The Lion Sh*ts Himself Tonight

The usual disclaimers - I don't own Ashes to Ashes or any of its characters with the exception of DCI Hunt, who I occasionally rent.
On we go then...

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"Right you lot! Everybody out! It's Friday night and I'm sure you've all got more interesting things to do than fill in paperwork for Jimbo Keats."

"Yes Guv"
"Thanks Guv"
"Night Guv"
"Good luck Guv"
"Yes, thank you Christopher. Same to you. I hope you get more action than a five knuckle shuffle tonight."
"Er, thanks"

The team gradually left the office - Terry, Slate and Poirot were the first, racing to the pub as the last one there had to pay for the first three rounds. Ray and Chris were next, with Ray promising Chris the company of some of London's finest exotic dancers. Finally, after some pointed remarks and determined stares, Alex Drake left in a huff. She'd been oddly quiet all day. She had been for a couple of weeks. In fact Gene found it odd when, in the middle of yet another heated discussion on ethics, she asked him for a date... exactly the same words he'd used on her two years before - trout and almonds, her shout this time. Odd, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the cleavage and he hoped that an evening of him at his best and on his best behaviour might encourage ol' Bolly-Kecks to start trusting him again.

Confident he wouldn't be seen or disturbed, Gene began preparing for his date with Alex. He thought back to the last time they dined together, when she wittered on about leaving, and he made a prat of himself inviting himself back to hers to watch a video. This time he would be in control, he would own the night and he would knock the posh pair of stockings off her high heeled feet. He took the suitcase out from under his desk, unzipped it, and carefully took out the tuxedo, brushed it down and hung it on his door. "It almost worked with Jackie Queen" he muttered, "and if I don't end up pie-eyed and dancing on Luigi's bar with a lampshade on me 'ead, it might do the trick this time."

He undressed. First the tie, rolled up and stashed away in the case, then the trousers, which he took off and threw in, scrunched up... his work suits were easy care for a reason. He started to unbutton his shirt when he noticed his hands were shaking. He was breaking out into a sweat... Gene Hunt, the Manc Lion, the DCI guaranteed to strike fear into the hearts of scumbags everywhere, was scared. He looked at his watch - plenty of time yet - so decided on a quick cigarette and whisky break before putting on his tux. And since he didn't want his suit to smell like his office, he stepped out into the main CID area to smoke, taking a seat in Raymondo's chair, sporting just boots, boxers and a half undone shirt.

"Calm yourself down, you twat. It's just Drake. You see her every day. You're acting like you're having a date with Britt Ekland."

Sadly, CID wasn't as clear of personnel as Gene thought.

"Sorry Ma'am, finding those files took me a lot longer than - GUV!"

WPC Granger dropped her files in shock as she walked in on her undressed boss, covering her eyes with her hand before she had a chance to see anything more revealing than his bare knees.

"SHAZ!! I thought I sent you 'ome?"

"I've been down in the basement getting files for DI Drake. Sorry, I didn't know you'd said we could go early."

"Shit, er... shit."

Gene ran into his office and quickly pulled on the tuxedo trousers, preserving his modesty and allowing Shaz to see again.

"What's going on, Guv?"

"I'm getting ready for my dinner date with Drake."

"Aww! Are you nervous?"

"Nervous? Don't be ridiculous Granger. Gene Hunt does not get nervous. I'm bloody terrified."

"Would you like me to help you?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't think dressing your DCI is within your remit."

"It is if it helps you get those promotion forms filled in faster. Change your shirt and I'll put the kettle on."

On the second attempt at unbuttoning his shirt Gene noticed he was calmer, more relaxed. He put this down to the hit of nicotine rather than the assistance of Shaz, but having someone there who knew how birds worked was certainly useful. With the tuxedo shirt on, he felt his inner casanova coming through, and a quick look in the reflection of his office left him pleased with his appearance. Sure, the beer belly was still there, but it was wrapped in white silk. He put on the jacket and there he was, complete with immaculately tied dickie bow, ready to knock Bolly for six.

Shaz returned from the kitchen with two mugs of tea.

"I made a cup of tea for my DCI but he seems to have disappeared, would you know where he went, Mr Bond?"

"Very funny."

"Here you go. One tea. Three sugars, stirred, not shaken."

"Seriously, how do I look?"

"You look OK, yeah."

"Just OK?"

Shaz giggled. "Blimey Guv, you sound like one of us! Next you'll be asking me if the suit makes your bum look big!"

