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

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[manc_sheriff]

The desk is a-mess with files. They have two buglary cases and one missing person's report. All in all, a slow week compared to others, but the paperwork more than makes up for it. Gene hates paperwork and hates even more that he's spent the day browsing through old case reports without a single answer. Sam keeps bringing them up from the collator's den and plopping them on Gene's desk with that aggravating little smirk of his. He has some hunch that the buglaries are connected and, stupidly, Gene has given him time to prove his theory

[sky_w_diamonds]

At the woman's shout, a door at the far side of the room flings itself open and there stands Gene, cigarette clenched between his lips and a look like thunder on his face. Except then he sees Lucy, and all the thunder disappears in an instant. Her lips stretch in a smile as his gaze quickly flicks over her, and she adjusts her arms, crossing them over her stomach.

'Am I early? My apologies; my... transportation was of rather an unconventional method, shall we say.'

She can feel the looks of the whole room centred on them, and she stands a little straighter, raising an eyebrow at the room in general. 'Manchester's finest, then?' There's a faint undercurrent of sarcasm in her voice, but it's not much. Just amusement at the way the men (and one woman, she notes- a pretty, earnest-looking girl- and surely that's unusual to have a woman police offiver out of uniform in '73) are staring.

[manc_sheriff]

There's a part of him that wants to ask how unconvetional, what it entailed to worldhop, how this faceless, voiceless entity he met through the machine buried in his office actually turned out to be a flesh and blood woman standing in front of him. He doesn't ask, of course. He can't, not when all the eyes belonging to Manchester's finest are glued on them. All but Chris have their attention focused either on him or on Lucy's obviously fine arse.

He purses his lips in dry amusement. 'They are. When they're doing some bloody work.' The last is directed to the gawking idiots of his team

[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

[manc_sheriff]

Shit. Sam always has the best timing

[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

[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

[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