Dinner and Dancing- rl with Gene Hunt

[sky_w_diamonds]

Hmm, now that had been interesting.  If perhaps not exactly what she'd expected; the swirling glitter and snow had been a bit Disney-movie, to be frank, but she's here now, and that's what matters.  Or at least she assumes she is.  She is, in fact, in a lavatory- a men's lavatory, to be precise, which gives no clue as to where or when it might be

Comments

[sky_w_diamonds]

'Your case?' She almost echoes, but holds herself back. She did come looking for him, after all, and certainly the rest of the men here have no way of knowing where she's really from. Of course he'd need an excuse for expecting her presence. It also crosses her mind that perhaps he's married; indeed, it would likely be unusual for him not to be, a forty-something man in 1973. In which case, he doesn't want it to look like he's brought his bit-on-the-side into the office. Not, of course, that Lucy would ever refer to herself herself as anything quite so undignified as that, but she doubts these men (and the attention focussed unashamedly on either her tits, her arse, or both) have any such reservations.

She inclines her head slightly, and is about to follow the jerk of Gene's head into his office, when she's interrupted by the sound of a door swinging open and shut. She cocks her head in a habitual motion, and finds herself absolutely arrested; the man who's just entered the room is a mirror image of Harry. His carriage is nothing even approaching the same, and the winged collar and flared trousers are something Harry wouldn't be caught dead in, but it doesn't change the fact that physically, he's identical. Her lips part around a faint exhalation of shock.

The man- Sam Tyler, she knows him to be- is carrying a pile of old papers in his arms, and he's wearing something between a smirk and a stressed creasing of the brow. Ignoring Lucy and Gene entirely, he goes to sit at a desk and immediately begins poring over one of the documents, biting his lip. Lucy can't help herself; this is too surreal.

'Sam Tyler,' she drawls.

Sam looks up blankly, registering her presence for apparently the first time. His brow furrows, and his eyes slide over to Gene for a moment, as if asking him who exactly this woman is.

'Sorry, do I know you?' Oh, and that is strange, to hear Harry's voice- for it is his- speaking with a Mancunian accent. There's a certain novelty to it. She flashes him a cool smile.

'No, but I assure you, it's a great pleasure to meet you.'

He blinks for a moment. 'Same, I'm sure. But I am a bit busy at the moment...'

'Of course,' she cuts in smoothly, and turns to brush past Gene into his office.

[manc_sheriff]

Shit. Sam always has the best timing.

Lucy's mouth parts and Gene can almost pinpoint the moment when the dots connect. Of course she would be startled; her ex-hubby is the spitting image of him. Gene doesn't like that, the way she looks at his DI. He hates Saxon with more rage and fury than he can stand. It would blind him if he let himself think of it for too long. Sam isn't like him. He's nothing like him, apart from similar features, and Gene won't stand for recognition of it on any level.

Sam, of course, is oblivious. Gene can't tell what his expression is when Sam meets his eyes, only that it doesn't seem to answer any questions Sam has about who Lucy is or why she's here. And they won't be answered, if Gene can help it. He wants to keep them as far apart as possible.

Leaving Lucy to sit in his office alone for a moment, he takes a step closer to Sam's desk, hesitating for a moment before opening his mouth. 'This'll take some time.' His voice is pitched as to only be audible to Sam. 'So you're in charge. Get Chris and Ray and make sure we're actually covering ground instead of spinning our wheels.'

Sam looks about ready to disagree but Gene doesn't give him the time. Turning on his heels, he follows Lucy into his office and kicks the door shut behind him. The silence suddenly feels deafening without the other boys to distract him from it. He has no idea what to say to Lucy now that they're alone.

'Would have tidied up if I knew you were going to show up here,' he says, just to fill the gap. The sarcasm is betrayed by the fact that he actually clears off some of the scrap papers and sandwich wrappers off his desk so it looks a bit neater.

[sky_w_diamonds]

Gene's office is a darker, closer version of the rest of CID, dusty and disorganised, posters up on the walls and files stacked haphazardly with bottles of whiskey or scotch. Lucy takes it in with a raised eyebrow, running a fingertip over a shelf and purses her lips when it comes away dark with dust, then exhales a little laugh to herself at her own actions. She leans back against a filing cabinet, one leg propped up against it, and lazily lets her eyes trawl around the room.