"Well?"

"You look nice, but if you really want to impress her, you need to do a little bit more."

"Such as...?"

"Trusting me." She produced a can of styling mousse from her handbag.

"What the bloody 'ell is that?"

"Mousse"

"Mousse? I was thinking of 'aving that for pudding."

"This is for your hair. It'll give it a bit of lift."

"And why would I want that?"

"Again Guv, just slightly louder, trust me!"

She dispensed a golf-ball sized blob of mousse into her hands and started to work it through Gene's blond locks, pushing the hair further back from his face. Away went the mousse and out came the hairdryer, she plugged it in as Gene gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.

"Don't move, Guv. You're surrounded by armed bastards.."

She quickly blasted his hair with the dryer, teasing a little bit of hair to fall onto his forehead. She stepped back and admired her work.

"Are you done? "

"Just one more thing."

"Not make-up, I remember what you did to Chris, had him wearing eyeliner and mascara."

"Oh trust me, Guv. You don't need any help with those eyes. Just..." she tugged at the bow tie, dismantling the bow, and leaving the tie hanging casually around Gene's neck.

"Hey! Took me ages to learn how to do one of them."

"Top button"

"What?"

"Undo your top button. With a tied up dickie bow and your top button done up you'll get mistaken for the staff."

Gene complies and undoes the top button. He looks in the reflection in the window...

"Bloody 'ell, Granger. You're good at this. Do you think I'll pass now?"

"Well, Guv. I'd pay."

"Oi, less of that."

"Go and give yourself a squirt of Brut or whatever you use these days, and you're good to go. Before you know it you'll be in DI Drake's flat smooching away to Spandau Ballet."

"Thank you Shaz. Your help means a lot."

"I'll leave the promotion forms on your desk, Sir."

A*S*H*E*S to M*A*S*H*E*S

I've enjoyed re-acquainting myself with M*A*S*H almost as much as I enjoyed A2A. Introducing, therefore, the inevitable "Two Great Things Together" Fic.

=========

Gene Hunt is in his default position, feet up on the desk, cheroot in hand. In his other hand is a piece of paper, a letter. The letter would probably go some way to explaining his filthy mood to his colleagues if he had the nerve to show it to them.

"DCI Hunt" it reads, "A Force Psychiatrist will be visiting your office at 11.30am."

His digital watch read 11:28. He thought it best to down the last of his morning scotch before the quack showed up, and took a long draw on his smoke to cover up the booze breath. As he quickly stowed away the glass and the bottle he saw Viv entering the CID office doors, accompanied by a small man with a moustache and wiry curly hair. Not wishing to stir up any further wrath from his Guv, Viv left the man outside to face the Manc Lion alone. He knocked.

"Come in"

"DCI Hunt."

"S'what it says on the door."

"It also says there's a lion in here. Which one are you?"

"Both. I take it you're the 'ead doctor."

The small man offers a handshake "Sidney Freedman. Pleased to meet you."

As determined as Gene was to run rings round this little headshrinker, he was disarmed by the warmth in the man's voice and the kindness of his demeanor. He fought on in his usual way...

"So? Where's the men in white coats? Where's me straight jacket? I 'ope I'm in one of them rooms with cushions on the walls."

"I'm not here to put you away Gene, I'm just here for a friendly chat." He sits down.

Gene looked at the letter again "PSYCHIATRIST", and rage swelled up inside him. He lurched across the desk and grabbed Sidney by the lapels.

"I've 'ad quite enough from psychologists. I've had a headful of all sorts of mumbo jumbo ever since that clenched-arse tart waltzed in here dressed like a two-bit whore! And I'm not 'aving upstairs using mind games to make out I'm a nutcase and send me off to loony bin!"

"I'm not here as part of the investigation, Gene."

"Come again?"

"Sure, I used that as an excuse to get an appointment with you, but I'm here to help you with your other problem"

As Gene tried to fathom out his visitor's line of questioning, Sidney stared intently, taking in every single twitch, glint in the eye and awkward shuffle.

"I thought you were 'ere to prove that I really did mean to shoot my DI."

"We can start with that if you like..."

"Start? You mean there's more than that? What else do those bastards upstairs want to get me on? Do they just want me to admit that I'm several sandwiches short of a picnic so they can get me out? Well they're wasting their time. And they're wasting yours. I hope you haven't travelled far because you've just had your time wasted!"

