Title: Almost a Decennium Fandom: Life on Mars Description: Something of a character study of Gene, I guess. For:primrose Notes: Spoilers for up to the premise of Ashes to Ashes. (Though I haven't yet watched it, I did read about it and character 'progression' in a newspaper article. If you've a problem with spoilers from any further than the last episode of Life on Mars, then I'm sorry. Let me know & I'll write another fic asap.) It's not hugely long, nor shippy, but I hope you'll like it.
Almost a Decennium
Gene Hunt found himself watching the sun go down over the Tib more times than he'd care to admit. The light scattering off the dull water and winter sun blinding across the early evening sky, he wouldn't say he was looking for anything in particular, but always came away feeling cheated by the grey water that had regularly stolen stones, spit, fag butts, shopping trolleys, lives and now Tyler. Bastard.
Really though, it was typical of that little nancy to have been so crap at driving as to drown himself and leave Gene to have to clear up the mess.
Gene was always sorting out Dorothy's little 'faux pas', correcting his arsey ways and explaining to people why he was actually a bloody good copper, even if he was a bit strange. Things got better after that day with the train though. Tyler relaxed. Of course he was still always banging on about 'ethics' and 'procedure' and 'why we don't hit the suspect' but he didn't seem to mind so much when Gene threw reports back at his head, he became quick with getting a light in hand, and once he was sure that little Sammy had smirked when Gene kicked the Jubilee Street mugger squarely in the nuts.
Tyler seemed to settle down and be happy with Miss WPC Annie NiceArse and Gene relished spending Thursday nights telling him just how to keep his little lady happy just as he did with the the Good Mrs. Hunt. ("Keep her on her toes, m'boy, keep her on her toes. They like that. All the fussing they can do, see?")
But the (as it turned out) not-so-good Mrs. Hunt was gone one night when he returned home one evening in the summer of '78. Empty wardrobes, a note left on the hall table and a Shepard's pie almost burnt in the oven were all that was left until her solicitor wrote him a letter in a cream envelope. A lady solicitor! Women really were pushing it these days.
Tyler took him out down Rusholme that night to sober him up and let him rant, and for the next 23 days they ate at a different curry house every single night. The Bombay Delight was the clear winner. Apparently Sam'd got a call at 7 p.m. saying Gene was lying, face down, on the pavement two streets away from his house. The young pretender was a good mate by that time, it being over five years since he'd landed in from Hyde and more nights drinking together than his doctor thought was appropriate having passed.
Each year passed with a silent recognition (a resignation?), a few more lines to all their faces, a little less hair and a growing comfort to all their friendships. Even Raymondo and Tyler grew to be pals over time. Each acting as sandpaper to the others' rough edges. But whilst the seventies did not bring forth great swathes of changes the new decade certainly did. Within months Gene's mother passed (quietly in her sleep, poor dear), Tyler disappeared and the Met decided that DCI Hunt and his team would be an 'asset' to them.
It had been on a Friday that the offer had come up, the last one in September. Young Chris had remembered the call from earlier in the day (that he'd forgotten in all the excitement over the apprehension of a rather nasty rapist) in the pub that night, and deciding there was nothing left to keep him up in this city, that had stolen friends, family, lovers and his youth Gene'd got straight on the blower on Monday morning after three cups of tea and during his seventh fag of the day.
Putting down the phone he'd called Chris and Ray into his office, declared, "Right, boys, let's go show those Southern wankers who's the sheriff," and decided that all things considered the best thing to do was to leave the other lads to man the fort whilst they went and indulged in Nelson's finest hospitality.
It all happened quite quickly really and before he really knew what was happening Gene had turned his back forever on the Tib, the North and his past and was bringing in 1981 with a very nice young lady with more knockers than brains. Life wasn't all bad, really, and Gene had a whole new town to clear up the proper way. There'd be no soft poncing around now Hunt was in charge. Cracking!