A/N: Ok, I know this is a very, very quick update, but I'm hoping it'll give me warrant to slack off for a bit. Hopes yall like it... *ahem* REVIEW! (oh, and, by the way, the ninja goblins are still avaliable for odd jobs, so they could be after you for reading and not reviewing. The black belt squirrels just aren't up to the job really...ho hum...but less of my worries...read it!)

Gene sat in his office, fiddling with a pencil and staring moodily at the desk. The absence of Shaz and Chris-due to their long awaited honeymoon- was hitting the team hard. Ray was too busy staring into space and smiling far too much to get anything done. Alex alone was doing something productive. Not that she needed to; for some reason, the criminal scum of London seemed to have been on strike for the last few days. Not even a druggie or two.

Gene looked up to see a young PC crossing the room, looking terrified and making his way towards the DCI's office. He knocked and Gene grunted to admit him. Trembling, he opened the door.

"Er, Mr...er DCI Hunt?" he stuttered.

"What?" muttered Hunt.

"Er, just got a message from the Super…"

Five minutes later, the PC left, and Gene followed him out into the main body of CID, addressing the remaining members of his team.

"Right, you lot. Good news. The world's a better place as of half six this morning. Trent's dead." Alex looked up in alarm, she had hoped never to here that man's name again, even Ray was roused enough by the news to give Gene his full attention.

"What? How?" said Alex, looking up at her fiancée disbelievingly.

"Fight over a card game. Stabbed in the side of the head."

"Good bloody riddance." said Ray, smiling slightly.

"Too good for 'im." muttered Gene, before turning back to his office, crossing it in two strides and thumping back down on the chair.

Gene had needed to see it for himself. At the next available opportunity, he slipped out of the office making hasty excuses, climbed into his car and drove off in the direction of the hospital.

"In here Mr Hunt." The man gestured to a door, tapping in a pin-number to admit him. Gene nodded at the white coated man and entered the room he had indicated. Gene barely noticed as the electronic door clicked shut behind him.

There was Trent's body on a slab.

Gene steeled himself, walking slowly and resolutely towards the body. That thing had been the vessel of his tormentor. Behind the closed lids, Gene knew, lay the cold eyes. The wound was instantly visible and ghastly, a great bloody welt forged into the skin. Looking on grimly, Gene finally accepted it: The Captor was gone.

It was then that it all went dark.

It was Wednesday, and as Wednesday was Shopping day, Millie could be found hanging over the counter at the corner shop, laughing and chatting with Jasmine. The latter had been strangely quiet that day, and Millie's spider senses had started to tingle.

"What's up love? You don't seen yourself today." Jasmine conceded, smiling in a resigned way.

"Nothing much Millie…it's just Ray, you know that copper I've been seeing?"

"Very well." smiled Millie. It was true, over the last few years, Millie had observed Ray along with the other members of CID. She could tell, just from his manner that he and relationships were not the best of palls. In fact, all the time she had known him, Ray had never had a steady girlfriend…or, in fact, any sort of girlfriend, only numerous one-night-stands. It was not at all a surprise to Millie that Ray, when in a relationship, would be having trouble.

"It's…well…" Jasmine hesitated, as if trying to form the right words, "he can be a bit…well…he's a bit full on."

"How so?" asked Millie, piling oranges into her basket and speaking to Jasmine over her shoulder.

"We've only been going out for a few weeks…and he's just a bit…well not clingy as such…" she tailed off, but she did not need to finish her sentence. Millie could guess the rest. She imagined that Jasmine was one of the only women Ray had ever truly cared about. Of course, he had been attracted to her by looks alone, but when one saw them together, it was clear that to him, it was deeper. This was a woman he could talk to. There was no banter, as such, in their relationship, (as there was in that of the Guv and DI Drake,) but they worked well, almost as a result of this. At Chris and Shaz's wedding, they had sat at their table talking none-stop, almost to the point that they had neglected others around them. It was only natural that Ray should act in a way that he felt would preserve what they had when, ironically, it was doing the exact opposite.

"He seems a little bit too earnest?" supplied Millie. Jasmine nodded.

