A/N: A couple of things. 1- sorry for everyone who has reviewed, but the review reply links aren't working, so I will take this opportunity instead to thank you all hugely and plead for you to review this too. 2- I've decided to alter the timeline a bit to make this somewhat AU. It is either at the end of or post series 2, but Alex was not shot by Gene and Ray is still a DS, plus Shaz and Chris are still together. Sorry, but I didn't really think it through, I dreamed this up partially during a lecture and partially during a Philosophy essay (still got an A though, despite not having revised!) and so it got a little messed up. Anyhoo. Read on, please review, and I hope you enjoy! Jazzola
"Interview commencing at nine twenty-five a.m. on the thirtieth of November 1982. Officers present, Chief Superintendent Charles Mackintosh, Police Constable Crawford. The accused will state his name."
Gene remained silent, taking a long drag on his cigarette. Mac's eyebrows drew together.
"Very well. The accused is Eugene Hunt. He is exercising his right to stay silent."
Gene simply pouted thoughtfully, opening his mouth as if to speak and then closing it again with a smug look. Mac scowled.
"Mr Hunt, would you like to take this opportunity to explain why you were caught robbing a vault in the Talbot Street bank at three thirty this morning? A vault that just so happened to belong to myself."
Gene took another lungful of nicotine.
"Your defence is non-existant, Hunt. It's much better if you just tell us the reasoning behind what you did. You never know, the judge might be a bit more lenient if there's real motivation behind
your actions."
The DCI stubbed his cigarette out and scratched behind his ear, focusing on a fascinating doodle on the desk. Mac smiled.
"A rough childhood. Your dad used to beat you up, didn't he?"
Gene's eyes swerved up so fast it was almost painful. Mac raised his eyebrows.
"Never felt you were good enough. Even reaching the status of DCI, there was still that nagging guilt… you weren't quite up to the standard of others. Did you think you had to beat me? Was that it? Knock something off me to raise your own status. Was that it? Jealousy? Or was it to prove something? Prove that you could be a successful police officer, but also be a successful criminal? Have you committed crimes before?"
Gene laughed. There was no mirth in the sound.
"Believe me, the jury will sympathise. Show them the scars… tell them the tales… they'll be falling over themselves. Or maybe not. Not if it's a bad jury. Then there'll be very little of that. But still… luck might be on your side, eh?"
Mac reached out, touching a scar beside Gene's eyebrow, paled with age. Gene flinched away.
"The memories, Gene… do they take you over sometimes? The guilt? How you survived when your family didn't? Is that what this is about?"
Mac's hand moved over to sit next to Gene's forearm, the fingers twitching towards it. Gene put his other hand protectively over it, glaring evils at the Chief Super, drawing back in his seat.
"Come on, Gene. Talk. Talk to us."
It was amazing, Gene mused, how someone could sound so soft and gentle and yet have an expression of smug triumph better suited to an acquitted mass murderer. Did Mac go to acting school, or is this just his- natural talent- shining through?
"You're backed into a corner. You need to tell us why you did this."
You know why I robbed a bloody bank, yer smug bastard. Because yer as bent as a ten-bob bit an' I want ter bring you an' yer corrupt empire down. But that wouldn' go down well with the higher-ups. Bet they're Masons too. Bastards.
"Very well then. Crawford, take Mr Hunt back down to the cells."
One thick finger reached out to turn the tape machine off. Gene raised his eyebrows.
"Don't tell Viv which cell," Mac said softly, his eyes gleaming as they rested on the DCI opposite him. "Give him explicit orders not to look, and not to take Mr Hunt food or water. In fact, Mr Hunt is to be completely ignored until he decides he wants to confess. Do I make myself clear?"
Crawford nodded eagerly, moving forwards to seize Gene's sore arm. The pain seared through his skin, but he didn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction, gritting his teeth and ignoring it as Mac turned the tape recorder back on, speaking in the same deceptively placid voice even as his lip curled up in sly elation.
"Interview concluded at nine twenty-nine."
It was only as Crawford hauled him out of the room that Gene realised Mac hadn't offered him a solicitor.
That'll look good.
And then reality superimposed itself.
I'm bein' locked in a cell without food or water indefinitely, completely at Mac's mercy. Oh, bloody hell. Where are yer when I need yer, Bolly?
CID seemed incredibly empty without Gene.
The life had gone out of the place this morning; even Chris falling over delivering the tea and dousing Ray's trousers in Twinings had failed to get more than a chuckle from anyone. Nobody knew where Gene was, nobody really knew what had happened and Ray and Chris especially were beginning to become concerned.
