Dan pulled the razor across his cheek, before washing it briefly in the dirty, foamy water. Gene had dropped him off at his flat to get ready, promising to be back 'round within the hour. After their brief exchange in the Merc, Gene had hardly spoken, instead sitting tight, his face pale and drawn. Dan quickly came to the conclusion that he'd never actually been in a gay bar, even in an operation, due to his homophobic nature and general hatred of the places. This could be funny.
Dan looked into the mirror to repeat the action nonchalantly, when he noticed a figure behind him. He turned around violently, his heart beating fast in his chest. There was no-one there. Turning back to the sink, he tentatively glanced back into the mirror, still feeling the man's heavy lidded eyes trained on his back. No-one. Shaking his head, he attempted to clear the image of the trench-coated man from his brain, putting it down to his imagination and deliberately ignoring the chills still trickling down his spine.
At the hesitant knock on the door, Dan grinned. Let the fun begin. Unlatching the lock, he tugged the flimsy wooden door open, taking care not to dislodge any more of the peeling paint off the wall.
Gene stood in the doorway; looking the most out of place Dan had ever seen him. He looked his DCI up and down, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle his giggles at the outfit Gene had chosen, including a rather fetching pair of black plimsolls.
"Um… Nice trousers…" Dan managed through his choking sobs of uncontrollable laughter, eyeing up the three-quarter length trousers that Gene had found in the back of his wardrobe.
"Alright, that's bloody enough!" Gene stormed after another minute, pushing his way into Dan's poky flat.
"Yeah, yeah, okay," Dan choked slightly, managing to force out a comprehendible, albeit rather long sentence. "You know, if you wear a tight t-shirt, you should make sure it's only tight in the chest area, not the chest and midsection, otherwise you look like you're trying too hard."
"Well I bloody am trying aren't I? How the hell am I supposed to know what to wear? And aren't you just the expert?" Gene retorted huffily. "In fact I reckon you are…" he grinned.
Dan raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like that?"
Gene decided to ignore the comment, determined to avoid fighting with his DI for the fourth time in two days; not that he didn't enjoy fighting, but he wasn't sure how he would fare in the bar if he looked beaten up: surely someone'd be able to think up an inappropriate chat-up line about it. Maybe I should ask Dan; just for some amusement, he mused.
Glancing down at his clothes he cringed slightly, remembering the last terrible hour in vivid detail. Why the hell would anyone ever wear hair gel? Bloody disgusting, sticky stuff.
"I was toying with the idea of a cowboy hat…" Gene trailed off with a smirk at the look on Dan's face.
"Alright, alright, shut the hell up! I've got bad enough mental images as it is!" Dan cried, amusedly. "Gimme ten minutes Guv, I just need to finish getting ready."
He headed back into the bathroom, thinking about poor Woodall and hoping they found something tonight. He remembered the chilling message carved into the leather and shivered involuntarily. Staring into the mirror while he applied a quick slick of hair gel, he was relieved that to find that he was alone in the room; no-one behind him this time. Who was that man?
By the time Dan had perfected his image, Gene was looking distinctly uneasy. Dan pulled the door open, gesturing for his DCI to exit first. Gene didn't move, appearing peculiarly green.
"Guv? Come on, we need to go," Dan urged, not entirely sure what to do next. Gene was 'The Manc Lion', always confident, if not big-headed, and always with something to say. Even though he'd only known Gene for two days, he knew this sort of reaction was uncommon.
"I… what if they hit on me Dan?" he mumbled nervously.
Dan grinned, rolling his eyes.
"Oh come on Guv, it's not like they're going to ravish you, is it?"