OOM: Christmas Eve

[the_gene_genie]

Gene Hunt likes Christmas. Even though he tends to have to work like a bastard on the run-up (criminals seem to decide that they need some extra spending money, so try to nick it off the poor, working folk who can barely afford to put a turkey on the table), he generally has the day itself off and it's usually spent getting pleasantly drunk in front of the TV, devouring the missus's excellent cooking and seeing his mam smile a lot more than usual.

Of course, that was last year. This year there'll be no missus, less drinking than he'd like and his mam'll be the one slaving over a hot stove. He'd offer to help but they both know he'd likely burn the house down with his efforts.

At least he's got family though. Since that conversation over the darts game with Drake a couple of weeks ago, he's wrestled with himself...well. Wrestled with it for about a day, then made his mind up and has been waiting impatiently ever since. And now it's Christmas Eve, they all knocked off at four (mostly still suffering from immense hangovers from the Christmas do the night before) with well wishes for the holiday all 'round and a good bottle of something from the Guv to let them know he appreciated their efforts this year.

He'd gone home, packed a bag, shovelled a few tabs of paracetemol down his neck and headed out again. He's got a long drive ahead of him, but there's a stop to be made first.

'Bolly! Open up!'

Comments

[lady_bols]

"As always," she says, not unkindly. They drive in silence for awhile, before she turns back to him.

She rests a hand on the back of his arm, just for a moment.

"Thanks. For thinking of me."

[the_gene_genie]

He never stops thinking of her. But he just grunts in response.

'S'alright.'

More silence, for a short time.

'Me mam'll be glad to 'ave someome to talk to, 'specially a bird. She don' much like hearin' about work, beyon' the basics.'

[lady_bols]

She smiles, shifts in her seat, stretching her long legs out, getting comfortable.

"Thanks for the head's up. My ex's mum, she used to ask all sorts of questions, and then make these -- faces when I answered her. I learned the hard way that she didn't really want to know the details."

[the_gene_genie]

'No mother likes 'earing about violence and drug dealin' and scum, I s'pose.'

He's never given it much thought.

By the miracle of Christmas, the M25 is nearly clear - the only time of the year it is - so it's not all that long before he's pulling on to the M1.

'Well, you'd know better'n me.'

[lady_bols]

"Know what?"

[the_gene_genie]

'...'bout what mothers want to 'ear.'

He assumes.

[lady_bols]

She laughs a little under her breath, the corners of her mouth turning down a bit. Her fingers toy with the seam in the arm rest.

"Well, it's different with Molly and me."

[the_gene_genie]

'How?'

She never talks about her daughter. He's interested.

[lady_bols]

Her voice takes on a bit of a distant tone.

"Well, I want her to be able to talk to me about anything. Anything at all. She asks about my work, I tell her. I ask her about her friends, she tells me. It's a two way street."

[the_gene_genie]

He shifts a bit in his seat. He knows nothing about mother-daughter relationships and isn't sure what he's supposed to contribute. He's interested but also already floundering.

'All the gory details? You'd tell 'er them?'

[lady_bols]

"Have done. She's got no illusions about what certain lifestyles entail. We don't keep any secrets from one another."

Some parents try the Just Say No trick, and fat lot of good that does. She knows Molly is more clever than that. And she respects her daughter. She doesn't see the need to protect her to the point of crippling her for her future life.

[the_gene_genie]

He says nothing. He doesn't know what he can say except to point out that he didn't know how little he knew about this stuff, or how strange it'd make him feel to be asking it.

Basically, that he didn't realise how bad he was at having a conversation of any kind of depth with a woman he's interested in.

So he just drives.

[lady_bols]

She feels the silence between them. Not precisely uncomfortable. More -- awkward. Finding their way.

"So your mum will be there. Any one else? Your dad or -- brothers and sisters?"

[the_gene_genie]

'No. Jus' her.'

He doesn't want to go into details on that, not on Christmas Eve when he's been in a good mood and is still clinging to the remnants of it. Not that its her fault, just that he hadn't been prepared for anything past the thought that doing this would be fun.

'You hungry or anythin'? We can stop for a sarnie or somethin' if y'are.'

[lady_bols]

"Well, I was in the middle of finding something for dinner when you dropped in so unexpectedly."

That's a yes, please.

[the_gene_genie]

'Alrigh'. Next services. I need petrol anyway.'

They're spaced every thirty miles or so and the speed he drives, it doesn't take long before he's pulling in.

