FIC: Five Shirts (2/5): GREEN, by rebelxxwaltz, Blue Cortina
Title: Five Shirts (2/5): Green
Author: rebelxxwaltz
Rating: I guess this installment is Blue Cortina, with the overall collection, as mentioned, rated at Brown Cortina.
Notes: Number two in a collection of stand-alone stories based around the theme of shirts worn by Gene Hunt. This one is from Annie's POV, and deals with a flashback to some of the events in episode 1x5. Call it AU, call it a 'deleted scene'... whatever floats your boat.
Word Count: 'bout 2,100 for this one. Second longest of the series!
Pairing(s): There's a bit of an Annie/Gene thing happening here. Plus some Sam/Annie. And a sneaky hint of Sam/Gene. Oh my, is that the SS Sam/Annie/Gene I can see out on the far horizon? *smirks mildly*
Summary: Gene's green shirt looms large in Annie's memories of a surprising encounter during the undercover operation at the Trafford Arms.
Special Thanks: to basaltgrrl for creating gorgeous art based on this fic! <3
Five Shirts
Part II: GREEN
~Annie~
WDC Annie Cartwright knew for a fact that she wasn't the only one who couldn't keep her eyes off Gene Hunt whenever he wore that green shirt, and she had the strangest suspicion that he knew it.
On the days when the Guv wore that accursed shirt it seemed as though he'd blown the bravado meter, eaten a bowl of fearlessness for breakfast, and possibly splashed himself with liquid sex at some point before his arrival in the incident room. Women, if there happened to be any about, fell helplessly at his feet. Annie would go determinedly about her business-- both out of a carefully cultivated sense of professionalism and because she didn't want to give Gene the satisfaction of knowing he affected her that way-- but then he'd smirk at her just so as he barked for his tea with five sugars, those outrageous eyes sparkling like seafaring emeralds as the blush rose to her face of its own accord.
Annie blew a strand of hair out of her eye as she leaned over her paperwork. It really was frustrating.
Even Sam was not immune to Gene's charms on such days. Annie hadn't become a detective for nothing, and she trusted her observations. If it weren't for the fact that she had found out (in due time, after their fifth date and numerous times since) first hand how skilled and… enthusiastic Sam was when it came to pleasing a woman? Well, she might have wondered a bit more about the way his eyes fixed onto Gene with rapt attention, darting around and across the DCI's face as if Sam was resolutely determined not to stare. Just as determined as Gene seemed at times to trap the younger man in his gaze like a snake charmer.
All these elements combined in Annie's mind's eye-- Gene, Sam, the green shirt, and the case file that currently lay open on her desk-- had her thinking back to a night that seemed so long ago. The file was for Malcolm Cox, the very same insolent and lecherous wannabe hard man who had shamelessly groped her during the one-night-only undercover shift in the Trafford Arms. Cox was up on charges including GBH and incitement, crimes apparently committed during a pitch invasion at the tail end of the latest Manchester derby. Throwing down her pen, Annie thanked her lucky stars that Sam and the beguilingly green-shirted Gene were out on a shout and Ray and Chris were busy with interviews. Perhaps if she allowed herself a few minutes of daydreaming it would clear the cobwebs and allow her to focus on the task at hand. Annie let her mind drift back to that night, just over a year ago…
~/~/~/~/~
She had jumped at the chance to join an undercover operation; it sounded so much more like 'real' police work than the tiresome duties she performed in her slightly itchy uniform on a daily basis, even if she was only chosen because she could pull a pint and her tits looked good in a tight blouse. It made her nervous, being close to DI Tyler and under the direct scrutiny of the Guv, and sharing such close quarters with the two of them during their practice run at the Railway Arms hadn't necessarily helped matters. There had been reaching across. There had been an almost gratuitous amount of brushing past in tight spaces, which seemed to verge on the deliberate at times. And yes, she and Sam had even engaged in the stereotypical fumbling of fingers while grabbing for the same pint glass. All of these combined with instances of both men leaning down and speaking close to her ear in order to be heard properly saw to it that Annie returned to her flat that night more hot and bothered than a trip to the pub had ever, ever warranted before.
