Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter of 'Keeping It In The Family?', especially to Big fan and talkingtothesky for taking the time to review. I hope you all like this chapter which I do think is a lot better. Last time was just an introduction to set the scene for the shape of things to come.

Enjoy!

DCI Gene Hunt lent against the metal filing cabinet, his face as hard as stone. He barely noticed the presence of the younger man as he walked casually yet now reticently into the smoky office.

Sam felt the sides of his mouth twitch in deliberation; how would it be honestly best to handle this situation?

"Hi, er, Gov."

The sentence, short, unthreatening but strangely impactful cut across the atmosphere like a dagger through naked flesh. Gene was bleeding on the inside, Sam could just tell; there was a certain, unspoken bond between them now. After days of being trapped inside a rotting room, Sam felt that he now had a better understanding of his Governor.

Or perhaps not.

"Tyler." Gene's voice was low, untraceably level. He hadn't expected to see his Inspector that day. In fact, there was a time when he questioned whether the picky pain in the arse was ever going to return.

"Is everything ok?" Sam's question was polite, possibly unbearably so. It was one of those sort of things you asked when you had nothing better to say. Or when you didn't have the imagination to think of anything else.

Yet, the Gene Genie didn't have his usual sarcastic wit about him to think of a good response. So he was honest. Not brutally so, just very plain with his DI. "No, no it's not."

Sam licked his lips, folding the paper in half as he spied the Gov delving in his filing cabinet. He knew exactly what he was seeking.

He glanced at his watch. "Gov, do you not think it's a bit early, you know, to be drinking?"

Gene's hardened face chipped, only marginally. "No."

His brief reply was often more dangerous - or at least, Sam considered it to be more dangerous - than a long winded, explosive rant.

Sam gazed towards the door, his mind absent, listening to the plop of the orange liquid landing against the glass. "Tell me, who was that girl?"

Gene snorted, plonking himself in his recliner, banging his feet against the worn desk. It was still very clear who was running the show, like a lion in the zoo, pacing, as the on lookers became mesmerized by its great authority and presence. "Someone."

Sam cringed at the bitterness. "Who was she?"

"My worst nightmare, that's what." he snorted, throwing the beverage down his neck, his aim remarkably clear.

He slammed the tumbler down, his steely eyes transfixed by its mere nothingness. How transparent and un-mystical it all was. How he wished sometimes he was as shallow as that glass. Yet it would take all of the fun out of any day.

Sam had learnt a long time ago that crossing an angry Gene was probably not the best or most sensible idea. But now he knew Gene a lot more thoroughly than before. The feeling was mutual. He was allowed to push the silence.

"Why?"

Although his DI's tone was not whiney but thoughtful and straightforward, Gene hadn't taken it that way; he'd seen it as almost a threat to his privacy. "What the bloody 'ell as it got to do with you, Tyler?"

Sam was stunned by his Governors response. After everything he'd told him about his past over the past few weeks and now this? He grunted, shaking his head, appalled. "Because, Gene, I would expect by now that we'd have grown that faith in one another. I didn't tell you all of that about my past a couple of weeks ago for you not to return the favour."

Gene stood, preparing himself for the battle. "Don't throw me that bullshit, Tyler! I'd always known you were psycho!"

"And I'd always known you were an egomaniacal, stubborn bastard that just wants it one way all of the time!"

"Oh and like you don't?" Gene retaliated, spitting venom. "I had to nearly push you over the damn edge before you'd tell me anything about your past, before you'd stop me from watching you fall into your own noncy thoughts!"

They stood toe to toe, their noses barely apart. They could feel each others breath intimidated close to their necks; a fusion of mint and alcohol blending imperfectly together to create a sour concoction.

Sam held the Gov's gaze, pinching his breath in his nose. His chest rose, refusing to back down. "Try me before I'm forced to push."

Gene shook his head, returning over to his desk where the half empty bottle stood. He knew there was no turning back now. There couldn't possibly be. He took another glass from the cabinet, before bolting the door shut; he didn't want any unwanted visitors at this time.

"You must promise me," he began, standing almost anxiously behind his desk "That what I tell you, you will not tell to another living soul, you understand?"

Gene was on the verge of whispering, something Sam knew he didn't do very often. What ever he had to say was obviously something deep to his heart, something that could well change their relationship entirely.

"You have my word." he confirmed just as quietly, taking a cracked, plastic seat from the corner. He had a feeling this would be a long conversation.

Unscrewing the cap of the whisky bottle, Sam could see Gene's hands quiver; it wasn't like someone shaking through a fever or in the winter's wind. But there was a shake of the hands, be it only slight. He was nervous, an emotion that Sam didn't suspect his Gov to have.

The offering of the alcohol seemed a little inappropriate to Sam; it sounded like this whole venture was going to be complicated, something that needed his full attention. He couldn't approach it correctly if his mind was fuzzy with whisky.

Still, he accepted the glass gratefully, staring at it with a modest amount of suspicion. He did question briefly whether he should be drinking this soon after finishing his set of antibiotics for his broken ribs. He didn't dwell on it for too long though, taking a sip of it regardless of any creeping doubts.

Gene collapsed in the chair, his whisky sloshing against the side of the tumbler. His face had barely moved; no expression had been expressed, not even when he was yelling at his DI.

He stared at the bottomless glass for a while, his lips pursed as if they were concrete. He (for once) was considering exactly what to say. How to say what he was feeling without 'coming over all Dorothy'.

"I promise that I won't tell anyone." Sam repeated, hoping to reinforce confidence.

Gene snorted, shifting his weight higher into the chair. "I mean it, Tyler. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I swear your bollocks will be stabbed with a very blunt instrument - of my choosing..."

