A/N: So here it is: Gene Hunt in a gay bar. Some said it couldn't be done, but nevertheless, here we stand.
A few chapters ago SephyRose611 implied that every even chapter (the ones she writes) would be from Dan's point of view, and that every odd chapter (The ones I write) would be from Gene's. Just to throw a spanner in the works, I have decided to write chapter seven from Dan's perspective instead, there's a little bit of Gene at the begining, but it's mainly good old Danny Boy. It's probably safe to say that I won't stick to the trend of writing only from Gene's perspective hereafter, because I am a pain in the arse. Just forget everything about the odd/even thing. We'll make it pretty clear who's perspective we're writing from anyway. You're not thick, you can deal with it! :D
Have I ever told you that we like reviews? (Hint, hint!)
Queenoftherandomoneandonly
"Oooh…Hello tiger!" cooed the man, grinning suggestively at Gene, his hand hovering dangerously close to Gene's chest.
"Hold up Gavvie baby," said another, pushing the first man out of the way "This one's mine."
Gene stifled an involuntary whimper as the man advanced, looking him up and down, his eyes lingering upon certain areas, "Eccentric dresser…" he said, raising a pair of shaped eyebrows, grinning. "I like it…"
The Spandex Ballet was a small, yet loud affair, typically 80's music blared from various speakers set into the walls, and the customers spoke animatedly, often breaking out into laughter. They had entered almost unnoticed; Dan had told Gene to stay by the bar while he went and 'circulated' as he put it. Gene had nodded, and retreated to the barstool nearest the wall and had sat upon it, trying very hard to become invisible.
He had failed however, and the two men had sidled up to Gene, putting him in the exceptionally undesirable situation in which he now found himself.
Presently, Gene took a step backwards as the second man grew ever closer. He continued shrinking away from him until his back made contact with the wooden bar. Knowing there was no escape; Gene turned his head away, shuddering as he felt the man's hands upon his waist.
"Oi!" came a familiar voice. "Keep your hands to yourself mate," Dan emerged seemingly out of nowhere and confronted Gene's accosters. "He's with me."
"Oh. Sorry." said the first man, as the second, much to Gene's relief, withdrew his hands.
"Didn't mean to offend," he said, "I'm just a sucker for the strong, silent type," he winked, still watching Gene before turning to Dan and adding: "You're one very lucky boy." The two men turned and walked off, chatting.
Dan turned to Gene, sniggering. "Having fun, Gene?"
"Sod off."
"I just saved your arse there. You should be thanking me on bended knee."
"Don't you start," Gene grunted, making Dan break out in to laughter again. He stopped quickly at the look he received. "It was horrible…why me?"
"It must be your irresistible masculine allure," Dan grinned, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
"Shut up and get me a drink," Gene muttered, with the air of a man desperate to find some hint of normality in the strange new environment in which he found himself. "Oh, and if you tell anyone at CID about this Danny Boy, I'll nail your knackers to your desk. Got it?"
"Got it." said Dan, smirking as he moved to the bar.
A cheerful auburn-haired man stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a tea-towel, and walked over to Dan, smiling: "What can I get you mate?" he said, through a thick Northern Irish accent, grinning at Dan as he spoke.
"A martini for me, and a pint for him, please."
"And a whiskey chaser," Gene mumbled.
"And a whiskey chaser," Dan repeated to the barman, rolling his eyes.
As the barman busied himself with the drinks, Dan turned back to Gene.
"You ok?"
"Nothing a stiff drink won't cure," Gene sighed. "Don't leave me on my own again…please."
Dan sensed the note of vulnerability in Gene's voice and found half of his heart going out to him, the other half bearing a mischievous desire to exploit it.
"Ok then," Dan agreed. "But after tonight, all my drinks are on you for the rest of the month."
"Done," muttered Gene, necking the pint the barman handed him. If ever Gene had needed to take up drinking to forget, then it was now.
