"I thought I told you to stay safe and keep out of their way, Mr Hunt?"
Gene's eyes slowly flickered open to find a concrete ceiling above him, bleak grey walls surrounding his prone body, pain ricocheting through his skull as he fought to awaken. Someone was at his side, their hands on his head; for a second disorientation swamped him, and he yelped, thrashing upright and scrabbling around for any kind of weapon, any meagre defence he could manage.
"Mr Hunt, it's alright. I'm Dr Wexford. You remember me?"
Oh. Bollocks. Well done, Hunt, yer look like a twonk. Again.
"Um… yeah."
"It's normal to be a bit confused. You took a bit of a battering before Steve got that David Bonds in isolation and all but dragged you back here. For a man who must be past sixty, he can pack quite a punch… but I don't need to tell you that."
Gene looked down. His chest and stomach were laid bare, each a menagerie of bruises and cuts, a couple of fist shapes apparent.
"Bloody 'ell."
"That's a good paraphrasing of what I said."
The doctor glanced round at the door, open an inch to allow air into the room; he moved towards Gene, lowering his voice.
"I contacted DI Drake on the number you gave me. She'll be coming to the prison tonight and pretend to have been sent here on a wild goose chase- looking for a prisoner who was transferred to another prison a couple of days ago, pretending the files weren't updated or she was mistaken. The prison governor had to authorise you staying here for the night after Bonds attacked you, it's procedure and it would look very suspicious if he said no. So DI Drake will be brought into an adjacent room while we look up the prisoner- at which point, I will head home. Except I'll be staying the night here."
"Eh?"
The doctor smiled, holding up a spare set of clothes. Gene's eyes lit up as though someone had tripped a switch behind them.
"I will stay here, but I will go home. The lads at the desk don't know me, as long as you have ID and put on a bit of an accent you'll be fine."
Think of Bolly. Plum in gob.
"Dr Wexford at your service. If you would please open the gates, sir?"
"Pretty good," the doctor laughed, pulling a screen across to hide them from sight. "You get dressed and stay under the blanket. Alex won't be late, I can guarantee. She sounded like she was crying when I was talking to her on the phone."
"She OK?"
Bollocks. Far too quick ter be passed off as concern fer a fellow officer.
Dr Wexford simply smiled, nodded, and made his way out to the doctor's study, humming 'We've Only Just Begun' under his breath. Gene made a mental note to refrain from punching him, no matter how much he might suspect about himself and DI Drake.
Meanwhile, he had important things to do. Like practising being posh, and dressing like a ponce.
Richard Dullastone. Fenchurch East CID wanted to talk to him about the violent mugging of an elderly woman a week ago, five days before Richard had been convicted of GBH against a twenty-five-year-old man and sent down for a fifteen-year stretch in Fenchurch Scrubs.
Or supposedly wanted to talk to him.
Ray had already said that he was perfectly happy to jump up and down on Dullastone's nuts for a while to give Alex the chance to get Gene out of prison. Chris had provided a car for Alex to take instead of the Quattro, one that Keats and Mac didn't know the numberplate of and so couldn't follow; Shaz had filled out the relevant paperwork in double-quick time and had somehow managed to 'get it through a court' without anyone else getting even a sniff of what was happening. Alex had made a vow to not stop nagging Gene until she was promoted to at least DC. Preferably DS.
The plan was in action. All Alex could do now was play her part, be at the prison in time, and hope that Gene pulled his side of the bargain off successfully.
She bit down on her nail once more, and jangled the keys in her pocket as quietly as she could. Her nerves were jangling enough.
"Dr Wexford, heading home for the night. Could you open the gates, please? My car's being fixed, a friend's picking me up from the front of the prison."
Gene's hurriedly-improvised excuse for why Dr Wexford wasn't going out the back way as normal seemed to wash with the disinterested young security guard listening to Ultravox at the highest volume his Walkman could manage; it's almost too easy, he smirked to himself as the gates opened in front of his nose and he headed out, nodding at the youth as he went. Mac is goin' ter be bloody furious.
The wind stung his eyes a little, whipping his carefully-brushed hair out of shape before he could even attempt to grapple it back into place; he sighed, turning his face to the heavens and finding a sudden appreciation of the cold air on his skin. Freedom. Freezin' air, bastard wind. All bloody freedom. He didn't know what car Alex would be turning up in, had only been told that it was a green one loaned by Chris; setting his jaw back into its normal defiant jut, he looked around for somewhere to sit and take the strain of standing up off his battered torso whilst he waited.
What Gene hadn't reckoned on was the sudden appearance of a prisoner from the back of one of the vans. The sudden appearance, to be precise, of one Gaynor Mason.