The next night in the Trafford Arms was tense from the word 'go,' but Annie gathered her courage and played the role to the best of her ability. In point of fact, she was probably the most convincing pub employee out of the three of them; Gene was too direct by nature and too belligerent in practice to be effective undercover, while Sam was just… well, Sam. She was so convincing, in fact, that some of the patrons saw fit to take liberties. Most were just being fresh, and were easily dealt with using not much more than a sharp word and a disapproving glance. Others, such as the self-styled thug they called 'Coxy', were a fair sight more persistent.
Sam was occupied for a large part of the evening; between his conversations with the locals at the bar and his lengthy disappearance for 'some air,' Annie found herself managing much of the pub's actual custom. Unfortunately that seemed to mean catering to the gang of drunken louts that Gene had so effectively infiltrated. She had no idea how intoxicated her superior officer actually was, but that could be said of half his ordinary workdays from what she had observed. Annie was careful not to register any sign of disapproval when he joined the others in addressing her by offensive and sexist nicknames as they hollered for more beers, reminding herself that the Guv was simply playing a role.
A little more than midway through the evening, things took an interesting turn. It was a particularly messy night as these things go, and Annie had wandered back to the dingy pub kitchen in search of more bar towels. The search was fruitless, both in the kitchen and what she had hoped might be a supply cupboard adjacent to the gents' toilets. Timing was a funny thing, she thought to herself. Especially bad timing-- Malcolm Cox had emerged from the gents' at just the right moment to block Annie's passage toward the bar area, backing her up against the wall with a predatory glint in his eye.
His sudden nearness caused Annie's bravery to falter slightly. She was cornered, and knew it would be disastrous for the operation if she broke their cover now. She frowned as he further disrespected the boundaries of personal space. "Here, let me through."
Cox chuckled, bracing his hands against the wall on either side of her and leaning in. "No. I don't think I want to."
"I've got to get back to work." Swiftly, she ducked under his arm.
She thought she was in the clear, but he grabbed her wrist and tugged her closer. "Now that's no way to treat a new friend is it, love?"
Annie struggled, but his grip was strong and she simply ended up rebounding towards him. "We aren't friends."
Leering in response, Cox stared openly at her breasts. "S'okay. We can get to know each other better…"
Just as Annie was about to give up and utilize her meticulously catalogued policewoman's knowledge of how to subdue a suspect (by kneeing him in the groin for starters, although that wasn't in the handbook), a familiar presence loomed up behind her.
"Oi-- forget about me, sweetcheeks?"
Her assailant's grip slackened, and she felt herself being yanked backward by a strong arm around her waist. She was enveloped by the unmistakable scent of whisky, smoke, and aftershave. Annie leaned the back of her head against Gene's shoulder in relief, at the same time hyperaware of his other hand firmly cradling her hip and playing up the intimate contact so that Cox couldn't possibly miss it. His presence was comforting and terrifying all at once, shivers rising all along her skin as he brushed his lips deliberately against her sensitive earlobe.
"If I've got to pull my own pint, why should I bother keepin' you around?"
The oddly innuendo-laden comment caused Annie to tilt her head so that she could see the Guv's face. The open neck of his green shirt brushed against her cheek, and she marveled at the forcefully territorial gleam in his eyes as he stared across at Cox. Perhaps Gene was more skilled at acting than she'd given him credit for… but the fierce protectiveness appeared to be completely genuine, and to be the target of such actions on the part of Gene Hunt was an intoxicating sensation. The younger man seemed to back down readily in the face of the confrontation, giving Annie a strange look as if to say, 'You and him?'
Gene did not loosen his embrace, addressing Cox with artificial conviviality carefully underpinned by subtle menace. "I'll get another round in for you and the lads, soon as I can get this troublemaker back to work, eh?" He shifted their bodies sideways into the nearby doorframe under the pretense of clearing a path, casually brushing the inside of his thigh along the outside of hers in the process. Recognizing Gene's comment for the dismissal that it was, Cox muttered his assent and sauntered down the narrow passageway toward the main body of the pub.
