Author's Note: Yep, quick update, I know. But I got excited about writing this one, cos I love Gene.

Thanks very much to Bernice-Summerfield, Theta'sWorstNightmare and egaara, who actually reviewed the last chapter, unlike the other 50 odd people who read but didn't bother to comment. I'm so pleased to know that you three as least liked it, since I have no idea what everyone else thought.

Hope you also enjoy this one!

CHAPTER TEN

Gene woke with a start. For a moment, he wasn't quite sure where he was. Everything was in darkness. Then he realised that he had a magazine over his face and he was reclining in his office chair with his feet up on his desk. Ah...he remembered now, he was still at the station. With a grunt, he pulled the magazine away and sat up. To his surprise, everything was still dark, even with his eyes unobstructed.

Bloody blackouts, he thought irritably, reaching into his pocket for his silver cigarette-lighter. At least the storm seemed to have died down, for now at least. There were no more lightning flashes reflecting through the high, narrow windows and the air was still and quiet.

Flicking the thumb-wheel on his lighter, he watched the small, yellow flame dance into life. He held it above his watch, using the light to check the time. It had gone half eight. The missus would surely have given up waiting for him by now. Probably safe enough to scarper to the Railway Arms for a few quiet ones and a round of darts.

"Tyler!" he yelled.

But there was no answer and he could see no lights out in the main office. Looked like Sammy-boy had pissed off home after all, probably because of the blackout. Gene frowned, annoyed that his DI hadn't seen fit to wake him.

Nice of him to keep his Guv up to speed about what was going on.

He levered himself out of his chair and stumbled across to his filing cabinets, cursing as he stubbed his toe on his desk in the dark. Pulling open the top drawer of the nearest cabinet, he sorted through several half-empty whiskey bottles, before finding the torch he was searching for and switching it on. The thin white beam flickered and wavered for a moment, but then shone with a reassuring brightness. Stretching lazily, Gene reached for one of the bottles and knocked back a couple of slugs, just to wake himself up properly. Then he ambled across to the door of his office, absent-mindedly scratching at his crotch as he went.

Sure enough, Sam's desk was as deserted as all the others. Although, oddly enough, a file was still spread out on top of it, with papers strewn everywhere. That wasn't like Sam. Usually he was as obsessive about keeping his desk tidy as he was about everything else. It looked like he had left in a big hurry.

Gene stirred a bit uneasily, but he couldn't say why. Tyler had probably just gone to see about getting some more light in here, that was all. Typical Dorothy - he hated being interrupted when he was working on a case.

Suddenly, there was a small shuffling noise in the darkness. Startled, Gene swung his torch around to the far end of the office, where he could dimly make out the silhouette of a shadowy figure, standing in the doorway leading to the passage. The white light from the torch beam was fading a little and he couldn't see very clearly.

"Tyler?" he rapped out. "Is that you?"

There was no reply. Gene's eyes narrowed. The figure was shaped all wrong to be Sam. And Sam would definitely have answered him.

"Who's there?"

Again, no answer. Angry now, Gene marched down the length of the office to confront the intruder. "Oi, sunshine, I'm talkin' to you! Quit playin' silly buggers!"

As he drew closer, he noticed to his astonishment that the motionless figure had wings. He scrubbed at his eyes, suddenly regretting the whiskey he had just consumed, sure he was seeing things. Then it came to him. It was the angel! Chris and Ray's bloody angel statue! Gene could feel his blood pressure start to rise. This was obviously their weak idea of a joke, trying to scare him in the dark. They were probably hiding around here somewhere, gawping at him and pissing themselves laughing.

"Chris! Ray!" he bellowed furiously. "Where are you? You two toss-pots are about as funny as a fart in a phone box!"

He flashed the torch around, fully expecting to see the dynamic duo sheepishly emerging from behind one of the desks as they realised the game was up. But everything remained oppressively still and quiet. An inexplicable shiver worked its way up Gene's spine. Normally, in a situation like this, you could hear Chris giggling like a girl from a mile away. Instead, the silence was almost eerie.

Swinging the beam back on to the Angel, Gene studied it closely. Its head was bowed, with most of its face concealed by its hands. But...was it smiling? He tried to think back to the first time he had seen it in the Lost Property Room. He didn't remember it smiling back then. But, of course, it must have been. Stone angel statues didn't just start smiling out of the blue. He needed to get a grip, unless he wanted to end up as a candidate for a padded cell. He was starting to imagine things, just like that crazy little red-headed tart.