Sam Tyler, she thinks. Now that was strange, meeting him. She might have known she would, coming here to Gene's time, but it had taken her by surprise nonetheless, seeing him walk in like that. It would be an interesting thing to explore, if she had the time, how Sam Tyler and Harry ended up wearing the same body. Not exactly the sort of thing that happened all the time, after all. Still though, she hadn't been lying when she'd told Harry that she had no interest in Sam. No, this is about Gene- almost equally interesting, though of course in rather a different way.

Speaking of, she smiles when Gene enters, kicking the door shut behind him. His sudden awkwardness amuses her. Gene Hunt, she fully expects, is a man of action, not well suited to polite small talk, and certainly not with someone as upper class as Lucy; he'd said himself, she'd be the first 'posh bird.' Whatever that meant.

Her smile turns into something more like a smirk when he starts clearing off his desk, and she shoulders herself off the cabinet, going over to seat herself instead on the edge of the desk, effectively stopping any further clearing on Gene's part.

'There's no need to try and impress, you know,' she says. 'My office is hardly any better.'

That's a damn lie, of course, but manners never hurt.

[manc_sheriff]

Her voice catches him mid-movement, the file halted in its current position, half-skewed in the centre of the desk. The chair creaks as Gene shifts his weight back, eyes trailing blatantly over Lucy's legs, displayed as they are on the corner of his desk. Her skirt's risen up, showing off a lovely curved strip of muscle thigh leading into a bent knee and then those boots. He doesn't know how someone manages to have attractive knees but Lucy does.

She has great pins in general.

He lifts his eyes to her face, eyebrows partially elevated as if to say, I'm not the only one trying to impress.

'Last I heard Downing Street wasn't known for its clutter. Your office must have stood out.'

[sky_w_diamonds]

Lucy's inordinately pleased that Gene knows exactly what she's playing at. It's satisfying, in a weird way, and she lifts her eyebrows in a mirror of his. Of course, it doesn't stop him admiring the view, but she'd expect no less of a man like Gene Hunt. Or at least, the sort of man she's gathered him to be from the few times they've talked.

She waves away his comment with a little laugh. 'You think I had an office at Number 10? Oh no. Just the PM's wife, after all; no need for me to have an office.' Her voice carries the slightest delicate edge of derision. And who can blame her, after all? She was perfectly capable of being more than the trophy wife to stand at Harold Saxon's side, if anybody had cared to see as much.

Not that this is the time for bitterness about that, and she shifts those thoughts to one side, returning her attention to Gene.

'I work for a publishing company. That was the office I was referring to.'

[manc_sheriff]

There is a note of scorn in Lucy's voice, though he can't tell if it's directed to Saxon or the situation itself. He meant it as a joke that she would have an office but the fact that she didn't -- and that she thinks herself capable of having one, wanted one -- keeps him from correcting her. That's not his world, and what's more, he doesn't have the bollocks to try to explain that birds in office is a bizarre-o concept.

She's quick, Lucy. He doubts she'd let him live it down and he doesn't want that, not when she came all this way. He stays quiet as she shifts the conversation to something else. Publishing, apparently.

Also a bizarre-o concept.

'What, like books and stuff?' He digs a fag from the packet in his pocket and offers her one. 'Answering phones and fetching tea?'

He can't see her doing that anymore than he can see her holding meetings and sitting in on the House of Lords. Then again, he couldn't picture her here, on his desk, decked to the nines for dancing. Full of surprises, she is, and Gene likes that about her.

[sky_w_diamonds]

'A secretary?' Her voice drips sarcasm, and one eyebrow arches high. The idea of her, the daughter of Lord Cole of Tarminster, as some meek little desk mouse, delivering memos and making coffee and tea, answering the phone in some horribly pleasant, public relations voice- it'd be laughable if she wasn't quite so offended.

Except, she has to remind herself, this is 1973. 1973 in working class Manchester, no less. Not exactly the era of feminism or women's rights. She supposes, then, that Gene can be forgiven on that count. But not, however, in that he should think her content to sit behind a desk and run errands for a load of men in suits. That she will not stand for, no matter what the social mores of this era.

The look she gives him is more than a little cold. 'An editor, actually.'

