OOM: 3x02. It's a police investigation...

[the_gene_genie]

He wasn't at all keen on this dating agency idea when she suggested it. Seems a bit dodgy to him - for one thing, dating agencies are for tossers. For another, it's quite likely that a murderer is prowling around this one. And lastly, he doesn't really want her going on dates with any of them. Even the ones who are not murderers. Especially not them, really. She'd be more likely to see them again.

But there is more to it than that, of course. He doesn't like putting any of his team at unnecessary risk, and this seems like it's inviting it. Potentially meeting a killer in his arena, on his hunting ground, rather than on their terms. She's probably right though; it'll cause a proper ruckus if they go around interviewing all the blokes registered there, and might scare the murderer off. He's not having that. Not after what happened to all those women. So he does the only thing he can to keep her safe; he gets in there and takes one for the team.

Which is why they're in his office, with an application form each, and he's pouring them a drink. Everyone else has gone, except Shaz.

This is more how it used to be. He likes it.

Comments

[lady_bols]

'History will prove you wrong, Gene. I'm going to talk to her. You all right to close up by yourself?' She's standing as she asks, leaving her application in his hands.

It's as if she's being drawn along by some unseen force, compelled to follow the young woman, even as it takes her away from this rare opportunity, a moment's peace and quiet with him.

[the_gene_genie]

'Night, Bolly,' he says, with added exasperation.

He can't deny that he's a little sorry to see her disappear so fast though. It felt just like it used to. He'd forgotten how much he missed it.

And then he sees her response to the last question. His hand, carrying his Scotch, pauses on its way to his mouth, and he feels a bit guilty – somehow, reading this when she's not in the room feels a bit like prying. Less like a police investigation, and more like snooping in someone's knicker drawer when they're out.

But there's not a chance he's not going to read it. So he does, and his heart sinks a bit. There's nothing there that he wouldn't expect, really. She's the sort of woman who would value all that stuff in a bloke – and on reflection, he thinks he could tick at least a few of the boxes. Not that he's looking to be anyone's husband,but y'know. He'd still be interested in something, if she was.

This list though – it doesn't have any of the other things that he'd list as his main attributes. It sounds like she wants a nice...well, that's it. A nice bloke. And he's not, it doesn't matter which way you twist it. She's always telling him he doesn't listen. And she might say she wants a bloke who can ‘acknowledge their emotions', but that probably she means she wants them to cry or something, not shout louder and hit things. People.

He sets the paper down and finishes his drink, deflated. It's always going to be this way. She's white wine from New Zealand, he's bitter from Central Manchester. Worlds apart. He doesn't know why he bothers holding out hope that that'll change.