OOM: Tyler

[the_gene_genie]

Paperwork has again been passed over in favour of Page Three. And he really doesn't appreciate the phone ringing so damn loudly, not when he's still nursing his hangover and the hair of the dog hasn't kicked in yet.

'Hunt. What.'

'...'

'Oh, bloody hell. Alright then. If 'e hasn't turned up in a couple of hours, send some o'the plods out after him.'

He drops the receiver and has another Scotch, then flings open the office door to the sight of every bloke in CID catcalling and whistling at that plonk from downstairs...whatshername. Cartwright. Whistling at her as she leaves the office with a blush on her face.

'Shut up, you lot. Save it for later. Raymondo, where are we with that missing bird?'

'No sign, Guv.'

'Talked to 'er mates yet?'

'Not yet, no.'

'Go and get on with it then. In a minute. Hang on.' He raises his voice so they can all hear him and also, to make them shut up. 'New D.I's on 'is way in but he's managed to crash 'is car.'

'Don't they teach 'em to drive in Hyde, Guv?'

He ignores the universal sign for 'wanker' that Ray's making and just says,

'Obviously not. Or he just can't 'andle city traffic or somethin'. Anyway, he's banged his 'ead and did a runner when a plod tried to talk to 'im so if he turns up, send 'im my way, alright?'

There's a rumble of 'yes, Guv' from everyone in the room and he retreats into his den, going back to the paper and possibly a bit of a kip.

* * *

'...where's my DESK?'

Gene blinks awake.

'Chair! PC terminal...!'

Ray says something he can't make out and he raises his head, trying to work out what the fuss is out there. Someone's yelling and the rest of the office is silent. That never bodes well.

And he feels like he was just dreaming about this but that's what a hangover'll do to you. At least the headache's gone.

'...alright, what the bloody 'ell's goin' on here? This is my department! What've you done with it?!'

His department?

Clearly, someone needs a lesson in how this place runs.

Gene stands and coughs, clearing his chest noisily as it complains about his chain-smoking ways. He ignores it and lights up again, stands and stalks stiffly to the door, stretching his arms and shoulders as he does. The scene outside his office is tense and that's just fine with him, even though he appears relaxed.

Sam Tyler.

The man is short, and thin. Leather jacket. And a sneer on his face that no one who knew any better would dare point in his direction. He looks back, takes his fag out of his mouth, calm and mildly curious. The man has something about him, a sort of wiry energy. Clever eyes.

Pity so much shit comes out of his mouth though, as he immediately proves, walking over like he might swing at any moment. Gene looks him up and down, confused by the attitude but not intimidated by it.

'...OK. Alright. Surprise me. What year is it supposed to be?'

Every word drips with sarcasm and Gene? Has had enough of it.

'Word in yer shell-like, pal.'

He puts his fag back in his mouth, reaches out, grabs the man by his stupid leather lapels and pulls him into his office, all the way over to the filing cabinet. He shoves him up against it and is surprised when Tyler breaks the hold on him. But when he comes out with,

'Big mistake,' like he's in some kind of film, it's the last straw, time to put him in his place. Gene takes the smoke out of his mouth and drops it to the floor, suddenly exuding barely-controlled aggression.

'Yeah? What about this?'

A punch to the ribs sorts most things and there's a gratifying wince from the spectators looking through the windows as his fist connects. But the point needs to be made and he drags the man upright by the coat once more.

'They reckon you got concussion. Well I couldn' give a tart's furry cup if 'alf y'brains are falling out, don't ever,' he shoves him against the cabinet again, 'waltz into my kingdom, actin' king o'the jungle.'

'Who the hell are you?'

'Gene Hunt, your DCI and its 1973. Almost dinner time. I'm havin' 'oops!'

This last piece of information is clearly important and it seems to take the fight out of Sam, for the time being at least. They're nose to nose for a long moment before Gene lets him go. Tyler swallows and straightens his jacket, Gene eyes him and pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket, satisfied that lines have been re-drawn for now.

'Go an' sit down, you look like 'ammered shit. Plonk'll bring y'a cup of tea. Fag?'

* * *

Half an hour later - paperwork. He fills it in out in the main office, keeping a surreptitious eye on the new guy. He's just sitting in a chair though, arms hugging himself. That is until Chris announces the news that their missing girl has turned up dead.

'Suzy Tripper.'

'Yep. Rung her neck like a Christmas turkey.'

He heads straight for his den and pulls his coat on, nodding Tyler in to follow him.

There are some DCI's who'd wonder about walking out of the place on a brand new DI's first day, especially one who might be concussed. But not Gene. Sink or swim, sunshine.

'Right. I've gotta get down the pub an' give the papers a statement an' if I don' get a move on they'll all be 'alf-cut. So. You're senior officer, you're in charge.'

He turns and walks out, having had enough of man-management for the time being. He's not a bloody babysitter.

Plus, pub.