"Yeah, it's almost like he's taking the piss sometimes…it's like he's too polite, know what I mean? He's not like he was in the first couple of days…"

Millie did not answer this question directly, trying, as soon as possible, to change the subject and hurriedly complete her shopping. Millie knew that for the first couple of days, Ray had been expecting nothing more than a brief fling based purely on sex, but as their relationship developed, Ray had begun to depend on it not being.

"Mr Hunt! No need to worry. Power's gone. The door won't open till it's back. Sorry mate." The voice seeped into the room.

"Oh that's fine. That's just bloody fine! Leave me in 'ere with a stiff then! Not just any stiff either! That bloke tried to rape me fiancée and stabbed me in the chest, and let me tell you mate death's only improved him slightly!" he seethed with anger.

"Sorry DCI Hunt. Won't be long."

Cursing profusely, Gene began to pace the room. It was taking a damn sight longer than a while and there are only so many times one can pace a room. In the end, Gene slumped down into a corner and rested his head on the wall, looking up to the white panelled ceiling.

He blanched. He remembered the last time he had studied a ceiling in any sort of detail. Looking down quickly, he tried to detach himself from these unwelcome thoughts and, mentally shaking himself, he studied the floor instead.

Wringing his hands slightly, Gene tried, unsuccessfully, to distract himself. He did not like confined spaces. He always liked to have a way out at all times, even elevators had to be avoided. He remembered back, only a month or so after his recovery, Gene had been in CID, hobbling around on his crutches. A meeting with the Super had taken him to the forth floor and, in his weakened condition he had been forced to use the elevator to get there and to get back.

Gene had been left annoyed and agitated- a meeting with the Superintendent tended to have such an effect- and jabbed the down button with unnecessary force, waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive. When it eventually did, Gene pushed his way through the doors, now jabbed the button for CID's floor. The doors closed shakily as the lift gave a rumble and began to descend.

With a judder and a shake, the lift had ground to a halt between floors, clearly broken. Gene had stood for a while, waiting for something to happen. It did not. He was trapped.

Panic overthrew him, sweat began to drip from his hairline, down his neck and down the back of his shirt. He prodded the buttons, mashing them with the palm of his hand, not caring where it took him. God, he would even chance a trip to the basement if it meant he could get out of here…out of this tiny metal prison.

"ALEX!" he finally gave up with the buttons and began to shout, banging on the walls desperately. "ALEX!" his crutches had slipped from his hands, causing his healing legs to crumple beneath him. He was now sprawled on the filthy elevator floor, "A-Alex?" he had succumbed to the urge, he had started to sob, tears of anguish forming in his eyes, "HELP! HELP ME! ALEX! P-please! Bolly…" his entire body began to shake with the force of his sobs, his breathing closer to hyperventilation than anything else. He let out one final, last ditch attempt to attract attention. He screamed, a horrific, gut wrenching howl before giving in, just sitting there shaking on the floor. There was no point. Perhaps Gene Hunt was meant to be caged. Maybe this was what he deserved. Was this penance for his…his well, sins? Of course, he'd been a bit of a bastard in his time but, surely, he couldn't deserve this. His mind had then turned, helplessly to his one option: he had to end it.

A quivering hand reached into his coat. Surely the pocket knife would do it…but where? Throat maybe? No…wrists. Wrists didn't hurt so much…

He flicked out a blade and closed his eyes. Raising the knife, he readied himself.

The lift began to move again. Dropping the knife, Gene laughed with relief, a laugh which turned almost immediately to more manic, screaming sobs.

The lift stopped again, the bell chimed; the doors opened . Looking up slightly, Gene caught sight of the woman he had wanted to see above all others. He held out his arms to her, still sobbing pathetically. He was like a child, cowering in the corner of a lift, legs at funny angles, wanting to draw comfort from its protector. She had taken him into her arms wordlessly and rocked him until the sobs subsided.

They had never spoke of it again. They didn't need to. With Gene back on his feet, he and Alex and walked back into CID, side by side. Neither of their faces betrayed the fact that anything strange had just happened.

The lights flicked back on again and Gene stood up, mere seconds before the door was opened from the outside. The white coated man smiled sheepishly as he held the door open.

"Sorry DCI Hunt. Cock up with the electricians."

"Don't worry about it," said Gene, over jovially, "…no harm done." he added.