Alex sat, listened to the DC's theories as to what had happened to their DCI, and tried not to imagine Gene cold and alone, in an unforgiving cell beneath where she sat right now, maybe longing for a cigarette or something to drink, probably hungry, almost certainly exhausted.
Would he be able to sleep? Or would the mattress simply prove too hard and his dilemma too awful to allow him some rest?
Viv better take him something good to eat.
Just at that moment, the Desk Sergeant in question burst into the department, a bunch of keys dangling from his fingers as he headed straight to Alex's desk, his eyebrows so closely pursed in concern it was almost comical. Alex stood up, ignoring her chair scooting back to bang into the whiteboard, leaving a smear of black paint on the smooth sheen.
"DCI Hunt's being held in one of the cells below the station, he's been arrested on suspicion of robbery," he got out before CID exploded with questions, the entire department crowding round Viv, demanding answers. Viv raised his hands.
"Be quiet! I need to talk with DI Drake! QUIET!"
The office finally quietened. Viv turned back to Alex, his frown deepening at the total absence of surprise or shock on his superior officer's face.
"Did you know?"
"Yes. I saw him after Chief Superintendent Mackintosh arrested him."
"What, the Guv actually did a robbery?" Chris asked, grabbing at Ray's desk to steady himself. Alex nodded.
"He did. For a good reason. A very good reason. Lives may depend on him being released."
"I very much doubt it, Alex."
CID swerved as one, all eyes drawn to the double doors as one smoothly opened, drawing back to reveal a grey coat, slicked-back black hair, gleaming brown eyes behind thick glasses.
DCI Jim Keats almost strutted into CID, one arm holding onto a bruised, handcuffed and thoroughly worse for wear Gene Hunt, leading him like a pet into his own department, barely even pausing to let him get his balance before shoving him against the wall and putting an arm over his chest to stop him moving. Gene struggled to get away, snarling at the D&C officer in a way that would have most criminals dirtying their underwear, but Keats simply smiled and took hold of Gene's handcuffs, holding them down in a way that would certainly hurt Gene's shoulders. Ray moved forwards, but Alex tapped his shoulder and he groaned, backing away.
"Are you OK, Guv?" Alex asked softly, moving forwards. Gene opened his mouth to speak, but Keats tugged on the handcuffs, bringing a hastily-stifled hiss of pain from his enemy's lips.
"DCI Hunt is not allowed to speak with any member of his department whilst he is under arrest. I simply brought him here to- reassure- you of his status."
Gene scowled, looking away.
"Let go o' the 'andcuffs," Ray growled, stepping forwards once again. Alex let him.
"If I did that, he might escape, DS Carling. You are a detective, aren't you?"
Keats' patronising tone only served to heighten the atmosphere even further. A cracking of knuckles could be heard in the tense silence.
"As you can see, Mr Hunt is perfectly alright, apart from being under arrest, of course."
Gene aimed a kick at the DCI's leg.
"Still kicking, as they might say," Keats deadpanned, neatly sidestepping the kick. "Well, must be off. Mr Hunt has an interview to complete, I believe Chief Superintendent Mackintosh is using the case to train up one of the PCs."
"Train 'im up ter be a corrupt bastard, just like Mac," Ray muttered, his tone challenging. Gene raised his head, hope and pride in his eyes, just as Keats released the handcuffs in shock, taking a step towards the DS.
"I suggest you don't repeat what you just said, DS Carling. Ever. I think I'll postpone the interview, Mr Hunt will need some time in the cells instead."
"Which cell?" Viv asked, his hand instinctively clenching on the bunch of keys at his waist. Keats smiled mirthlessly.
"Chief Super Mac would prefer that information was kept from Mr Hunt's department, to avoid anyone letting him out. Well, tally-ho. I'll keep you informed."
He turned, a smug smile darkening his face, and took Gene's handcuffs again.
Alex's voice cut through the air, thick with anger.
"With all due respect, sir, I'd rather you stayed away from this department and left us alone. We'll be busy proving DCI Hunt's innocence."
She somehow managed to make 'sir' sound more like 'festering maggot gut'. Gene grinned through the bruises.
Keats simply smiled.
"I'm afraid that'll be rather hard, DI Drake."
He turned back to address the room, releasing Gene again momentarily, putting his hands on his hips. CID glared back at him with obvious hatred.
"Because, you see, as of now, I am acting DCI for this department."