Sidney smiled. Explaining where he's from might take some doing and would probably just about finish him off. "I've travelled quite a distance, so I would be grateful if you'd just humour me for a while, at least so I can justify my travel expenses. How about a drink?" He said, pointing at the cabinet that contained Gene's 12-year-old scotch.

Gene chuckled to himself as he realised he'd completely failed to hide the whisky. Putting the stuff in the cabinet would have worked if only he had closed the door.

"Fair enough"

As he poured the drinks Sidney spotted the two cassettes on Gene's desk. He picked one up. "I gather these weren't easy listening for you?"

"How do you know about those?"

"Your notes. I read them last night. DI Drake is quite a lady."

"You're telling me."

"Her revelation must have come as a great shock to you."

"She's obviously up the wall. I don't know what I do to my DIs, I really don't. She prattled on about being from a different world, from the future... and then in these tapes she talked about fighting me, and... what do I do to deserve these bloody lunatic DIs? Am I a stop off point for the CID Nuthouse?"

"There was someone else?"

"Tyler. Back up in GMP. Joined me in '73. First thing he said to me was "What year is this meant to be?" I always thought it was because of that accident he had before he got to us, but now I think about it..."

"You think there might be more to this than lunatic DIs?"

"I don't know what to think. It's bloody confusing. No wonder I couldn't bloody shoot straight."

"Come again?"

"Jenette, this girl who'd been set up to come on to me and drive me and Drake apart, came back waving a gun around screaming for money. She had a gun to DI Drake's head, there was a scuffle and... I ended up shooting Drake in the stomach. I swear I was aiming for Jenette, not Drake. I would never hurt Alex. She's my ally, I need her to guide me through, I mean, I guide her through..."

"Who's guiding who, Gene?"

Gene lit up another cheroot as he considered the question. Exhaling a small cloud of smoke, he sighed and shook his head. "I don't know".

"Could it be you need to guide each other? It's a hard, screwed-up world out there after all. And there's more to it than you realise. Alex is the only person who can help you see that. You see everything in black and white, Gene. Now's the time to notice all the other colours. You'll be surprised how much more of the picture you can see when you use the whole of the spectrum."

"Things are changing all the time."

"Indeed they are. And you need to explore your way through them. Let Alex help you, like you helped her when she was a child."

"So, am I mad or what?"

"No more than the rest of us. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a captain waiting for me who needs my help conquering his fear of Colonel Sanders."

Sidney downed the last of his whiskey and stood up.

"So what 'appens now? With the investigation?"

"No idea Gene, not my department."

He made his way to the double doors leading out of the CID office and before leaving, turned to address the whole of the CID team. "But I will say this one thing to you, and it's just as pertinent for everyone else in this room. Ladies and Gentlemen, take my advice. Pull down your pants and slide on the ice."

"Them Blue Boxes" - a fanfic chain challenge...

I've started an imagining of how Series 3 of A2A is going to begin... who fancies carrying it on?

Pull yourself together man. You can't sit in 'ere forever. She's gonna wonder what the bloody 'ell you're up to.

What would she do? Tell herself to focus, break it all down and analyse it. Let's see then. I'm sitting on the toilet in my DI's bathroom, having just brought her back from the hospital. The hospital where she's spent the last month recovering from a gunshot wound that I put there. A gunshot wound I put there after announcing to all who would listen that if she didn't get out of my sight I *swear to God* I would kill her.

"Guv?"

Oh shit. OK. I've got to get back out there. I've no idea what I'm going to say to her. Oh, best flush. At least make 'er think I've been doing summat in 'ere. Spray some air freshener too.

"Are you OK Guv?"

"Yeah, yeah. Cup o'tea?"

Tea. Great idea.

"Thanks for getting the flat ready for me Gene."

"It was the least I could do Bols"

Really.

"After all, I've been on gardening leave while you've been in hospital. I've got no garden, so it was either get the place ready for you coming back or spend the time attempting to grow an aspidistra in me belly button"

She's laughing. Oh, how I've missed that laugh.

"Here's your tea"

"Gene"
"Bols"
"About what I said"
"No, you first"

Great, broadcasting in stereo.

"You first, Gene."

"I don't care what the powers that be believe. I don't care if I get demoted, or I lose my job. All I need to know right now is that YOU believe that I didn't mean what I said and I did NOT shoot you on purpose."

Oh bloody hell those eyes. That smile.

"I know, Gene. I know. And you won't lose your job or get demoted. I'll see to that. I'll explain everything."