Gene's voice didn't seem hecked up, failing to even sound threatening; he just muttered the words quietly, his tone uncertain. Sam knew that he meant what he said though. Well, maybe not about the bollocks bit, but about keeping whatever he had to say quiet...

"Seventeen years ago, I moved 'ere to be a part of this very Manchester police station. I was working down town but wanted a transfer. I knew that in a few years their number would be up and we'd all be looking for other jobs. So I came 'ere, 'oping to get the promotion I'd always wanted."

Sam nodded, taking another low sip of the whisky. He was trying his best to picture, a younger, fitter Gene Hunt. One who had as much hunger as he did, working up the ranks.

"So, after a couple of weeks, I was bumped up to Sergeant. Perfect - new start, promotion, engaged."

Sam's eyes flickered up when the word 'engaged' was mention. He wasn't entirely sure how long him and the missus had been together; it was never something Gene discussed in much detail. There was still no emotion in Gene's voice, not even upon that memory; Sam had always regarded engagements to be the happiest of a couple's time together.

It didn't sound that way for the Gene Genie.

"I was the 'appiest I'd ever been in me life. Content with a bright future at the station and soon to be married. One day, Harry Wolf and I with a couple of other nonces were given a call about a hookers den. About odd noises and what not. Harry couldn't be arsed to deal with that. He had bigger fish to fry. News had just come in about a double murder down the road. So, 'aving vast amounts of faith in me and this bloke called Constable Scarlet, 'e sent us down there to deal with it."

Gene sniffed, sarcasm creeping across his voice like a lost ghost; how his stomach now cringed when he mentioned Harry Wolf. Bastard.

"I didn't particularly want to go - the missus, I knew, wouldn't 'ave been over thrilled if she'd found out about it," he chuckled only slightly. He tried to work out exactly how he wore the trousers in the marriage. Obviously an ill fitting pair. "When we got there, it was a right tip. Bloodied newspapers sprawled out everywhere, the odd empty bottle of wine, condom wrappers. Not that they ever did a lot for some people."

Gene's tone dropped to hostility. Sam frowned slightly, his forehead creasing in near sympathy; so much for a good day.

"We only went down there, ya know, to close the scene down. I told them that they shouldn't carry on like this. I told them to go and get themselves proper jobs, support the country in a more effective manner. Even if they were only birds, they 'ad enough of a brain to stack shelves or something."

"So you've always been a Chauvinist?" Sam interjected, his hands now cupping one another.

"No, I'm not a fan of the Russians." he replied witty although Sam did have to question whether it was wit or just stupidity. "There was one bird there wh-"

"You do know what a Chauvinist is, don't you?" DI Tyler quizzed, leaning back harder against the chair, his arms folded pertly across his chest.

"Will you bloody shut up! I don't feel like one of your nancy boy History lessons right now!" Gene demanded, his voice still lacking its usual sense of authority. "Anyway, like I was saying, there was this one bird who instantly caught me eye. Beautiful she was. A near perfect English rose. Mid height, long chocolate brunette 'air, dark eyes. She was far prettier than anybody else there. Stunning."

Gene tisked, briefly examining her journey in life; why on earth anyone that gorgeous would turn to prostitution was beyond him almost completely; she could have been an actress, a model. Certainly not a prostitute. "She had an amazing figure. Lean but with meat in all of the right places."

"Are you sure you picked her up in a boudoir and not at the local deli?" Sam asked. The question was very wry, almost Gene like. The cynicism seeped through like water in a siv.

Gene plumped his lips, his nose lifting in quiet disgrace. "'Ere I am, telling you exactly what you wanted to know and you ain't even paying attention."

Sam new he'd crossed the line; Gene hadn't been that much of a bastard with him. "Sorry."

DCI Hunt continued, seeing the sincerity in his Inspectors eyes. "I went over to 'er, turned on a bit of the Gene Hunt charm. I told 'er she could do so much better for 'erself. I told 'er that prostitution was a dangerous occupation, especially for something as sweet as 'er."

"Did she listen to you?" Sam pestered, although he feared what the answer might be.

"Did she 'ell!" he snarled, more angry at himself for not preventing it. "So, being the good copper that I was and still am, I kept an eye out for 'er, ya know, making sure that she kept out of trouble. That she kept paying 'er rent on time, kept 'ealthy, didn't do any drugs. Not that she really 'ad the money to do that..."

Gene's voice trailed off into oblivion, shifting through memories.

"Did she, you know, stay healthy and everything?"

"Oh yeah, she was fine. I was originally meant to take 'er to the cop station, get 'er fined for what she was doing."

"Did you?" Sam pressed. His Gov couldn't maintain eye contact with him any longer. "Did you?"

Gene couldn't find the energy to answer. His head, held wearily in his palms, nearly collapsed on him. It was as if the Governor had developed a serious case of laryngitis; he didn't reply, his face turned almost white as beads of sweat fell freely.

Sam didn't want to push that subject any further; he knew that his Gov would tell him when he was good and ready. It was as if he'd already laid his heart and soul out on a silver platter for his Inspector to analyse already. Sam, however, was determined not to leave until his one vital question had been answered.

"Ok, just answer me this then, Gene - who was that girl, from earlier?"

Sam, if he was a betting man, would have put his life savings against Gene's face dropping anymore. How much more wrong he could have been, he didn't know.

Gene lifted his head, grunting reservedly. "You really wanna know who that girl was?"

Sam nodded, urging his boss to continue.

"She...she's my daughter."

To be continued...

Well done, talkingtothesky!

Thank you for reading this far - any feedback, good or bad, would be much appreciated!