Oh, shit.
Gaynor, her arm held securely by one of the prison guards, didn't notice him immediately; Gene kept his head down, his eyes flickering between Gaynor's sharp blue ones and the road, praying that Alex had the good sense to turn up now, just when he needed her, and save him from the clutches of the prison governor and Gaynor, Gaynor's defiant blue gaze, the gaze that had just locked onto him and left her face a picture of shock-
"You alright, love?"
No. No, no! Oh, bloody 'ell…
Gene couldn't see how he could leg it; the guards would be onto him in seconds, hounds on a limping stag. Gaynor remained staring at him, her cherry-red mouth slightly open, and Gene adopted the most innocent face he could, pretending he hadn't noticed her laser-beam stare and focussing back on the road, praying in his head for Alex to get here, to bloody arrive before the game was up and he was thrown into a nice cold cell for the night at Her Majesty's dubious pleasure, oh God, how would he explain this one and not get Wexford into trouble, help, he couldn't go back there, he couldn't-
Gaynor turned back to the guard and smiled innocently, shaking her head.
"I just thought I knew him. It's not the same person, I don't think- he's too tall to be the fella I was thinking of."
Gene wondered for a moment, head reeling with thankfulness, if his relief had actually become physical and constricted his breathing.
Bloody feels like it.
Feigning slight interest, he nonchalantly turned his head to look straight at Gaynor, determinedly meeting her eyes; although her gaze was once again fixed on his face, the guards didn't give him a second glance, too interested in getting Gaynor out of the van and getting an eyeful of her legs. If only they knew what was under that skirt.
Gaynor's eyes went straight to his, and she winked, mouthing to him as she was taken into the prison.
"Good afternoon, DCI Hunt."
And then she was gone. Gone.
Gene let out what felt like the biggest breath he'd ever held, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. Christ on a bloody bike…
She protected me. She bloody protected me. He was in no doubt as to whether she knew about his current circumstances. Most of London would probably be aware of them by now.
Gene let out a shaky breath, letting his gaze come to rest at an empty crisp bag blowing against his leg. Memo: send 'er somethin' in prison when I'm out o' the deep shit I'm currently wadin' through. Chocolates, flowers, a strap-on dildo for when she 'as 'ers cut off.
A car horn beeped from the road, and he leapt up, sprinting towards Alex in the waiting green Renault; jumping into the passenger seat, he pulled her towards him to kiss the life out of her as soon as he was cocooned by warmth and leather and safety, purposely forgetting that they were meant to have a working relationship in favour of sticking his tongue down her throat.
The both of them were panting by the time they pulled apart, staring at each other, eyes bright and drugged; it took Alex a second to remember to take the handbrake off the car so they could get going, her eyes reluctantly ripping away from his to focuss back on the road again.
"Mm… so you're glad to see me, Gene?"
"Yeah, pretty bloody pleased."
"I thought so."
Gene chuckled briefly, sitting back in his seat and grabbing her hand as she shifted the car into gear. Alex caressed the back of his palm, recognising the desire for comfort, for stability; no doubt the poor man had been through enough today, now he needed her to be his rock, his bodyguard. Just as he was hers.
"Destination?"
"My house, get you cleaned up and into some better-fitting clothes, and then- then Fenchurch East. Mac's office."
"Risky."
"I know. But that's just our lives. If it's not a criminal, it's a bent copper…"
And this time Gene just managed a real laugh, reluctantly letting go of her hand as the green Renault clattered towards Fenchurch, and towards Mac.
Back into the snake pit. Bring it on, Mac, you bent bastard.
Mac's office was cool, dark. Foreboding.
Alex went straight for the waste paper basket, unfolding bits of paper and scrabbling around, skimming the words on the paper by the light of Gene's torch; Gene, by instinct, headed for the filing cabinet, reaching over and plucking a hairslide out of Alex's hair to pick the lock and beginning to rifle through papers and check folder names. His heart was hammering in his sore chest, his mouth as dry as a camel's ball-sack, but the adrenalin coursing through him was strangely exhilarating, almost thrilling- they could be caught any second, and the mere thought made him break out in goosebumps and catch his breath at the same time.
Just for a moment, he was a child again, hiding from his father under the stairs, peering out through the gaps in the cupboard door as Stephen Hunt swayed drunkenly through into the living room, a monster Gene had escaped. Just as that had taken his father down a peg or two, this was taking them a step closer to crushing Mac's corrupt empire, and Gene couldn't deny the fearful excitement slinking down his spine at the slightest noise; he was ready to take Mac on, whether directly or indirectly, and the thought was heady, powerful.