How exactly? That you're from the twenty-first century, here to save the world from corruption?

"Gene. What I said before... I know it's hard to believe, but..."

"There's something about you, Bolly-knickers. Always 'as been. I put it down to 'aving an 'ead full of brains, your posh private education giving you more knowledge than ordinary coppers who work their way up get to learn. There's something different about you. You're ahead of your time. Just like Tyler was."

"Tyler. Yes. Exactly."

"You. You know stuff. You know stuff before it 'appens. When I got the call that the blag was taking place on King Douglas Road I knew. I knew you were telling the truth, I just can't fathom out why, or how. Tell me. 'Ave they invented time machines? Do you all fly around in them blue boxes like Dr Who does?"

She's laughing again. What a beautiful sight.

A2A Fic - What a Day

Continuing from the Sauna notes - this is a script of a conversation between Gene and Luigi, and takes place after Gene's initiation ceremony at the Masonic Lodge.

GENE arrives in Luigi's and takes a seat in the corner by the mural.

LUIGI (to other customers) - Time to go please ladies and gentlemen. It is time to close, time for Luigi to go to bed. Thank you and goodnight. Thank you, thank you...

As the customers file out, GENE looks at his watch.

GENE - Blimey! I didn't realise it was that late. Sorry Luigi. I'll be on my way and let you get to bed.

LUIGI - No Signore Hunt, you stay. Sit back down, I will be with you shortly.

GENE - A lock-in, eh? Nice one. Though if we're going whiter-than-white my days of enjoying these might be numbered.

LUIGI - (to customers still leaving) Thank you, thank you, see you another evening.

The last customer leaves and Luigi returns to the bar. He picks up a very expensive bottle of whisky and a glass, takes it over to GENE and sets it down.

GENE looks at the bottle. Lights a cigarette as LUIGI opens and pours a glass.

LUIGI - Signore Hunt. You look tired.

GENE - So would you if you'd 'ad the day I've 'ad.

LUIGI - You relax, drink and tell Luigi all about it. I'm a cheap psychologist.

GENE - Psychiatrist.

LUIGI - Same thing, Signore. Take a drink of this and tell me about your day.

GENE - Pffft... (takes a drag on cigarette) The bastards took my boots away. Then gave me one slipper and made me roll up one of my trouser legs.

LUIGI - ah, undercover?

GENE - Sort of, sort of. Called for a certain amount of deception. I 'ad to walk down this corridor, with one bloody slipper on, one trouser leg up, then 'e rips my shirt open! Rips me shirt open... puts a bloody noose around my neck... and then soddin' well blindfolds me. "You are neither naked nor clothed..."

(takes a drink)

I hate it, Luigi. I hate it *so* much. And as if THAT wasn't bad enough, the last thing I saw before the blindfold went on...

Her.

LUIGI - Who?

(Gene looks upwards to indicate ALEX, sleeping in the flat above the bar)

GENE - I saw the white jacket. Silly bird should've took that thing off before sneaking around, she may as well 'ave 'ad a flashing neon sign above 'er head! I saw her before I came here. Told her to bugger off. She wants me to let her in. I'd give anything to let her in. I hate going behind her back. I haven't had such a good professional relationship with a colleague since Tyler. Just click with her so well, despite her being an interfering pain in the arse...

(long pause as he finishes his cigarette, lights another, finishes his drink and buries his head in his hand)

LUIGI - Signore Hunt. Keep the bottle.

A2A Fic - Notes from a Sauna (NOTE - contains nudity)

Found in DCI Hunt's diary...

"I've come to the conclusion that my purpose in the Force is to be a drop-off point for every headcase copper there is. I've been saddled with Team Div for so long I'm sure I came out of the womb with them. Sam was such a finicky, picky, pedantic pain in this arse (god rest his irritating soul). And don't even START me on DI Drake (god bless her delightful derriere). The one person I thought I would be able to rely on was my immediate superior, Det Sup Mackintosh. Supermac is a legend at Fenchurch East CID. A good, no-nonsense copper with his priorities in the right place. He's all about keeping the streets safe for your mam, your auntie, your kids and (god help you) your missus. He's forever reassuring people that he's 'square' and 'on the level'. I always took that as a given. After all, they don't give out Det Supt badges in lucky bags no more than they do DCI ones. I worked well with Mac. I say worked, because after the day I've just had I can't see me working with him much longer.

