickly, grasping Alex's hand in her own. "You don't have to tell me."

Alex couldn't restrain her fond smile, unable to disappoint her daughter. It would help her to recount, she was certain, even if the latter had been distressing, causing her to wake up with feelings of guilt and emptiness and with tears pricking at her eyes.

"Well, it was just before Christmas and your Dad and I were in my old flat." She decided to omit the more graphic of details, to save both of them the embarrassment. "And he gave me this."

She held out the necklace that she was wearing by its chain, having had the immediate impulse to put it on after she had woken, giddy that she was aware of its significance once more.

"I think it was the first present he had given me."

She cradled the heart pendant with pride, running her hand over the diamond that shone despite the dim light in the room.

"I didn't know that," Molly smiled, and for a moment Alex doubted whether she had got it right after all. "I know that it's your favourite. That would make sense."

Alex smiled, looking away and twisting the chain around her finger.

"And then...it was later, but I don't think it was all that later. But maybe I'm wrong, I don't know." Or maybe it was just a dream. Surely she would have recalled something so visceral? "I feel weird asking you this, Molls."

"It's okay, Mum," she reassured, giving Alex's hand a squeeze. "I'll help, if I can. I want to."

Alex patted her hand over that which was entwined with her daughter's.

"Were...were you my first child?" Her voice began to falter as Molly's gaze changed. "I mean, you might not even know. I might not have said anything, I don't know why I would..."

"Mum," Molly said in a soothing voice which helped to put her frantic thoughts to rest. "You did tell me. I was too nosey as a teenager." She beamed a smile before turning more wistful. "You lost a baby, with Dad. Before me."

Alex felt the grief wash over her, another step removed from the pain she had experienced in the dream-memory, and then the echo from waking.

"It would have been just after the New Year in 1983," Molly continued, once again cataloguing her mother's life for her benefit, filling in the gaps. "Shaz and Chris got married in the March, and Dad proposed to you a week or so after. You thought he was trying to make up for...at first, anyway, and then he convinced you that it had been in his head all along. And you got married in the June."

"Well, it was quite the year," Alex exclaimed, sad and frustrated that she couldn't recall more of it, specifically not Gene proposing to her nor their wedding.

"And when you found out you were pregnant with me, you were absolutely furious. You said that Dad thought you were going to knock him clean out."

It wouldn't have been the first time, she seemed to recall.

"You wanted it to be just you and Dad," Molly said without a hint of resentment, "you were scared that it was going to happen again. You came round in the end, though."

Alex smiled towards her daughter, skimming her thumb over the curve of her hand. It hurt the most that she could not remember her birth. Herself as a mother, really, or Gene as a father.

"I'm sorry, Molls. One, that I put all of that on you and now that I made you bring it up again."

"Honestly, it's okay. I asked. And if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have been able to tell you now."

They smiled at one another, in apology and understanding.

"Do you think it might help," Molly started, "if you talked to someone else about this?"

"I don't know, Molls," Alex replied, letting herself drift a little. In truth she was too scared of what she would discover. What if all her pleasant memories were lost, irretrievable, and all that she could bring back was pain and suffering? Surely it would have been better to forget, in that case.

"I do," her daughter persisted. "I mean, not that I'm not happy that you're sharing it with me. But I think I might be blocking things, too, by being so close to you. If there was someone with a complete lack of knowledge about you or Dad..."

"...then that might open up parts of my mind I'm subconsciously restricting." She paused to chuckle. "God, you sound like me."

"A joint honours in Psychology comes in useful, after all," Molly smirked. "I really think you should consider it. Maybe see what Mr Gerrard thinks."

Alex frowned at the mention of the specialist who was current custodian of her wellbeing.

"Are they still stopping you from seeing your Dad?"

Molly nodded, momentarily lowering her gaze. "It's 'for the best', apparently. At least while things stay as they are and there's no improvement."

"Well, changing that is going to be my priority," Alex said with a smile, keeping the rage she felt below the surface. "There'll be plenty of time for me to remember sixty-odd years of stuff."

"Mum," Molly uttered with a half-weary sigh, "you've always said that I have to pick my battles. We can't fight against the doctors. They know best."

Alex was somewhat sceptical that that was the case.

"Anyway," her daughter went on, "I think Dad would want you to. Even if he claims to not know the least bit about psychiatry."

"Oh, I see how it is," Alex smiled. She knew her own tricks best, and now her daughter was using them on her. "Okay, I'll think about it. But we can't get our hopes up."

"Of course not."

She didn't say anything to Molly but she didn't want to be too hasty, not when the simple act of dreaming might yet herald more.

Since the unconventional raid on the jewellery shop, Gene ensured that Fenchurch East kept tabs on the area, ears and eyes peeled for news of more. Something in his bones told him that it wouldn't be the last – why would anyone go to the trouble of planting a sophisticated device at a specific target if it was just a one-off? – and also that it added up to something more.

There were different classes of scumbags, a fact that he had quickly learned to be true when he first joined the force, and whoever was behind this was a higher breed. At least, they thought they were.

They didn't reckon on the fact that Gene Hunt was not one to have the wool pulled over his eyes, even when he wasn't at the top of his game.

Necessity and the sheer inevitably of London being a city packed to the brim with chancers and criminals meant that they had to go after other cases. His mind was being chunked up good and proper. He was still getting into the station not long after dawn each morning, poring over the intelligence that had come in overnight. Intelligence was a somewhat lofty term to describe the few paragraphs that came through. The remains of the device had been examined, the conclusion being that it had to have been the work of an explosives specialist.

Bells started to ring in his mind, at the most inconvenient of times and never loud enough for him to fully grasp. Parker still kept his distance other than when it was absolutely necessary for them to work together, and Gene didn't even want to know what was bubbling under the surface – it was the good of his health.

The way things were going half the city would be blown to smithereens before they cracked it.

"Right you lot, another day, another dollar," he said, clapping his hands together, trying to get some life into the place. It was increasingly feeling like a graveyard in there. "Terry, Bammo, Poirot, you're out on street duty. The rest of you have got a shit-ton of files to work through. I don't care if it takes us the whole week, we're not leaving here until we turn somethin' up on this soddin' mystery."

"Guv," Ray exclaimed.

"I know, Raymondo, you can't make it through without a couple of pints down your neck. Think of it as motivation."

He noticed Ray and Chris exchanging a glance, and then Chris looked over at where Parker was sitting at his desk, straight as a board.

"Alright, is there somethin' goin' on that I don't know about? If any of you would care to enlighten me then that would be deeply bloody appreciated," Gene bellowed, "as would a cuppa. Christopher, where's that missus of yours?"

Shaz burst through the doors, followed by a couple of heavies and a bloke in glasses and a trenchcoat. Gene's first thought was that he must have been an associate of Parker's, although the DI looked none the wiser, if a little shame-faced. Then again, he looked like that most of the time.

"And you are?" Gene asked, wondering what the hell Shaz was playing at letting this lot in without consulting him first.

The bloke smiled, removing his warrant card with no particular impetus or haste.

"DCI Jim Keats. Discipline and Complaints. A little birdie told me that Fenchurch East was the place to be these days, and I assume that you're the one in charge."

"DCI Gene Hunt," Gene offered, standing taller in the face of threat.

Keats extended a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, DCI Hunt."

Gene took it somewhat reluctantly; the man's hand was like a firebrand, singing his skin.

"Mind if we take a walk?"

A/N: Ugggh, Keats - why d'you have to show up and spoil things?