Annie was left alone with Gene, not a sliver of air between her back and the solid bulk of his torso. He was tracing distracted patterns over her hip bone with his thumb, head leaning down over her shoulder as he spoke. She realized that he must have an absolutely perfect view of the substantial cleavage provided by her low-cut top. It wasn't something she would typically wear, but looking a bit tarty was supposed to help the operation… wasn't it? She shivered.
"Best steer clear of that one, petal. Pretty bloody obvious what the man wants."
She could feel the gentle warning vibrating out from Gene's chest where it pressed against her shoulder blades, triggering an involuntary wave of arousal. Annie found that she couldn't control her reaction, shifting against him almost wantonly and emitting a surprised gasp at the way he seemed to squeeze her even tighter in response. God, he felt good like this. Steady and sensual and warm as a furnace. "Guess so," she breathed, allowing her eyes to flutter shut and caressing his bare forearm where it was clasped around her waist. Gene made an odd purring noise, the fingers that had been teasing at her hip sliding up beneath the material of her blouse to stroke the skin just above the waistband of her denim skirt. His breathing was slightly erratic, and the possibility that this was turning him on as much as it was her gave Annie just enough nerve to push the point even further. "So… what do you want, then?"
He stilled, but didn't draw away. His forehead was leaning against her temple in a gesture that seemed tender, and she couldn't help but be aware of how easy it would be to twist her face up and press her lips to his. The idea was wild and irrational and wrong in so many ways, but in that moment Annie didn't care. His oddly affectionate and undeniably provocative gestures pointed to the same conclusion, but she could hear the steel creep back in beneath the smoke-roughened rumble of his voice. "Word of advice, Cartwright." He loosened his arm from around her waist and stroked downward so that both his hands were now gripping her hips, harsh breath tickling her hairline. "You wanna become a detective, yeah?"
The question caught Annie right off her guard, pulling her at least partly free from the sudden haze of lust that had descended around them. Since when had Gene Hunt been interested in her career path? "I-- yes, Guv--" She whimpered as he pulled her tight against him, and she felt his rather large and insistent erection grinding against her tailbone.
"Well then. Best learn not to ask a question until you're sure you can handle the answer."
With that he released her, stalking past and throwing her one last scorching look as he barreled through the door to the men's toilets. Annie watched him go as if in slow motion, taking in the long legs, the ruffled golden mane, and the shift of muscle concealed by the fabric of that green shirt. She leaned against the wall to collect herself, knowing that this brief and slightly unhinged moment would rule her nighttime fantasies for weeks on end and wondering, wondering what it could have been like. If he were a little more drunk and she slightly less virtuous, if they cared a fraction less about their duty or had just a modicum less respect for each other or themselves… but it wasn't to be, and she found that it only made her admire him more.
~/~/~/~/~
Sighing, Annie bundled up her very private memories and picked up her pen just in time to hear the man himself burst through the doors of CID with Sam following in his wake like a dolphin riding the current of an ocean liner at full steam. They were arguing, Sam's wild gestures more or less ignored by Gene as he strode confidently across the room with his head inclined slightly to the side and hands in his pockets. As the two men passed Annie's desk, they slowed almost imperceptibly. Gene gave a small, secret smile that was only seen by Annie, adding in a cheeky wink for good measure. Sam continued to rant at the back of the Guv's head, pausing only to throw Annie a fond wave before Gene spun around to grip the DI by the collar of his leather jacket and slam him through the door to his perpetually smoky office.
There were times when the adversarial affection between Sam and Gene made Annie jealous-- though she was not quite sure toward whom the feelings of jealousy were directed. Knowing that Sam would come home with her that night was some consolation, but she couldn't help but wonder whether she was finally ready to ask the right question-- hopefully one with an answer all three of them could 'handle' together…
xxxxx
Heh, looks like Gene and Annie got a bit carried away, hmm? Apparently Sam wasn't the only one to experience a bit of Gene's manhandling behind the scenes that night… I poked at this one a lot and wasn't completely happy with it in the end, so I hope it came out alright! Some further notes…
1. I take no responsibility whatsoever for accuracy of the floor plan in the Trafford Arms. In the little universe inside my head, the toilets are conveniently located along the same corridor as the kitchen. In my pub that's just how it is!