"Join me for a sauna!" he said. Well, that should've set alarm bells ringing from the off, but Drake has being going on for ages about there being more to Mac than met the eye. She has a habit for knowing how folk tick, so I thought this would be a good chance to see what she was on about, and hopefully to prove her wrong. After all, saunas over here aren't like the ones in the films, are they? They're just like going to the swimming baths, right?

Wrong. So very very wrong. If it was the case, nobody told Mac. He sat there, bold as brass with his wedding tackle hanging out all over the place. I took the option of keeping my towel on, mainly to keep my lighter from clattering on the floor, but to also spare his feelings - if I'm having anyone from work catching sight of the Genitals Hunt, I know who I'd choose and it isn't my bloody boss.

I did my best to avoid looking at my superior's crotch staring anywhere but at him. I managed to to fix my gaze just above his head. I stared with concentration there as he wittered on about handshakes, clubs and brotherhoods. When he got up to sit next to me, I was quite relieved - I could stare straight ahead without any risk of clapping eyes on his meat and two veg.

He started going on about superglue - bonding. Made me think of Sam and how he described me that time as being an overweight, over-the-hill wotsit with an obsession with male bonding. If he could see me now he'd laugh his ironed socks off. Sitting in a steamy windowless room with a naked man who appeared to be more than obsessed with male bonding. But that's how Mac is. One of 'them'. Not a puff, well, not according to PC Irvine's widow. A freemason, one of the funny handshake brigade. And as he waddled out of the sauna, leaving me in peace to smoke my soggy ciggie, I realised that if I was going to get to the bottom of whatever the bloody hell's going on at this station, I'm going to have to become one too. To quote The Duke, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." I just hope Bolly understands."

A2A Fic - Episode 7.5 - Part One.

Another attempt at Ashes to Ashes fanfic, this time exploring what happened between episode 7 and episode 8.

Episode 7.5

Gene Hunt paused between scribbling numbers on the edge of his Daily Mirror. Any onlookers would have thought he was studying the form, trying to find the best tip for the day's racing. He was, in fact, calculating whether it was going to be possible to take early retirement, whether he could manage on his savings for a few years. Maybe he could get a job on the telly after his barnstorming success on Police 5. Gene Hunt was, for the first time, worrying about his future. Policing as he knew it was fading out of existence and being replaced with red tape and politics.

He looked at his watch. The Chief Super said he'd be there dead on eleven. It was eight minutes past. He'd assume traffic was bad but he only had to cross the bloody road. He reached for his hip flask and poured a generous measure of single malt into his black coffee, stirred, and took a long satisfying sip.

"So sorry I'm late DCI Hunt" the Chief Super seemed to have appeared from nowhere. "I would have been here on time were it not for dozens of officers stopping me to ask when their Guv was coming back."

"No problem, Sir. I'm not going anywhere."

"How was Bognor?"

"I didn't go to Bognor, Sir. I stayed here and watched my team solve the Hollis case." Gene wanted to explain how his instinct was right all along, and if he could have just been left alone he could have solved it considerably earlier and without almost killing a fellow officer.

"Yes, Hollis. Quite a to-do, that. Your instincts were spot on."

"I know."

"Well, the powers have be have spoken and they have decided to lift the suspension."

Gene felt a weight of anxiety lift from his shoulders. He felt elated, euphoric even. He felt as though he wanted to jump on his chair and cheer, dance around the bar, kiss Luigi square on his little bald head. The Gene Genie lives to fight another day, thank God. He was as high as a kite, but managed to contain his joy behind a tight-lipped pout.

"Thank you, Sir."

"There's just something I'd like to say to you, off the record, Gene."

That was the first time the Super had used his first name. He was actually quite surprised he knew it despite it being displayed proudly on his office door.

"You're held in very high regard. Up in GMP you're thought of in almost messianic terms. I admire your policing skills myself, even if they are often unorthodox."

"Thank you, Sir."

Gene silently cursed himself for sounding like a simpering schoolkid.

"But policing's changing."

"You're telling me, Sir."

"And as sure that you may be that you can find evidence to back up your instincts, you mustn't, mustn't make that known. Keep your cards closer to your chest, DCI Hunt. Because anything you say..."

"Yes, I know how it goes, Sir."

"So, care to accompany me back across the road?"

"Yes. Yes, I would." He called across to his gracious host. "Luigi! I go now. Back to work."

"Ah, good one, Senor. Well done."

