this means nothing to me... [locked]

[wagglingfingers]

Alex spends entirely too long in front of her wardrobe (not that there's much in it) trying to decide what to wear to meet Gene - till she realises that she's mad for wasting time like this. He's a construct, and even if he weren't, she still ought to be ashamed of herself. And it's hardly as if Gene cares about what she's wearing unless it's a)

Comments

[lionofmanc]

Gene's been at his desk, papers and reports scattered about, a battered leather-bound journal open and set to one side. There are a few maps of Chicago tacked to the walls -- one's got all the locations of CLF attacks marked with pins, and another's got notes stuck to it describing locations of interest. There are also various news clippings posted -- 'PROTEST TURNS VIOLENT: TRAGEDY RESULTS', reads one headline, while another reads 'INCREASE IN UNIDENTIFIED BODIES' -- and the obituaries of what few people count as citizens in the eyes of Chicago at large

[wagglingfingers]

This isn't how Alex imagined it. Maybe it's because he doesn't know her - so there's no use in shouting at him for shooting her like she'd wanted, not even for the purpose of catharsis. But if that's gone, so is the respect she's fought to earn from him, the sense of camaraderie they'd developed while unravelling the corruption in the Met. There's not even a single lewd remark, and that had practically been the first thing she'd heard out of his mouth last time.

She suddenly feels helplessly alone and adrift - Gene was the one constant she'd been hoping for, the one thing that even felt real in 1982. And now he doesn't know her. She can't fall back into her role as part of his team, because it doesn't exist. There's no verbal sparring, no arguing over who's right, no sneaking around to obtain evidence. She's not sure what she's doing.

Alex tips her chin up in that stubborn way she has as she slips past Gene, sitting in the chair and crossing her legs. "I thought you knew me," she admits, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Her tone

[lionofmanc]

Gene moves back to his desk, taking his seat and watching her. She's got something stuck up her arse, and wedged in there good and tight unless he misses his guess, but that's about as much use to him as a subscription to Juggs is to Helen Keller.

"Right. Under other circumstances, DI Drake, I'd be making some very serious inquiries as to what crawled up your jacksie and died there, but seeing as how Tyler tells me I'll 'ave gone and shot you in some future or another, I might as well be generous. I'm a bit curious as to why I'd be shooting up some bird that will 'ave been going to work for me, and what about me attracts mad DIs from the future, but if there's any one thing I've picked up in this lovely shithole of a future, it's that some things I'm best not knowing." He flips the journal on his desk shut, clasps his hands together, and looks her over

[wagglingfingers]

Alex? A stick up her arse? The words have never been used to describe her before, honestly.

She narrows her eyes at the mention of Gene shooting her. "He shouldn't have mentioned that," she says, more to herself than to Gene. "It was an accident." Well, she's pretty sure it was an accident, all threats to do just that aside. But she's going to have words with Sam over that later, thanks. There's this thing called tact that Alex has heard about - only heard, mind you, but she's pretty sure that it doesn't involve telling people that they've shot you.

(This, of course, completely ignores the fact that Alex came here wanting to shout at him for it - and everything else that happened - herself, but she can't really blame him for something he hasn't done yet. Also, yes, Alex is irrational.)

"I heard about that," she muses. "The turning into things bit, I mean. A chipmunk, was it?" Yes, this is Alex poking the lion with a stick, but, seriously, you can't expect her to not mention it. She bites her lower lip, trying not to start giggling