2. I didn't want to make it seem like Annie couldn't have handled this situation with Cox on her own… I think if Gene hadn't showed up and and asserted his manly protectiveness, she probably would have beaten him to a patent on the bruise-free groin slap. XD
3. As for Malcolm Cox, I chose to assume that he wouldn't have been charged with anything serious after the events of 1x5. For the purposes of this fic he was back out there acting like a little hoodlum in no time flat-- and yes, there really was a pitch invasion after a City vs United match in 1974. Historical accuracy FTW!
Next time, Yellow: Gene really hates his yellow shirt, but finds that adding blood stains does not mark much of an improvement.
Author: rebelxxwaltz
Rating: I guess this installment is Blue Cortina, with the overall collection, as mentioned, rated at Brown Cortina.
Notes: Number two in a collection of stand-alone stories based around the theme of shirts worn by Gene Hunt. This one is from Annie's POV, and deals with a flashback to some of the events in episode 1x5. Call it AU, call it a 'deleted scene'... whatever floats your boat.
Word Count: 'bout 2,100 for this one. Second longest of the series!
Pairing(s): There's a bit of an Annie/Gene thing happening here. Plus some Sam/Annie. And a sneaky hint of Sam/Gene. Oh my, is that the SS Sam/Annie/Gene I can see out on the far horizon? *smirks mildly*
Summary: Gene's green shirt looms large in Annie's memories of a surprising encounter during the undercover operation at the Trafford Arms.
Special Thanks: to basaltgrrl for creating gorgeous art based on this fic! <3
Five Shirts
Part II: GREEN
~Annie~
WDC Annie Cartwright knew for a fact that she wasn't the only one who couldn't keep her eyes off Gene Hunt whenever he wore that green shirt, and she had the strangest suspicion that he knew it.
On the days when the Guv wore that accursed shirt it seemed as though he'd blown the bravado meter, eaten a bowl of fearlessness for breakfast, and possibly splashed himself with liquid sex at some point before his arrival in the incident room. Women, if there happened to be any about, fell helplessly at his feet. Annie would go determinedly about her business-- both out of a carefully cultivated sense of professionalism and because she didn't want to give Gene the satisfaction of knowing he affected her that way-- but then he'd smirk at her just so as he barked for his tea with five sugars, those outrageous eyes sparkling like seafaring emeralds as the blush rose to her face of its own accord.
Annie blew a strand of hair out of her eye as she leaned over her paperwork. It really was frustrating.
Even Sam was not immune to Gene's charms on such days. Annie hadn't become a detective for nothing, and she trusted her observations. If it weren't for the fact that she had found out (in due time, after their fifth date and numerous times since) first hand how skilled and… enthusiastic Sam was when it came to pleasing a woman? Well, she might have wondered a bit more about the way his eyes fixed onto Gene with rapt attention, darting around and across the DCI's face as if Sam was resolutely determined not to stare. Just as determined as Gene seemed at times to trap the younger man in his gaze like a snake charmer.
All these elements combined in Annie's mind's eye-- Gene, Sam, the green shirt, and the case file that currently lay open on her desk-- had her thinking back to a night that seemed so long ago. The file was for Malcolm Cox, the very same insolent and lecherous wannabe hard man who had shamelessly groped her during the one-night-only undercover shift in the Trafford Arms. Cox was up on charges including GBH and incitement, crimes apparently committed during a pitch invasion at the tail end of the latest Manchester derby. Throwing down her pen, Annie thanked her lucky stars that Sam and the beguilingly green-shirted Gene were out on a shout and Ray and Chris were busy with interviews. Perhaps if she allowed herself a few minutes of daydreaming it would clear the cobwebs and allow her to focus on the task at hand. Annie let her mind drift back to that night, just over a year ago…
~/~/~/~/~
She had jumped at the chance to join an undercover operation; it sounded so much more like 'real' police work than the tiresome duties she performed in her slightly itchy uniform on a daily basis, even if she was only chosen because she could pull a pint and her tits looked good in a tight blouse. It made her nervous, being close to DI Tyler and under the direct scrutiny of the Guv, and sharing such close quarters with the two of them during their practice run at the Railway Arms hadn't necessarily helped matters. There had been reaching across. There had been an almost gratuitous amount of brushing past in tight spaces, which seemed to verge on the deliberate at times. And yes, she and Sam had even engaged in the stereotypical fumbling of fingers while grabbing for the same pint glass. All of these combined with instances of both men leaning down and speaking close to her ear in order to be heard properly saw to it that Annie returned to her flat that night more hot and bothered than a trip to the pub had ever, ever warranted before.
