OOM: Bollinger Knickers

[the_gene_genie]

'Today my friend, your diary entry will read -'took a prozzie 'ostage, and was shot,' he pauses to pull his Magnum out of its holster and swing the barrel up to rest on his shoulder, '...by three armed bastards'.'

He barely gives the bird a look. Markham's the target, even more so when he wraps his arm around said prozzie and forces those bastards to level their guns at him. But then she starts spouting some psycho-bollocks, talking nineteen to the bloody dozen in a language none of them (except, apparantly, Markham) understand and amazingly, he's letting her go and giving himself up.

This doesn't normally happen in Gene Hunt's world. Fortunately, she then looks him up and down, says his name and promptly faints.

'My reputation precedes me.'

This is a far more usual occurence.

As he's putting her into the passenger seat of the Quattro, he takes a second to let his eyes travel the length of her legs. There's only one thought that readily springs to mind...I'd pay.

* * *

Half an hour later, he's not sure what the hell's going on any more. She's practically shagged the bonnet of his car, nearly walked out into traffic, had to be carried up the stairs into CID (he didn't mind that bit), waltzed into his office and comandeered the computer like she knew how to use the thing (though mastering Pong isn't hard, he'll concede) and then dropped to her knees in front of him to the accompanying wolf-whistles from his entire department.

And now...now he's holding her warrant card in his hand and she looks like she might pass out again. Ray's shaking his head in dismay and Chris is prattling about Asians and ping-pong balls. Only one thing for it.

'Welcome on board, Inspector.'

* * *

She waggles her fingers when she says his name.

He thinks she called him a 'subconscious recessional form' though he has no idea what that is.

Apparently, he's taller than she imagined ('I'm bigger in every department...') and she knew Sam Tyler. She also manages to give Markham room to walk free, spouts on forever about why he's not their man even though he clearly is, starts fixating on some no-name tinker called Layton, calls him a 'Northern flatfoot' and touches up his chest in the evidence room. So he touches hers back ('...gonna kiss me, or punch me?') which nearly earns him a slap but would definitely have been worth it.

She waggles her fingers when she says his bloody name.

* * *

'Pull Markham in again. Shake the web, Layton'll hate that.'

'...psychiatry.'

'Psychology.'

'Same thing. Still! Not a bad idea, for a bird.'

* * *

At 'lunch' that evening, he sits in his usual corner. The others are singing at Luigi but then the track changes on the stereo and she's there, walking towards him, finally out of those prostitute clothes. There's an almost shy look on her face and she's let her hair down.

In those few seconds he knows two things; one, that he absolutely must shag her and two; he never, ever will.

* * *

She may be beautiful but she doesn't half talk a load of bollocks. It's unfortunate that she happened to be right about Layton but that's alright, she still needed him to come and save her bony arse at the end of it. The speedboat and machine gun were just bonuses really. The best bit is always saving the girl.

It's usually nicer when they're a bit more grateful though, it has to be said.

But it doesn't matter. Later, in Luigi's, he sees her come down from the flat again (he tells himself he wasn't watching for her). When she's not screaming at him or insulting him or talking crap, she looks...vulnerable.

He blinks, picks up his bottle and before she's even taken her seat at the bar he's filling a glass for her, no nonsense, all the way to the brim. A silent welcome to the team and maybe even, good job, today.

She doesn't say anything but she does look over at him. He sees it. And he knows that she knows, for the rest of the night he's watching over her, right up until the moment she walks up the stairs to bed.

She's one of his, now. And it's already promising to be a damn good time.