The cell they'd put him in stank of stale piss and vomit, a bucket making up his lavatory, a wipe-clean mattress icy against his already goosebumped skin. He shuddered with cold, curling up, certain he'd be hypothermic before they let him out again. Even interview with Bent Bastard Mac sounded better than this slow, cold festering down here, curved up like a child hiding from his parents, his stomach grumbling like an old man, steadily suffocating in this concrete prison. He swore it was getting harder to breathe.
He wondered if Mac was trying to kill him.
He wondered if he was a real danger.
He then wondered if Ray was as well. That outburst had made Gene so proud of his DS, unafraid to take his Guv's back and defend him, having learnt his lesson in 1973. But at the same time, it might have put Ray's name on Mac's bloodstained little list. He desperately hoped it hadn't. Ray, for all his shortcomings (and the awful moustache), was a good friend and Gene would fight tooth and nail if his DS was in danger. If Mac touches a hair on 'is 'ead…
His hand strayed to his own forearm, and he exhaled hard, one finger tracing the thick cuts on his forearm. It would probably plague his sleep for several years, coming round with the headache from Hades and his arm screaming with pain to find Mac's face looming in the dim lighting, unable to resist. He prayed Alex had had enough sense to get out of there as soon as the Mac Brigade had turned up. If anything happened to her… well, Gene really would fight to the death then. He wouldn't want to live without her.
Stop that, yer soft bastard!
He groaned, licking his dry lips with the little moisture left in his mouth. Nobody had brought him any water for at least ten hours. He could barely open his eyes for wooziness and hunger.
"'Elp me, Bolly," he whispered into the silence of the cell, closing his eyes in defeat, one fist clenching on the mattress. "Please. 'Elp me."
His fist loosened as his eyes slid closed, his chest calming incrementally as his whole body relaxed, his head lolling back to rest against the wall.
Outside, Mac smiled, nodding with mock respect at the cell door before walking jauntily away, whistling 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles' to himself.
"As much as I'm enjoying surveying my new department, DI Drake, could you please tell me where the keys are to my office?"
"I've already told you, it's not your office, and Gene wouldn't let you in, so you can't," Alex replied for the fifteenth time, barely even glancing up from the paperwork she was filling in. Keats was stood in the middle of the office, looking like the loser at Musical Chairs and thoroughly locked out of Gene's office; several of the DCs sniggered as they passed by on their way to their lunch break, one knocking his shoulder into the DCI as they left. Keats gritted his teeth, plastering on a fake smile and bending to Alex's height, his eyes dark behind the immaculate glasses.
"DI Drake, I really do recommend that you hand over the keys to my office."
Alex met his gaze with what could only be described as faintly amused contempt. Ray grinned behind Keats, leaning forwards to see how the exchange would progress.
"DCI Keats, I really do recommend that you take your patronising self and your pathetic boss and vanish sharpish before I have to demonstrate my patented method of blunt-object castration on the pair of you."
She flashed a smile that would have been better suited to a crocodile, picking up her paperwork and slotting it back into the file. Ray smirked.
"Do I detect some insubordination here, DI Drake?" Keats said in a low voice, bending even closer to Alex's face over the desk. Alex didn't even look up at him.
"No, DCI Keats. What you detect is a complete lack of respect for yourself or your boss, the desire to have you out of my department before someone is sick at the sight of you, and my recommendation that you release Gene Hunt before I lose my temper and do something really very un-ladylike to yourself."
Keats stood back up, his expression set in stone. Alex swore there was a flash of red in his gaze when she met it defiantly, her chin jutting out, every inch the fighter. CID had gone silent, watching to a man with baited breath, even Shaz's Walkman going silent in the pregnant pause.
Keats re-opened his mouth, his lip curling up.
"Very well. Detective Inspector Alexandra Drake, I am formally suspending you for insubordination towards a senior officer. You are to leave the building immediately and return home to await further contact."
The entire office erupted.
Ray was the first to surge forwards, his fist slamming into Keats' head as the DCs let out what sounded like a war cry, stampeding into the fray. The DCI completely disappeared beneath the tidal wave of police officers trying to punch him, Chris landing a sound kick on his back, Shaz managing to drop a paperweight on his flailing foot as Keats screamed for help, writhed and scratched and bit, a modern-day demonic Caesar beneath the seething mass of humans who hated his guts.
None of them noticed Alex sneaking out, casting one smug look back at the tumult before heading up the corridor, her high heels clacking determinedly on the concrete.