Gene went on to order a great many more 'stiff drinks' as Dan made idle conversation with the barman, concluding that Gene was in no fit state to get anywhere in their investigation.
"Are you the famous Archie?"
"Ye, that'd be me," replied the barman.
"I've heard a lot about you from a mate of mine."
"All good I hope?"
"Yeah…Oh, I'm Dan by the way."
"Nice to meet you Dan," said Archie, extending his right hand for Dan to shake. "I haven't seen you around these parts. New to the area?" Archie asked, pleasantly.
"Yeah, you could say that." Dan answered, wryly.
"So who's this mate who knows so much about me?""Oh yeah, Harry Tomlinson. Said you know each other."
"Ah ye, we go way back," smiled Archie reminiscently. "Scott told me he weren't so well last night, poor sod." It was at that point in the conversation that Gene felt confident (inebriated) enough to speak again.
"Ah, you know Woo- I mean Scott as well do you?" He cut in, before downing the whiskey in one to cover his mistake.
"Ah, ye, Scott, lovely bloke," replied Archie. "And I don't think I've had the pleasure…"
"Gene" he nodded briefly. "I'm here with Danny Boy. Scott and Harry are mates of ours."
"Well a friend of theirs is a friend of mine," smiled Archie, genially, gesturing to Gene's empty glass. "Another?"
"Tah," said Gene, gratefully accepting the glass of scotch that Archie handed to him.
"So," continued Archie. "How'd you know Scott and Harry?"
"Oh…eh, through a mutual friend, met them a couple of years ago," stumbled Gene.
"Yeah," said Dan, nodding. "Lovely couple."
"Aren't they just?" replied Archie wistfully. "Be back in a minute lads, just got to serve this lot," said Archie throwing the tea-towel over his shoulder. Then, holding his hand up in a gesture of farewell, he moved over to the other side of the bar where a group of men stood, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Gene turned to Dan, a look of confusion upon his rough features.
"I wonder what a bloke like that's doing working here?"
"A bloke like what?"
"Yeh know…" said Gene, lowering his voice, "…a straight bloke."
"Who says he's straight?" muttered Dan.
"Well he's not all…"
"Lycra-clad?" supplied Dan.
"Well, he's not like those other blokes."
"Not all gay people are like that, are they? They're the exception to be honest. Most gay people are just normal blokes. Woodall isn't all…touchy feely, is he?"
"S'pose," grunted Gene, returning to his Scotch.
"Gay blokes are normal Gene. They don't want to shag everything in long trousers." Gene grunted in response, so Dan continued: "I mean; do you fancy every woman you see?"
Before Gene could answer, Archie had returned, giving them a wide smile. Dan spoke: "We haven't seen Scott in a while, you said you spoke to him last night? How's he doing?"
"Ay, he's fine. He was here last night, supposed to be meeting Harry, but then he phoned to say he wasn't well."
"Ahh and I bet Scott rushed off home with the chicken soup?" said Gene, leaning in, still nursing the Scotch.
"Ah bless him, he tried," laughed Archie. "But Harry told him to stay and have a few. Didn't want him missing a night out because he was ill."
"Poor bloke, drinking on his own," probed Dan, subtly leading the conversation forwards, sensing that soon the talkative barman would give them some sort of clue into Woodall's actions after the phone call.
"Ah, no. He had a mate to chat to. Makes friends everywhere he goes does Scott."
"Yeah he does…That's good." murmured Gene thoughtfully, after swallowing his latest mouthful of alcohol. "Nice bloke was he, that 'e were talking to?"
"Seemed it, ye," replied Archie. "I think they knew each other, they were getting on like a house on fire."
Thinking on his feet, Dan attempted to get more out of this latest development whilst still maintaining his cover.
"Ohhh," he said. "That sounds like Fred; he and Scott were always good mates. Was he a tall bloke, with dyed blue hair and a moustache?"
