A/N: Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews, they really made my day! hands out cookies This chapter's a little bit more of a scene setting one but I promise more action next time…

Disclaimer: None of the included characters (save Nellie) are mine.

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'The old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, the young know everything.' – Oscar Wilde

Chapter One – Waste, Whiskey and Wenches

The scene was a desolate one, almost deserted but for the few officers who huddled together under the wind swept trees.

Gene surveyed the scene, police tape fluttering in the breeze as he stood on the tarmac, brightly coloured, painted lines stretching away under his feet. A swing was creaking with every gust of wind, sending echoes dancing eerily away across the playground.

He pulled in a breath and closed his eyes for a second, images flashing before him – tears and blood and foul words stretching into the darkness.

He shook his head, trying to kick them away as he turned to his DI, standing next to him, her curls flying back in the wind.

She was shattered; he could see it in the dark circles that had gathered like storm clouds under her pretty blue eyes. The sun had only just begun to rise over another dreary March day but the shadows were fighting back and he knew it would be some time before anything near morning.

"The plods know anythin' yet?" He asked gruffly, staring over to where Chris and Ray stood, cigarette smoke streaming from their lips.

She shook her head "Not much," She murmured sleepily "The boy's about eight, sustained heavy injures, probably died about midnight."

He nodded and didn't speak again, wandering slowly over to the slides were a group of officers had gathered, whispering almost clandestinely to each other.

He strode straight through; the plod's parting like a sea around him as he laid eyes on the little boy who lay, half covered by the dull plastic of the slide, in a pool of his own blood.

It was a sickening scene. The blood had dried; matting his brown curls to his head, twisting them into the deep, slanting wound that ran the length of his face, disappearing at his chin.

The front of his blue t-shirt was soaked with blood where his attacker's knife had carried on cutting. One hand rested across his chest, the other was by his side, gripping something to him.

Gene stared down, bile burning at his throat.

"He was just a kid." He heard one of the plod's mutter "How could anyone do that to a kid?"

There was another gust of wind and he felt his DI stir next to him. He turned on her, his eyes flashing for a moment as they prepared to vent his fury on whoever was closest.

But something stopped him.

Maybe it was the way she was just standing there, her teeth embedded into her lip, fists clenched, eyes welling with sudden tears. Maybe it was the horrible, haunted look that those eyes held. Maybe it was that for a moment she looked so helpless and pathetic, her makeup gone, her curls limp.

Whatever it was, suddenly he wanted to hold her, to protect her, to drag her away from this whole desperate situation.

But then the scene moved on, the officers around him moving away as the forensics team appeared in a storm of iodine and white lab coats. When he looked back again she was gone, disappeared over to talk to the plods.

He sighed and shook his head. Get a grip Gene, she's too good for you and you know it.

And with this thought barrelling around his head, he set off to find Ray and Chris.

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"Toby Whitley." He shrugged at her as she sat on the edge of the desk, her perfume floating across the room to drift around his mind. He swore there was something more sinister about bloody perfume than women made out…

She looked hard at him, knowing all too well that he was quite prepared to pin this one on anyone who happened to be passing. They all wanted it off their hands but she wasn't going to let him revert to the Gene Sam had known without a fight.

"How'd you know?"

"That bastard's done this before." He muttered, the whisky glass clicking against the desk as his span it slowly between his fingers.

"You can't just pin it on a known offender Gene…"

He cut her off. "While back, first job, there'd been some kids killed in the West End. Slash 'cross the chest, found in parks, playgrounds. Caught the bastard as well, nailed 'im good and proper but 'e got off thanks to your bloody mate, Evan." He glared across the surface at her almost contemptuously.

"So the injures are similar, it could be some freak following their demented hero's example?" She ranted feeling like she was fighting a losing battle but deciding to ignore the barbed comment that was once again directed at her godfather.

He stared hard at her and then laughed slightly; it was a cold, mirthless sound that seemed to ring for longer than was natural.

