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]

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."

[the_gene_genie]

He spends more time than he thinks he should, pondering on what would float her boat and wondering whether she'd let him try. The date they went on...he'd planned for it to be posher, not at Luigis. I can give you sole (soul) he'd said, and then Scarman had thrown the place upside down and he'd had to stay near the station.

He's wondered to himself, sometimes, if taking her somewhere new would have helped. When he thinks about how it turned out, he feels embarrassed about putting himself out there, asking to come upstairs and hearing her say no. But he also knows he'd be angry at himself if he hadn't asked, so he's not sorry he did.

'S'pose so. Everyone's soppy when they first meet someone they wan' to shag.'

Which is why finding romance is more important after you've been with someone for years on end and seen them at their worst.

'An' we 'ad a meal,' he adds, suddenly, after a moment of silence. And leaves it hanging there, unsure of what to stick on the end.

[lady_bols]

An eyebrow goes up, and the hand holding the sandwich falls slowly to her lap.

"That was -- hardly... I mean, the timing was all wrong." She sounds defensive she knows, and she hates it. That was the night before the Prices were murdered. "We didn't really get away, did we? Not like -- this."

She doesn't know what she's suggesting, but suddenly, she doesn't want that door closed.

[the_gene_genie]

He doesn't know why the timing was all wrong. To him, the timing was perfect - they'd recently started getting on better but not so well that they'd fallen into the 'just good friends' trap. Or worse, 'just good colleagues'.

The only thing he can think of why she turned him down was that she was just marking time with him before she left as she kept saying she was going to do.

'...'f you say so,' he mutters, and says nothing about this.

[lady_bols]

She's not just marking time with him. She doesn't know what she's doing, other than just trying to hold on. She doesn't have her feet under her yet, and she doesn't know which way is up.

And his response only frustrates her further.

How many times has he knocked her back? How many times has he deliberately taken the invitation as a meaningless flirtation?

She turns back to the window, folding the rest of her sandwich back up.

"Don't give up on me, Gene. I still need you."

[the_gene_genie]

The tape ran out a while ago and the car is dead quiet, only the tyres eating the miles of road making a noise.

'Brough' you 'ere, didn' I?' he says quietly, after a moment.

He'll never give up on her. Any of them, but especially her.

...and this mood has got quite dark enough. It's bloody Christmas and he's going home and is going to have a good time.

'So cheer up, Bols! Couple o'nights in the paradise of Manchester with me mam's cookin' in yer, you'll be right as rain.'

[lady_bols]

"Right," she says, turning her head and giving him a soft smile.

He's right. It's Christmas. Stiff upper lip and all that rot.

She fiddles with the tape player, finds the eject button and flips it over. Herb Alpert soon does his level best to lift her spirits again.

"Anything left in that flask of yours?"

[the_gene_genie]

'What d'you think?'

He grins and hands it over, pulling his spare - one of them anyway - from another pocket and starting in on it himself.

Never too early to get into the Christmas spirit and there's still a long drive ahead of them.

[lady_bols]

[ cont'd here ]