"Eh…no," muttered Archie shaking his head slightly, vaguely surprised at the odd description. "He was sort of middle height, curly mousey sort of hair and glasses, had this mole near his eye. You know him?"
"No, doesn't ring any bells," replied Dan, also shaking his head, and subconsciously looking over at Gene, who also seemed to have clocked on to the fact that they may have just received the description of a potentially vital person in this investigation.
After a few minutes, Archie wandered off to serve some more customers. "Nice to meet ya fellas; lovely talking to ye, but I should probably go and pretend to do a bit o' work."
Gene and Dan quickly made the decision to split up, although reluctantly on Gene's part, to see what they could glean from talking to other inhabitants of the bar.
An uneventful two hours later, Dan decided it was best to call it a day, and went off in search of his DCI. When he found him, swaying at the corner of the dance floor, it became clear that Gene had had required plenty of 'Dutch Courage' to complete that particular task, and, indeed, Gene had thrown back dozens of glasses of whiskey in the short time since he and Dan had spoken to Archie.
Gene stumbled and tripped out of the bar, clinging onto Dan for support. Dan manoeuvred himself and his sozzled superior through the crowd and various obstacles contained within the bar. In fact, it took Dan so much time that Gene had already got to the second verse of 'O Come all ye Faithful' before he managed to steer Gene out of the door and onto the street.
He fumbled in Gene's coat pocket for the keys to the Mercedes, and unlocked the car, opening the door, and with some difficulty, dumped Gene into the front passenger seat. He strapped him in before walking around to the other side of the car, climbing in, and putting the keys into the ignition. Gene giggled, stupidly.
"Where d'you live?" asked Dan.
"Sod off," Gene slurred, before bursting into laughter punctuated by drunken snorts.
"Well you're not coming back to my place. You stink like a brewery."
Gene supplied the address, and then continued with his Christmas carol repertoire. Dan rolled his eyes, before pressing the accelerator, and driving off.
Gene's flat was larger than he expected, he decided as he helped his DCI through the threshold and into an armchair. Dan looked around: there was little in the flat of interest. The only remarkable thing in it sat on the coffee table. The woman in the picture smiled up at Dan, her eyes twinkling with forever captured laughter.
"Who's that?" asked Dan, gesturing towards the frame.
"Bolly."
"What?"
"Bolly. Alex Drake," said Gene, his face and tone of voice changing suddenly. He picked up the photograph and held it in both his hands, not as if to appreciate it himself, but more to get it away from Dan, it was as if he feared that Dan would take her away from him, the little scrap he appeared to have left. Gene did not look at the woman in the frame, but instead held it face down to his chest. Dan got the impression that this was a regular action: there was something in his movement that suggested an act repeated many times before.
"Who was she?" For some reason, Dan knew that he should say 'Who was she?' rather than 'Who is she?" Something in Gene's drunken voice, and a niggling feeling in the back of his mind told Dan that she wasn't here anymore.
"My last DI."
"Where is she now?"
"Gone…like the rest of 'em. Like you will. My Bolls…gone."
"What do you mean?" Dan questioned confusedly, his voice rising half with fear, half with excitement as he sensed a revelation on the way.
None came, however, as a snore like thunder punctuated Dan's question, and Gene's head lolled back, passing out on the threadbare armchair, the photograph still clutched tightly in his long, thin fingers.
Dan sighed and reluctantly left the room, locking the door behind him and posting the keys through the letterbox.
His mind began to buzz as he began the short walk back to his own flat. Who was this Alex Drake? Who were 'the rest of 'em', and, more importantly, who was the man he had left sprawled in an armchair? The lonely man who appeared to have lost so much. Who was he? What relevance did he have to Dan's situation?
His brain worked ten to the dozen as he walked the streets of London, and he was so pre-occupied, in fact, that he failed to notice the bespectacled, trench coat-wearing figure standing alone on the street corner, a malicious grin upon his pointed features.