Pulling up outside the semi-detached, red bricked and cracked window paned home of the Smith family, Gene halted the voyage, just millimetres away from a chipped painted telephone box the opposite side of the road. His steely cold gaze was fixed on the road ahead of him, his face solemn and stern.

Gliding a hand over his dulling blonde hair, Sam Tyler turned to face DCI Hunt, letting out a huge breath of relief; after that traumatic journey, he was surprised that both he and the Guv were more or less in one piece, let alone the car that had shook constantly down the road.

"Right so I'll go in there and have a word, finish with the interview, and then come back and get you to search the house, yet?"

Stubborn and hot headed, Hunt chose to ignore his Detective Inspectors last question, his face stuck in the same position as it had been for the past ten minutes.

"Yes?"

"Whatever." Gene mumbled, his leather bounded gloves attached to the steering wheel, seemingly like he was never letting go (apart from to lay a not so pleasant fist against Sam's cheek). He was clearly not a happy bunny.

Sam rolled his eyes; he didn't have the time nor inclination to be dealing with his boss when he was behaving like this. "Brat." he muttered viciously, stumbling out of the car. Suddenly, a familiar voice grabbed his attention, halting him, making him attach himself back to the vehicle.

"What makes you so sure, Dorothy, that he's gonna be 'ere?"

Sam shrugged, bending over to peer through the glass which, on the other side, sat a Governor determined to prove his employee wrong...again. "I dunno. He hasn't got a lot of choice, to be fair, has he?"

With that, the younger man pushed his body away from the copper coloured motor, hobbling over to the crimson doorway of the house. His heart felt as if it was about to pound out of his chest, a concoction of pain, intimidation and apprehension collided like a train pulsating against a young child's body.

Knocking on the door, Sam waited a few seconds, swiping any last specs of dust from his usually glossy leather jacket. No reply.

Back in the car, Gene groaned; it was so tempting to bugger off down to the Railway Arms for more than a quick tipple, the rate this was going! To his own intrigue, he spied Sam bend gingerly down, shifting the Smith's bin a little to the left before laying his hands on a pair of silver keys.

Regaining some sort of straight posture, as well as he could do with suspected busted ribs, Tyler beamed over to the Gene Genie who mulishly had to admit that was pretty good of his DI to have the patients to search for a set of keys, as opposed to simply knocking the door down with a hasty shoulder barge!

The warm air and woft of freshly made treacle tart, complete with the crumbliest, flakiest pastry ever tasted brought back fond memories of Sam's childhood as he slowly entered the building. He savoured the moment, his eyes loosely shut, his eye lashes flickering in and out of the light as his hands fumbled against the metal door handle, his mind only partially registering that he slammed the door a little too loudly behind him.

"Are you going to be a big boy and help Auntie Jillian with her cooking? Uncle Mike will be impressed, Sammy!"

"What are you doing here?"

A blunt bellow came from the shadows, a man lurking from the distance. Sam's vision snapped open, his heart skipping a beat. "Unc- I mean, Mr. Smith, I thought you weren't home..."

A sharp snigger approached Sam, erasing any lasting thoughts of serenity, directing him to be cautious as Mike began to speak. "I knew you'd be back."

"Back?" Tyler unintelligibly responded, confused and weary.

"Back to haunt me, hurt me, try and get answers from me! Well, it isn't going to happen. Not this time."

Swallowing hard, saliva clogging the back of his throat as if he'd swallowed buckets of phlegm simultaneously, one after the other, Sam attempted to reason with the obviously confused and frightened man, his own senses becoming vigilant. "Mr. Smith, I am not here to haunt you or to hurt you, far from it. However, I am here to try and get reasonable answers from you in regards to the disappearance of your wife and the injuries sustained by your baby girl."

Mike contemplated the words, his eyes darting from side to side, like a bumble bee hopping from one pollen stained plant to the next. He stepped away from the dimmer light, his and Sam's faces only centimetres apart, their shaky breathing heard by either gentleman. "Ok, but please promise me that your Boss isn't going to charge in here at any second and arrest me?"

"You have my honest truth, sir, that if that does happen, it will only be on your say so and his decision, not mine."