"Look Bols, yer might 'ave come 'ere with all yer fancy ways of doin' stuff but screw yer forensics and yer circumstantial evidence, I know I'm right. 'E was a bastard an' he should 'ave been put away a long time ago."

He sighed and ran a hand over his forehead. "I spoke to 'im once, asked why the 'ell 'e did it. He told me 'e liked to hear 'em scream. Said 'e needed to destroy somethin' beautiful, somethin' innocent."

Alex shivered, the images from the morning dancing around her as she watched Gene's eyes cloud over, anger and disgust reflected back at her as he spoke the words seared into his conscience.

"Fine," She murmured "But real, hard evidence this time, alright? Then we'll bring him down forever."

Gene nodded and sighed quietly, a silence settling between them as he stared over her shoulder, into the clamour and commotion of the office.

"You've gotta daughter ain't yer Bols?" He asked suddenly, his eyes drifting back to her, now looking slightly paler.

She nodded, a sad smile stretching across her face.

"What's 'er name?"

Alex looked at him curiously, surprised by his sudden interest. "Molly." She replied, deciding to humour him. "She's twelve."

He smiled and nodded slightly, a faraway look misting his stormy blue eyes. "You love 'er?"

That was a strange question, Alex thought.

"Yes, hugely."

He seemed to swallow slightly and for a moment Alex thought she caught something far below his skin, a flash of a very different man under all of the brash, violent armour.

Then it was gone as he turned to the door, a knock interrupting their conversation.

"Yes Christopher?" He asked, throwing the burning whiskey back as the door opened.

"Erm…" Chris faltered, standing in the frame and chewing his lip slightly nervously. "There's a kid down in th'office waitin' for yer Guv." He muttered "She won't speak to no one else."

Gene sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before turning to his DI.

"Bols, I want everythin' we 'ave on Toby Whitley. Got it?"

She nodded "Yes Ge-Guv."

Then he was off again, disappearing into the clamour of the office.

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The girl in the entrance looked about eight but was so painfully thin she could have been much older. Her blonde hair looked like it had been attacked with felt tip pens and her blue eyes were so big they could have been traced from saucers.

She wasn't particularly tall and so standing in the hallway next to London's resident Manc Lion she looked tiny and fragile, almost like a doll.

She'd told the plod's she knew who'd killed Ashley James. Then she'd asked to see Gene Hunt.

He stared down at her, so frail and small she looked like you could snap her just by breathing on her and sighed.

"S'yer name love?" He asked gruffly, leaning against the wall.

She looked up at him and chewed her lip, as if she was working out something horribly complicated. "Nellie Whitley."

The DCI was suddenly more alert. "What's yer dad's name?"

She glared up at him suspiciously. "I came 'ere cus I know 'oo killed Ashley James. I day come 'ere to tell yow me family 'istory."

He stared down at her for a moment and then his face cracked into a smile. Surrounded by posh birds and plod's who sounded like they'd come straight off the box it was strangely comforting to meet someone who didn't care what they sounded like and had probably never heard of a double negative in their lives.

"Go on then." He shrugged at her. "'Oo killed 'im."

Her blue eyes glazed over for a moment, like a fault in a china factory as her brow crinkled into a frown. "Car tell ya." She murmured softly. "Ain't worth it."

"Why'd yer come then?" He asked quizzically, a little put out by her answer.

"Cos…" She sighed loudly and looked back up at him and he caught the tears that were welling in her eyes. "Cos I thought, I thought yow'd 'elp." She muttered "Dunno why I thought that."

As he looked at her, flyaway blonde hair twisting across her cheeks, her huge sky blue eyes filling with desperation, something stirred in him that hadn't moved for a very long time.

"Come 'ere." He murmured, holding out a rough hand "We'll go find yer sommot to eat, pink wafers or somethin'." He smiled comfortingly. "'ow's that?"

She brightened instantly, a smile springing to her dull lips. "Yeah," She beamed at him. "D'Like that a lot."

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