His lips twitched in amusement as he recalled the Pond girl's wild delusions. Moving stone angels. And Tyler, the Prime Minister of Britain – now that was a classic. It was going to take his DI a long time to live that one down, if Gene had anything to do with it. That idea was almost as ridiculous as the notion of a woman becoming Prime Minister – and as he always said, that was never going to happen as long as his arse had a hole!

"You can wipe that sodding grin off your face an' all!" he told the Angel sourly.

With that, he turned around, stalking back towards his office to get his coat. He'd had enough of stone angels for one day. He'd give Chris and Ray a proper bollocking tomorrow. Right now, he was overdue at the pub.

He never knew what it was that made him turn back. Some sort of sixth sense? A feeling of unease gnawing at him? An experienced copper's gut reaction? Whatever it was, the sensation caused him to spin around abruptly before he'd even gone more than a couple of steps.

And the Angel had moved.

Gene stared at it in shock. Its head was no longer bowed, its face no longer hidden in its hands. The blank stone eyes regarded him impassively, while the small smile had widened into a malicious leer, revealing just a hint of sharp, preternatural fangs.

It's a trick, Gene told himself wildly. Done with mirrors, or something like that. Those two gits, Ray and Chris, were just trying to get a rise out of him. And Clever-Clogs Tyler was probably in on it too, it would be just like him to pull a smart-arsed stunt like this to prove a bloody point. Well, they all needed to learn that no-one made a monkey out of the Gene Genie. Especially when he was on his way to the pub!

"Ray! Chris!" he barked, resolutely ignoring the cold feeling crawling up the back of his neck that warned him that this was anything but a joke. "I know you're here somewhere! Unless you want me to very painfully ream you both a new one, I suggest you show yourselves pronto! You too, Tyler!"

But there was nothing but silence and the Angel's dead eyes staring at him, giving him the creeps. Despite his determined bravado, Gene found himself slowly starting to back away.

Amy Pond's voice rang in his mind: "As long as you're looking at it, you're safe, because they turn into stone when you're watching them. But as soon as you look away, they come to life. And then they come after you!"

None of this could possibly be happening. He knew that. Once he was down the pub, he would have a good laugh about it all with Nelson the barman. But until then, however stupid it seemed, he had no intention of taking his eyes off the statue.

He had nearly managed to put the full length of the office between himself and the angel when he blinked.

As his eyes re-opened, his heart nearly stopped beating. In that tiny fraction of a second, the Angel had advanced to stand right in front of him. Its mocking smile had contorted into a bestial snarl and its arms were raised, its hands curled into grasping talons, as if it had frozen in the act of reaching for him.

Suddenly, with a chill of horror like nothing he had ever felt before, Gene Hunt understood exactly how Tom Reynolds and the other victims had died. First the overwhelming terror at the nightmarish sight of their unearthly killer, then nothing but pain and darkness as those twisted stone hands literally tore the heads from their bodies.

Fighting back the crippling dread, he felt his usual tough survival instinct kicking in, his streetwise mind already seeking a way out. Whatever this thing was, it stood between him and the only exit to the room. Somehow, he had to get past it without taking his eyes off it, before he had to blink again. Which was easier said than done, because the more he thought about it, the heavier his eyelids seemed to get.

And then his torch flickered and began to fade, the light dimming from bright white to a dull, lustreless yellow. With a stab of trepidation, Gene realised the batteries were failing. Shortly, he would be left completely in the dark. And in the dark, he would no longer be able to see the Angel. Swearing out loud, he shook the torch violently, hoping to jolt it back into life, but to no avail.

The Angel's expression didn't change, remaining as immobile as if it really was carved from stone. Nevertheless, somehow Gene sensed it was amused at his efforts. Hot, red rage boiled through his brain. The bastard knew! This was all part of its plan. Guessing the torch would never last long enough for him to make it to the door, he steeled himself to run anyway. If the Gene Genie had to die, at least he'd die fighting, not cowering like some sissy nancy boy.

At that moment, the double doors leading into the passageway were flung open and two more dark figures burst through, one of them brandishing what appeared to be a flaming torch, the blazing orange light illuminating the room and sending weird shadows dancing up the walls.

"Guv!" Sam's familiar voice shouted. "This way! Quick!"

Gene didn't need to be told twice. Confident his DI had the Angel firmly in his sights, he ducked away and sprinted back through the office to join the other two. Belatedly, he realised that Sam's companion was none other than the red-headed girl who had started all this trouble in the first place.

"'Bout time you turned up, Tyler," he puffed, as the three of them ran for their lives up the corridor, surrounded by the protective corona of light emanating from Sam's improvised torch.

The girl shot him a challenging look over her shoulder. "Believe me now, then, DCI Hunt?"

"There's nothing worse than a mouthy bird who just has to say 'I told you so'," Gene growled.