Nodding sceptically, Mike gestured for Sam to go into the green furnished living room. 'This takes me back.' Sam mused, a slight smile aiding his features as he spied the family portrait of his Mum, Dad, and Auntie and Uncle at a family wedding, their own grins white and genuine, their eyes peaceful and content. Except for one mans. The picture, Sam remembered, was taken half an hour before his Dad disappeared, never to return...

"Can I get you anything?" Mike's tone suddenly became amicable, certainly more relaxed and willing to comply to the copper's inquires. Sam spun round, taken aback by the sudden quizzing; he'd been too lost in his own world of mystification that he hadn't registered the other man's company. "Tea? Coffee? Water? Anything stronger?"

Slamming his knuckles together, a possible barrier to his own nervousness, Sam declined the offer graciously, taking a seat and preparing himself for the possibility of answers he didn't particularly want to hear.

Mike took the seat opposite Sam, out of the direct line of vision from the window; the last thing he could be doing with right now is people strolling past, carrying on their daily lives whilst snooping into his.

"Mike, mate, I'm sorry that my Guv was so...so direct with you earlier but - in a way - he was right. With all of the recent female deaths in the city, it may be a good idea to think about if there are any people that do hate your wife and would possibly want to see her..."

"Don't even say it."

Mike's barely audible speech made Sam shudder, his head bowed down in infamy. "Sorry." he frowned, realising that his good intentions may not have seemed as pure as white after all. "It's just it has been several days now. We need to find her."

Mr. Smith stood, his body torment ridden, his arms wrapped so tightly around himself it would be impossible to ever let anyone in again, like a solid steel gate. He stood, ambling over to the window, making sure the majority of his body was safely concealed behind the thick, Carnation encrusted curtains, in an array of pastel shades of pinks, yellows and blue hues. Suddenly, he broke the near calm atmosphere. "I thought you said your boss wasn't here?"

Sam gulped. "Yeah, well, he insisted on driving me here." he smiled weakly, trying to put the man once again at ease.

Mike nodded vaguely, drawing the curtains swiftly shut. He fiddled with them for ages, making sure that absolutely no signs of light were possible to pass through, his humming an attempt to block everything out of his confused head. Sam's face cringed, knowing that this would be the perfect sign for...

"DON'T MOVE - YOU'RE SURROUNDED BY AN ARMED BASTARD!"

Gene, 'don't call me twinkle toes' Genie blundered into the house, his revolver securely erect in his eager palms. Sam's own hands were a defence mechanism, a non verbal sign for the Guv not to move a muscle - or pull a trigger - as he went to comfort a cowering Mike Smith.

Forcing his beloved gun back in his navy blue trousers, Gene tutted, encouraging a look of displeasure from his DI. This whole thing was now in the stages of driving both of them insane; the murders, the lack of evidence, the one man hell bent on not telling the Police anything - or everything - that he knew.

'A perk of the job.' Gene cogitated to himself, delving his hands further into his pockets; at least then, it would prevent him from shoving Sam out of the way and laying a not so professional fist against the chin of Smith.

Trying to persuade Mike to move away from the corner of the living room, his body crumpled between two arm chairs, Sam peered over to him, having to admit to himself that he was more than a little tired of this game. "Come on, Mike, this is really important now. Think about it, the quicker you answer my questions, the quicker we'll be able to leave, go back to the station and continue looking for your wife, yes?"

The slow nod of the head by the recent father made Sam glance over at Gene who was a little more satisfied at the response. "Ok then, well, tell me if your wife has any enemies, people that she didn't get along with, anyone..."

"No. Everyone liked- likes her." Mike's sudden correction made Gene cock an eyebrow.

"Right. Well, I can tell that we're not going to get much joy out of you. C'mon Sam, lets go. It's obvious this Nancy's not gonna help us."

Realising that the Governor could well be right, Sam slowly got to his feet, regaining his composure. Mike stood too, following the two men who casually strolled to the door.

"If we get any information on Mrs. Jillian Smith we'll contact you immediately, ok?"

Mike nodded once again, almost comforted by the Detective Inspectors kind words.