[manc_sheriff]

Her look could freeze ice. Gene does his best not to fidget under it but the chair still swivels and he puffs away at the cigarette a bit more than needed to pull nicotine into a blood. The smoke drifts out the corner of his mouth. With a little grunt, he taps the ash into the tray on the desk, watching her below his brow almost apologetically.

'Didn't strike me as the type to go around kissing arse and typing letters.' It's true -- she didn't. She still doesn't. He hopes that acknowledgement suffices. The stare has got to go. Ice crystals have started to form in his veins. 'Seem more the type to ignore the arse all together until you stick a claw in it.'

A smirk tugs at his lips as he remembers the warning he gave him during their very first conversation.

[sky_w_diamonds]

Although it's not precisely an apology, it's quite clear that that's what it is, and sincere, too. Lucy could always tell a liar, and whatever else he may be, Gene Hunt isn't lying now. Just a product of an unforgivably backwards era. Well, that's something Lucy can do something about, anyway, and which she plans to, if the man's ideas of women's capabilities mostly involve running errands and making tea.

She appreciates the acknowledgment, though, and her expression softens.

At the comment about claws, it even goes so far as to turn into a little smirk, flashing a hint of teeth on one side of her mouth, and she curls one hand into a claw. She remembers what she'd said to Gene when they'd first spoken- you have only yourself to blame if you end up getting... scratched. It seems Gene remembers it too, and Lucy appreciates that as well.

'I'm quite amiable, actually,' she says, meeting Gene's eyes mildly, 'unless I'm given a reason not to be.'

[manc_sheriff]

The fake claw pulls a chuckle from Gene, rumbling deep in his chest. There's something about Lucy -- sitting on his desk, looking both prim yet dangerous, curling her fingers at him in a way that could be mocking or could be playful and is probably both -- he enjoys it. He doesn't know what to make of it other than to know that Lucy is very different from most people he has ever met. Maybe that has something to do with her being from another place and time.

That thought makes this seem far too strange, so he shakes it away, taking another drag from the cigarette as he narrows his eyes at Lucy.

'Just like any other bird, then,' he says as though it's obvious. And it is, because all the women Gene knows act like that one way or another -- they like you up until they don't and there's no sense trying to predict the why or when, but it isn't. Lucy isn't like any other bird and Gene has the feeling she knows that very well.

He stubs out the cigarette, leaving the filter to smoulder in the tray, and begins to shrug on his suit coat. 'So did you want me to find you a mouse to kill now or after? I could do with a kip and a drink myself.'

[sky_w_diamonds]

'Quite,' she murmurs, amused, because it's clear that both of them know that Lucy isn't just like any other bird. She's liking Gene increasingly; he may not be clever or witty in the way she's used to- certainly not the way she is, or Harry is, but he knows what he's about.

She slides off the desk when he stubs out his cigarette, tugging her skirt down as she does so; it really is very short. Though of course, the way Gene was admiring her legs earlier more than makes up for any inconvenience it may give her. Lucy likes being looked at. She wasn't for so many years that it has a particular novelty to it now. Gene, she has a feeling, will more than provide in that arena.

She grins outright when Gene speaks, and slips on her own jacket. 'Oh, I don't know.' She gives him a faux-haughty look. 'I rather think I may have found my mouse for the evening.'

[manc_sheriff]

'Going to eat me, are you.' He stands directly in front of her, camel coat in hand, chin tucked in order to see her face. 'Sort of a big bite.'

Gene snorts softly, watching her for a moment. He feels on edge, senses piqued and prepared for any sudden movements. Her challenges aren't direct but they are challenges none the less. Coming from a little slip of a woman. He wonders briefly what it is exactly he's getting himself into.

It's not something he has any intention of backing out of, now that's she here. He promised her dancing and if he gets his pint and meal first, he plans to follow it through. He hasn't had a night on the town in a good while.

Stepping away from Lucy, he shrugs on the coat, then wiggles his fingers into his driving gloves before palming the keys from his desk. He lifts his eyebrows at her expectantly, letting her walk before him out the door.

[sky_w_diamonds]

'I've got sharp teeth,' she says in answer, one elegant brushstroke of an eyebrow lifting. Gene's eyes aren't exactly narrowed at her, but they're wary, expectant, as if he doesn't quite know what to make of her; knows there's something there, but finds himself unable to place what. And oh, Lucy likes that. Her grin is wide and feline, and she takes Gene's cue to step out of the office, inclining her head a little, demurely, like a proper lady acknowledging a gentleman. It's an entertaining facade to keep up.

