[fic] Open Letter: Gene Hunt
TITLE: Open Letter: Gene Hunt
AUTHOR: Claire M
WORD COUNT: 624
STYLE/WARNINGS:.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: this is in the style of one of those Open Letters in women’s magazines
DISCLAIMER: ]Life On Mars & Ashes To Ashes aren’t mine.
Open Letter: Gene Hunt
I do realise this is rather late, but I got a message saying putting it up was fine; if not, please delete. This letter is not to be taken seriously.
Dear Gene,
I can’t remember what I was doing, but I immediately stopped it, so it can't have been that important.
I saw an imposing-looking man with blonde hair.
”Word in yer shell-like, pal,” he spat.
I jumped out of my skin. The world seemed to switch from black & white to Technicolor.
Wow! I thought. He's gorgeous! Who is he?
“Gene Hunt, your DCI.....”
I’d been 23 then. I was disabled - I used a wheelchair full-time - and unable to work, so I filled my time with other things. I loved rock and blues music, live concerts -- when I was able to get to them -- making cards, fantasy novels.
As I got to know you, you used one word that I used to be called at school that I thought I’d never have to hear again.
Spastic.
By then it was too late. I was in love. You were much older than me - come on, you wore a vest! -- so I didn’t understand some of the expressions you used -- but I didn’t care. I hung on your every word. My eyes lit up whenever I saw you. I was still startled by your loud voice sometimes but got used to it.
When I was fed up or in pain -- as I often was - or when I wondered what the point of all this was - as I frequently did - your one-liners cheered me up, making the pain and spasms melt away. You made me laugh until my eyes watered.
”If I was as worried as you, I’d never fart for fear of shitting myself!”
The respite care places I had to go to -- to give my parents a break from caring for me -- were terrible. One place was particularly bad -- the word "care" in the description was as good as they got.
Worried sick about going there yet again, fear - certainty -- of my future living somewhere like that began to blight my life.
“We can't change this world,” you said. “Only learn how to survive in it.”
When I was there, I’d think of you - driving to the rescue really fast, forcing the door open, livid as you saw the way I was treated……holding me as I cried...
I met loads of people online through you, had your name painted on my nails, even wrote a song about you, Gene Hunt Blues. It was an effort to sing, but I managed.
You’d probably call me a “soppy plonk” if you ever heard me gasp my way through it, so perhaps it's a good thing that you won't!
Far from being upset that loads of women were also in love with you, I was pleased to find some I had a common ground with at last. I found most women hard to get on with -- they just weren’t interested in the things I liked.
The other members became firm friends and will stay that way for life, even though I only knew their user names.
I don’t want to be a soppy git - I know you’d hate that -- but I feel truly blessed to have you in my life.
I luv you Gene Genie.
Luv always,
Claire M xx
AUTHOR: Claire M
WORD COUNT: 624
STYLE/WARNINGS:.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: this is in the style of one of those Open Letters in women’s magazines
DISCLAIMER: ]Life On Mars & Ashes To Ashes aren’t mine.
Open Letter: Gene Hunt
I do realise this is rather late, but I got a message saying putting it up was fine; if not, please delete. This letter is not to be taken seriously.
Dear Gene,
I can’t remember what I was doing, but I immediately stopped it, so it can't have been that important.
I saw an imposing-looking man with blonde hair.
”Word in yer shell-like, pal,” he spat.
I jumped out of my skin. The world seemed to switch from black & white to Technicolor.
Wow! I thought. He's gorgeous! Who is he?
“Gene Hunt, your DCI.....”
I’d been 23 then. I was disabled - I used a wheelchair full-time - and unable to work, so I filled my time with other things. I loved rock and blues music, live concerts -- when I was able to get to them -- making cards, fantasy novels.
As I got to know you, you used one word that I used to be called at school that I thought I’d never have to hear again.
Spastic.
By then it was too late. I was in love. You were much older than me - come on, you wore a vest! -- so I didn’t understand some of the expressions you used -- but I didn’t care. I hung on your every word. My eyes lit up whenever I saw you. I was still startled by your loud voice sometimes but got used to it.
When I was fed up or in pain -- as I often was - or when I wondered what the point of all this was - as I frequently did - your one-liners cheered me up, making the pain and spasms melt away. You made me laugh until my eyes watered.
”If I was as worried as you, I’d never fart for fear of shitting myself!”
The respite care places I had to go to -- to give my parents a break from caring for me -- were terrible. One place was particularly bad -- the word "care" in the description was as good as they got.
Worried sick about going there yet again, fear - certainty -- of my future living somewhere like that began to blight my life.
“We can't change this world,” you said. “Only learn how to survive in it.”
When I was there, I’d think of you - driving to the rescue really fast, forcing the door open, livid as you saw the way I was treated……holding me as I cried...
I met loads of people online through you, had your name painted on my nails, even wrote a song about you, Gene Hunt Blues. It was an effort to sing, but I managed.
You’d probably call me a “soppy plonk” if you ever heard me gasp my way through it, so perhaps it's a good thing that you won't!
Far from being upset that loads of women were also in love with you, I was pleased to find some I had a common ground with at last. I found most women hard to get on with -- they just weren’t interested in the things I liked.
The other members became firm friends and will stay that way for life, even though I only knew their user names.
I don’t want to be a soppy git - I know you’d hate that -- but I feel truly blessed to have you in my life.
I luv you Gene Genie.
Luv always,
Claire M xx