The Police officers left, standing side by side on the door step. Gene exhaled loudly, distinctly disgusted at the amount of time wasted with a man who obviously (at least to him) had no intentions of co-operating what so ever. "Guess we'll be payin' 'im another visit when we find 'er body, ay?"

Sam only grunted a reply; he was still bent awkwardly over, his ribs sore, aggravating him.

Gene had to admit that seeing his mate in pain did bother him...a lot. Almost a hint of guilt was present in his voice when he addressed his officer. "Perhaps we ought to get you to hospital, get them ribs looked at."

Hunt waltzed on in front, dragging the car keys from his pockets. Stumbling after him, Sam eventually managed to cry a response.

"No!"

"No what?" Gene turned back around to still see the same sight he had moments before.

"No hospitals, doctors, nurses, surgeons...no nothing, I'll be fine in a couple of days."

Being Gene Hunt, the kind, relaxed, gentle giant he was, he decided to test his Detective Inspectors theory for himself. Bounding back over to him, obviously still wracked with pain, his fist collided with Sam's gut, taking the wind completely out of him. Falling to the ground like a sack of shit, Gene helped drag his fallen officer up, as tenderly as he could which, in fact, was very much so.

"Come on, we'll get you to a hospital." he breathed, guiding the much lighter bloke into the Cortina and driving like a mad man towards the nearest medical facility.

- - - - - - - - - -

It had been half an hour since a doctor took Sam away to be assessed. A nurse had been out to inform Gene that his Inspector would be needing an X-ray which would take a couple of minutes longer than expected due to a lot of casualties being brought in within the past couple of hours.

Deprived of any alcohol (he'd diminished the contents of all of his flasks whilst waiting for Sam outside the Smith's residence), cigarettes (he'd finished his last packet off whilst waiting for Sam outside the Smith's residence) and anything to do, it was safe to say that Gene Hunt was becoming rapidly impatient. Folding his arms grumpily across his chest, he stretched his legs out as far as possible, his round tummy more visible.

His attentions were soon re-diverted when his vision came in contact with a beautiful, young blonde woman who'd just stepped through the doors. Sitting to attention, the Gene Genie fixed his hair a little, a small yet cheeky grin attached to his lips.

"Alright, darlin'?"

The woman never turned to acknowledge him, merely carried on with her business at the reception desk, her eyes only shiftily scurrying from side to side of the sockets. She spoke in nothing more than a mumble, not wanting any prying ears to detect her inquiries.

The girl on receptions face dropped, her mouth falling into a grave pout as she wrap her thin arm around the lady's shoulder, steering her towards the ward.

Rumbling, Gene's eyes slammed shut, tired and frustrated on more than one level. He realised he was to blame for this whole mess, he had to be honest with himself; if he hadn't lost his rag so quickly or lashed out of Sam so abruptly, they wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.

Gene contemplated calling the station, just to let them know both of them were ok - sort of. 'No point in that.' he deliberated. 'Phyllis would only get confused, not to mention that dozy Plonk Cartwright getting 'er knickers in a twist.'

Another hour passed by, in which Gene got more and more bored and more and more annoyed. Finally, a rather flustered appearing Detective Inspector approached Gene, a stern and unforgiving expression on his face. Snatching his pills from the nurses hands, he knocked Hunt's shoulder with his own, sauntering straight past him and outside.

Gene, gob smacked at the blatant display of ignorance by his partner in non-crime, followed him out of the door; for somebody a few hours ago who could barely stand, he was managing to walk fairly quickly now.

"Oi, Tyler!"

Sam didn't respond to his Chief's orders; he simply kept moving, trying to dull out the pain.

Suddenly, when nearly back at the Cortina, Sam stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes glazed over, his mouth quivering in shock, Gene strode up behind him, only for the younger man to continue.

The near platinum blonde haired woman, who had minutes ago captivated the Guv, was now having a similar impact on Sam. But for an entirely different reason.

He recognised her, a distant memory almost lost amongst many other that were more prominent in his mind, his voice only being able to utter two dislodged words.

"Auntie...Jillian?"

To be continued...