Stepping out of CID, she lets Gene take the lead, falling into step beside him. After all, she has no idea where it is she's going. Before they leave the office, though, Lucy feels a quick pinch to her arse, and she whirls around, furious. That she will not stand for, no matter whether these men are working class gits with all the intelligence of a cockroach. A few look down to their desks, doing a poor job of concealing their sniggers, and one- a greasy looking man with a moustache and mean little eyes, gives her a smirk, his eyes sliding shamelessly back down.

'Like a pair of ripe peaches, that,' he drawls, all lecherous appreciation. 'Can't blame me, love.'

'Actually,' Lucy's voice is positively venomous, and the man blinks at her, clearly not expecting that, 'I can. And I would thank you not to lay hands on me again.'

He snorts and widens his eyes in mock fear, turning away to mutter 'Bloody posh birds. Needs a good one up the cadbury's, that's all.'

'I beg your pardon?' The man turns, every intention of another lewd comment written on his face, and Lucy watches with great satisfaction as he all but literally freezes under the force of her glare. Her nostrils flare. 'I would be careful, if I were you,' she says quietly, and then pivots sharply on her heel to leave the room. The man stares after her, looking quite utterly lost.

'Hmph,' she fumes, tugging her skirt back down and looking over to Gene. 'A fine team you've assembled, I see.'

[manc_sheriff]

The half-mocking 'ooh's that follow Lucy out the door drift off shortly, and through the blinds he can see Ray sitting on a desk talking to a gathered group of men. Chris sports a loony, idiot grin on his face. Gene almost misses not being able to hear Ray's spin on it -- good entertainment, that, even if they disagree about women to certain degrees -- but he's the one walking out the door with the girl, so it evens out in the end.

He honestly can't see what's got Lucy worked up, because Ray's just being Ray after all, and if you walk into an office filled with sweaty, bored coppers wearing silky knickers, you've got to expect a certain amount of that sort of thing. But she obviously takes offense on some level, and despite the fact that he'll never understand women and never wants to try, he knows he should say something. At the very least correct her assumption of his team.

'We don't give out badges for the ability to pull birds,' he says noncommitally, pushing through the exit doors and out into the sunlight.

It's fading now, sun sinking low on the horizon. It's still earlier than he usually kicks off but he has a guest and he's starving. Unlocking the Cortina, he drops into the seat and guns the engine. The radio starts playing something by The Sweet. He leans his shoulder out the window, glancing up at Lucy.

'That pinch permenantly hurt your arse or did you plan to walk along side all the way to the pub?'

[sky_w_diamonds]

'Clearly,' she mutters under her breath. Do the women in the station have to put up with that all the time? Christ. Lucy enjoys the stares and admiration of men as much as anybody, but being pinched and groped all day long, and by men like that, to boot... ugh. She suddenly has a renewed appreciation for the time she does live in. There is something to be said for being a child of the nineties.

If anything, it's even more 1973 outside than it was inside, and Lucy gives herself a moment to take the scene in, before following Gene down the stairs to the long, bronze-painted car parked along the kerb. She doesn't exactly know much of anything about cars, but regards it nonetheless with an impressed raise of the brows, her lips curled into a little smile. It is, to put it succinctly, a hot car. She runs a few delicate fingertips over the paintwork as she slides into the opposite seat, smoothly crossing her legs. The engine purrs smoothly beneath her.

'Hardly. I've no idea where anything is, for one. For another--' she gives Gene a sly little look-- 'miss riding in a car like this? I don't think so.'

[manc_sheriff]

Gene lofts his eyebrows off Lucy's comment. If she likes his car, he might as well show her a thing or two of what it can do. Skidding the tyres, he tosses his arm behind Lucy's head, cranks the wheel, and peels away from the kerb.

The radio fills the gaps in conversation as he drives them to a cafe. It's higher end than pub food but still average sustinence. He remembers Lucy turned down his assumption that she might want something of fancy place. That suits him just fine, frankly. A pint and a meal with no ribbons or bows is exactly what he likes.

The corner restaurant appears after a few moments. Gene parks the car in an empty spot along the kerb. Cutting the engine, he drops his hands from the wheel, nodding his chin towards the building.

'Good place for a bite.'