Crouched beside him, Alex hissed with disgust as she found a crude doodle of herself, tied to a wall as Mac shagged her, Gene on his knees beside them, forced to watch; Gene caught a glimpse of it before she ripped it to shreds, cold fury roiling in his stomach. For that alone, Mac would pay. Even the thought- the concept- of him doing that to his precious, precious Bolly made Gene's hackles spring up. Alex's hands shook with anger as she delved deeper into the bin, her face flushed; Gene reached down to squeeze her hand briefly, feeling her clammy palms on his and rubbing her knuckles tenderly before letting her go, not missing the tender smile as it flickered across her face.
This was how it was meant to be. The Gene Genie and Bolly-Kecks against the world. It felt right.
And then footsteps sounded outside the office, and Gene and Alex froze, staring at the door in silent terror as the lock clicked and Mac and PC Crawford's voices came from outside.
"Just disappeared, Mac. As though Santa Claus swooped in and took him away on his sleigh."
"I'll just check my office. Make sure no little helpers are hidden in there…"
The door opened.
Gene's heart nearly stopped.
"Ah. But they are. Good evening, Gene."
And then he was inside, trapping them in the airless room, and the game was over.
Stephen Hunt had found his son, and the belt was about to fly through the air, rip a chunk from the little boy's skin as he howled his pain.
If Mac was surprised to see Gene's hands in his filing cabinet and Alex sorting through his litter, he didn't show it; he crossed smoothly to his desk, pouring himself a single malt, ensuring the door was locked and shut behind him. Gene made to start forwards and caught a flash of metal in Mac's hand, hurriedly backtracking. Shit! 'E's got a gun. He pressed his back against the filing cabinet, forcing himself to stay silent.
Mac lifted the tumbler of whisky, eyes gleaming as he looked straight at Gene. Gene stared back impassively.
"To good intentions."
A cruel smile played about his lips as he lifted the scotch to them, downing half the tumbler in one. Gene ground his teeth. To smart wankers like you. May they rot in 'ell, each an' every one.
Mac's eyes met his, gleaming with triumph. Gene steeled himself to keep eye contact, certain that his eyes would burst into flames at any moment with the heat of the glare they were giving Mac.
"Exactly what were you hoping to find in my office, Gene? A confession? Proof?"
"You said it yerself, Mac," Gene said quietly, reaching out to clasp Alex's hand as she struggled to rise to her feet. "Best place ter 'ide evidence is in a police station."
Mac drained the rest of the whisky, caressing the glass with his thumb before banging the tumbler down onto his desk suddenly. Alex jumped.
"How right you are, Gene. And that's why I keep it here. In fact, if you want to look, it's all in my desk. Everything you could need."
Gene narrowed his eyes, still clinging to Alex's hand. Why is 'e tellin' us this? Unless 'e's confident we won't get the chance ter tell anyone else…
"You showed promise, you know, Gene," Mac continued smoothly, standing up straight and taking a step towards him and Alex, the torchlight casting his eyes into shadow. Alex huddled into Gene's side, welcoming the arm he slid round her waist, praying that it was herself and not Gene she could feel trembling.
"Oh, you did. Clever man, strong, instills so much loyalty in his team… you should never judge a man by his stereotype. The brass were convinced you'd be a lumbering Northern flatfoot, but you've proven yourself otherwise… very impressive. I would have loved to have welcomed you as a brother, but your morals were too strong. Such a shame, when you think about it- and I can't even transfer you out of the way like Garrett, because you'd only come back to haunt me…"
He slid the gun out from its holster, cocking it as he spoke. Alex suppressed a whimper, grabbing at Gene's shirt, every nerve crackling and trembling as Gene gently caressed her hip with his thumb.
"Shh," he murmured, squeezing her round the waist. "Shh. Don't worry. Trust the Gene Genie."
"Indeed. I remember you saying that to little Alex Price. What'll she do without her Gene Genie, eh, DCI Hunt?"
"Luckily fer us, she won't 'ave ter find out."
And before anyone could so much as blink Gene had crossed the room and was tussling with Mac for the gun, scratching at Mac's hands as Mac roared furiously and scrabbled for dominance, the both of them kicking and punching and gasping and yelping as Alex made a wild bid for the gun and missed by a country mile, Gene lashing out at Mac's midriff and getting a punch in the chin for efforts as Alex scratched at Mac with her sharp fingernails and was rewarded with a pained cry and a gush of hot blood from his cheek-
BANG.
"GENE!"
A/N: Ooh dear… the situations this lot get themselves into! Hope you enjoyed- please remember to review. Jazzola :D