'Disgustin' tea an' a half mouldy sandwich, comin' up.'

He gets out of the car, stretches and reaches for his fags. It's cold, dark; the cheap decorations over the front of the building look garish and sad. He wishes they were there already, in Manchester, where things are real.

[lady_bols]

"Thanks." Sounds lovely.

She gets out as well, stretching her arms over her head. It's chill enough she wished she'd brought a scarf. Doesn't matter. The cold air feels good, wakes her up a bit. The trip so far as seemed a bit of a dream.

She wanders over to the little store front, pokes around through the aisles at all the last minute gift ideas. He's busy paying for and pumping the petrol, so she takes her time and when she's found something she likes, she pays for it and returns to the car, the little paper bag tucked in her pocket.

[the_gene_genie]

'Cheese an' tomato or egg mayo? S'all they 'ad.'

He hands her tea; probably disgusting but at least its hot. He drinks half his hip flask before starting on his tea, in no hurry to start the car suddenly. A weariness has stolen over him and he scrubs at his eyes, hating this half-way world between home and work.

'Y'ever been to Manchester before?'

[lady_bols]

She takes the tea and takes a big drink, pulling a face. Disgusting is a kind description. She finds a place for it in the console and then eyes the sandwiches.

"Cheese and tomato." It's better than taking her chances with egg mayo. She takes the packet from him, unwrapping it with precise little gestures.

"A few times, actually. Mostly for work. Seminars and the like. You grew up there, didn't you?" She takes a cautious nibble of the sandwich. It's a testament to how hungry she is that it actually tastes not half bad.

[the_gene_genie]

''ardly ever left, until last year.'

He starts the car and hits the accelerator all the way down the slip road, nearly at 70 even before shooting out back onto the motorway.

'You liked it? When you visited?'

This sounds like a casual question.

It is not.

[lady_bols]

She was going to offer to spell him at the wheel, but he's already pulling out before she can give the question voice.

"It was all right, I suppose. All I ever saw was the inside of hotel rooms and conference halls."

The North is somewhat off the map for her, not unlike Gene himself. Undiscovered country.

"Going to show me all the romantic little corners of the county, hmm?" She cocks an eyebrow at him, a playful tease. Trying to lighten his spirits now.

[the_gene_genie]

He snorts but does smile a little bit.

'I'm a copper, wha' romantic bits of the place would I know?'

And...he's not that romantic anyway. He could show her the best places to park with a girl (or prozzie), the best pubs, the best snooker clubs, his favourite walk down to Maine Road. Best greasy spoons, best chip shop.

Things like best restaurant would be hearsay only, for the most part.

'My idea of romance an' yours are prob'ly a bit different anyway.'

His favourite places would probably look like a total shithole to anyone else. But they're so wrapped up in memories for him, they're beautiful in his mind.

[lady_bols]

Her eyes narrow a bit, curious now.

"Oh I dunno. There's been times when I rather thought Luigi's was romantic, in it's own way." She washes down a bite of sandwich with tea. "So what's your idea of romantic?"

[the_gene_genie]

'Dunno. Never really though' about it.'

Coming home and finding the wife had fetched him in a cold beer to have with his in-the-oven dinner even though it was her bridge night and he wouldn't see her until the morning. Remembering their anniversary, not because she'd been hinting but because he remembered it and brought her burnt toast and over-stewed tea in bed every year. Taking her out for a dance on her birthday, evenings spent sitting quietly, him drinking and her pottering about, Roger Whitaker on the radio.

He doesn't think about it. He just knows that those things, at home, in Manchester, were solid. That was home. He knows there were girls and one night stands and all-night boozing sessions, far too much work and football and fists and laughing with your mates and team down the pub. But if he thinks about romance, he thinks about simple, quiet, care.

Which is not what he thinks Alex would want to hear - and is more than he'd be willing to admit, even if he could find the words - so he dodges the question.

'I s'pose yours is all walkin' on the beach an' soppy stuff like that.'

[lady_bols]

Her brow furrows a bit, and she looks across at him. He's actually given this more than a passing thought. She doesn't know quite how to take that.

"Not necessarily. A nice meal spent talking quietly. A nice quiet drive along a scenic route, stopping for a walk in the snow."

She'd not think his real answer was far from the truth, but she's thinking more of romance at the beginning of a relationship, not after it's well-established.

"I suppose it's really more about the company than the setting."