Fic - "Mrs Hunt" - Life on Mars/Doctor Who - Donna/Gene
Title: "Mrs Hunt"
Author: radiotardislive
Fandom: Life on Mars/Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Pairing: Donna/Gene (Yes! It actually works! And there's a community to prove it!)
Spoilers: Slight S2 Ep 7 of Life on Mars, if you squint, as well as ep 4 (?) from S1. Very, very slight. See if you can spot them :D
Summary: Mrs Hunt receives a call from Gene one night, to inform her that he'll be spending the night in the cells. Furious, she proceeds to vent her frustartion through some serious cleaning. Reflecting on her life since she got trapped in this strange world, she decides that perhaps Gene's not so bad after all.
A/N: Agh, scared about posting this, but who cares :D Courage.
xx
Mrs Hunt hung the phone up with an angry snap, frowning to herself. “A spot of bother,” he’d called it, which he had got involved in, and had to spend the night in the cells at Manchester CID as a result, but she was not to worry. She sniffed. She knew Gene’s idea of “a spot of bother”, and she had a good idea that it was a lot worse than he was letting on. A night in the cells? She only hoped it was just an accident involving drink and that he hadn’t really hurt someone this time.
Thinking about it, it was about time that he actually was reprimanded for his behaviour. Sometimes she didn’t know how she put up with him, with her great chain smoking, alcoholic, swearing, obnoxious, proud and egotistical lump of a husband. It was only by chance that he hadn’t been locked up previously for his drunken antics and rude remarks.
She decided to vent her frustration on the house as she clattered about, pushing the hoover up and down and cleaning up, reminiscing about Gene and the previous messes he had managed to get into. Not so long ago, she had spent the entire night up with him as he recovered from the gargantuan amount of alcohol he had consumed, supposedly in order to keep his undercover identity more reliable (or so he claimed).
She had brushed what little hair he had out of his face as he vomited into the bowl of the toilet for hours on end, and then hadn’t complained when, as soon as he was finished, without even a word of thanks, he had collapsed onto the floor of the bathroom and was snoring within a few seconds.
Then there was the time that he had rung her from his office at CID to ask her to come and rescue him. When she arrived, it appeared that an office party had got out of hand and his officers had attached him to a pair of handcuffs and had locked him to his filing cabinet.
Agreeing with him as he praised her and called her every precious name under the sun, instead of the customary “love”, with pursed lips she located the key at the bottom of the waste paper bin and unlocked him, receiving for her trouble a large kiss planted firmly on her lips.
She paused in her violent dusting and considered for a moment. So he wasn’t all bad. Yes, he was rude and loud, but he was also surprisingly gentlemanly, especially to her. Her eyes alighted upon the wedding photo on the mantelpiece, which she picked up tenderly and gazed upon proudly. He had been so gentle with her, when he proposed; his brusque manner had completely disappeared, and on their wedding day itself, he had only been rude once.
She smiled as she looked at the tight clutch he had on her waist. She remembered how he had always said how lucky he felt to have her; to have someone kind, funny, beautiful and clever that actually loved him. She never told him (well, she did, actually, once, whilst she was drunk on their honeymoon), but she felt lucky to have him herself. Back then he had had a thicker head of blondish hair on his head, but he still had his wide shoulders, and his height, his strong arms and hands, and most importantly, he still had those blue eyes of his, which could be hard and cruel, yet more often than not softened to bright, dancing gems as he laughed or smiled, the skin around them crinkling with pleasure. Oh, she could make him laugh. She always could.
She looked at the more youthful Gene with pride, then glanced up at the certificate that hung above it, which Gene was given when he was awarded his post as Detective Chief Inspector at Manchester CID. A smug smile slipped onto her face. Mrs DCI Gene Hunt. She hadn’t been quite able to believe it when she’d first received that name. She remembered the happiness though, of all of Gene’s colleagues, that their “guv” had managed to find himself a missus, and she had been so pleased to be accepted by them all.
Everyone had been at the wedding, half of Manchester (or so it felt like) turning out to see the sheriff of the city get hitched to the new girl in town. Everyone had been there, except the one person she really wanted to be. However, he had vanished years ago, the skinny streak of Doctor who had accidentally left her behind, out of her time.
She had been terrified when she discovered that he had gone, without her, but luckily it was at that moment that she had, quite literally, bumped into Gene Hunt, as she aimlessly ran through the streets of Manchester, and he had taken her under his wing and looked after her, chivalry itself. She didn’t know what she would have done without him, the man she laughed, cried and shouted with, whose slanted grin, foul temper and quick tongue that only she could match, she had fallen in love with in the strange world she found herself in.
She set the photo frame down again gently and dusted it off, before the phone rang again. She tossed her long red hair, as she jolted out of her reverie and sighed. It was probably that nice DI of his, ringing to reassure her. She picked up the phone, prepared to defend her man against anything.
“Donna Hunt?” she answered.
A/N This is my first fic for this pairing, so I hope it's ok - I wrote it over the summer, as soon as I discovered the wonderful community for Donna and Gene. Please review, constructive crit is welcome, and I hope you liked it!