Gene stopped and leaned across the bar. "Make sure you've got plenty chilled for tonight, I'm coming back to drink this place dry."

"Si, Senor."

A2A Fanfic - Black Dog

*Yes, fanfic. It had to happen eventually, enjoy this little attempt at blending my favourite flavours of squee here*

Black Dog

DISCLAIMER - I don't own the rights to Ashes to Ashes or Led Zeppelin. Damn shame but there you are.

"Wot are we looking for again, Guv?" Chris asked as the Quattro pulled up outside the store.

"For the fourth and final time, Christopher, a possible bloody weapon!"

"But we found a gun, it's been sent off to forensics already."

"Well DI Bolly Knickers 'ere thinks there's more to it than that."

Alex snapped out of her daydream on the mention of her name. She didn't recall speaking to Gene about this case, or being involved at all.

"Isn't that right, Bolly? Or were you too 'draked' to remember?"

Gene was chuffed with himself the night he coined the term 'draked'. He decided that in his universe, it was to be the new word for drunk, pissed, sozzled, incoherant and talking bloody nonsense. And when his esteemed lady colleague gave him a good enough excuse to return to the Black Dog Music store, he was more than happy to follow up on her bizarre hunch that the armed robbery that took place there a week ago could have had more to it than met the eye.

"Right", said the DCI as the team entered the derelict store, "You lot search down here, I'll check upstairs."

The Guv knew exactly what was upstairs. It had been calling to him since they first searched the place. Second floor was the guitar floor. Rack upon rack of six-string beauties. Took him back to the days at school when he'd rock out with Page and Townshend and Hendrix. He convinced his mum to let him have lessons, but his attention span saw him through just the basics. He wanted to know if he could still get a sound out of one of these beautiful instruments. He looked around to make sure none of the team followed him up.

"Bloody idiot" he muttered to himself, "Why didn't I just come on my own?"

He felt his heartbeat speed up as he ran his fingers along the neck of a Gibson SG. He picked it up and cradled it gently as if it was made of porcelain. He put the strap over his shoulder and fumbled in his overcoat pocket for the one pick he still had from his youth - the one he found on the floor of The Railway Arms after some dodgy pub rock outfit ruined his night with their massacre of Dark Side of The Moon. He chuckled to himself as he plucked at the string, remembering how he tried to do the tuneless bastards for wasting police time.

As he familiarised himself with the basic chords, he noticed a dark box in the corner of the room. An amp. A Marshall amp to be precise, already plugged in to the wall, with a lead hanging suggestively, inviting him to plug in and rock out, just like he used to.

He picked the lead up, it buzzed gently between his fingers. Pausing only briefly to consider the consquences of being caught by his colleagues, he plugged it in. With the strike of one palm-muted chord, the SG came to life.

Under his breath, he sang "Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move. Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove." His left hand danced up and down the neck of the SG, as his right quickly picked at the strings. He paused, astounded by how much he could remember.

"Ah, ah, child, way you shake that thing, Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting."

Gene was off in his own world now, in front of an audience of screaming fans, open bottle of Jack Daniels at the side of the amp, squeezing every ounce of emotion and sex out of that guitar.

Meanwhile, downstairs, DI Drake was intrigued by the noises. "Can anyone else hear that?" Ray had gone back outside and Chris was absorbed by the electronic noises playing in his head through his swanky Sony Walkman. She followed the noise up the stairs to the first floor. The small room on the first floor was where would-be child rock stars were dragged to by their parents to buy recorders, violins and sheet music of the very basic nursery rhymes. She spotted a bow on the floor, and remembering the nights she'd torture her parents with her violin covers of popular TV themes, she picked it up. The music was getting louder. And more familiar... "Led Zeppelin??"

She entered the room on the second floor just in time to see her sweaty DCI fall to his knees, in the midst of a mind-blowing solo. She thought of calling up the others, or getting his attention, but frankly the sight of Gene wailing away on the guitar, hair soaked with sweat, his white shirt drenched and sticking to his skin... it was rather pleasant. The facial contortions, caught up in the passion of the tune he was playing really rather well, were nothing short of sexual. She stood quietly in the doorway and drank in the delightful vision. That lardy fascist could, and often did, give her the right 'orn.

He reached the last long, lingering note, on his knees, triumphantly punching the air, he noticed he wasn't alone. "Bloody 'ell fire! 'Ow long 'ave you been 'ere?"

"Oh, not nearly long enough, Guv." She handed him the bow. "Dazed and Confused next?"