The next night in the Trafford Arms was tense from the word 'go,' but Annie gathered her courage and played the role to the best of her ability. In point of fact, she was probably the most convincing pub employee out of the three of them; Gene was too direct by nature and too belligerent in practice to be effective undercover, while Sam was just… well, Sam. She was so convincing, in fact, that some of the patrons saw fit to take liberties. Most were just being fresh, and were easily dealt with using not much more than a sharp word and a disapproving glance. Others, such as the self-styled thug they called 'Coxy', were a fair sight more persistent.
Sam was occupied for a large part of the evening; between his conversations with the locals at the bar and his lengthy disappearance for 'some air,' Annie found herself managing much of the pub's actual custom. Unfortunately that seemed to mean catering to the gang of drunken louts that Gene had so effectively infiltrated. She had no idea how intoxicated her superior officer actually was, but that could be said of half his ordinary workdays from what she had observed. Annie was careful not to register any sign of disapproval when he joined the others in addressing her by offensive and sexist nicknames as they hollered for more beers, reminding herself that the Guv was simply playing a role.
A little more than midway through the evening, things took an interesting turn. It was a particularly messy night as these things go, and Annie had wandered back to the dingy pub kitchen in search of more bar towels. The search was fruitless, both in the kitchen and what she had hoped might be a supply cupboard adjacent to the gents' toilets. Timing was a funny thing, she thought to herself. Especially bad timing-- Malcolm Cox had emerged from the gents' at just the right moment to block Annie's passage toward the bar area, backing her up against the wall with a predatory glint in his eye.
His sudden nearness caused Annie's bravery to falter slightly. She was cornered, and knew it would be disastrous for the operation if she broke their cover now. She frowned as he further disrespected the boundaries of personal space. "Here, let me through."
Cox chuckled, bracing his hands against the wall on either side of her and leaning in. "No. I don't think I want to."
"I've got to get back to work." Swiftly, she ducked under his arm.
She thought she was in the clear, but he grabbed her wrist and tugged her closer. "Now that's no way to treat a new friend is it, love?"
Annie struggled, but his grip was strong and she simply ended up rebounding towards him. "We aren't friends."
Leering in response, Cox stared openly at her breasts. "S'okay. We can get to know each other better…"
Just as Annie was about to give up and utilize her meticulously catalogued policewoman's knowledge of how to subdue a suspect (by kneeing him in the groin for starters, although that wasn't in the handbook), a familiar presence loomed up behind her.
"Oi-- forget about me, sweetcheeks?"
Her assailant's grip slackened, and she felt herself being yanked backward by a strong arm around her waist. She was enveloped by the unmistakable scent of whisky, smoke, and aftershave. Annie leaned the back of her head against Gene's shoulder in relief, at the same time hyperaware of his other hand firmly cradling her hip and playing up the intimate contact so that Cox couldn't possibly miss it. His presence was comforting and terrifying all at once, shivers rising all along her skin as he brushed his lips deliberately against her sensitive earlobe.
"If I've got to pull my own pint, why should I bother keepin' you around?"
The oddly innuendo-laden comment caused Annie to tilt her head so that she could see the Guv's face. The open neck of his green shirt brushed against her cheek, and she marveled at the forcefully territorial gleam in his eyes as he stared across at Cox. Perhaps Gene was more skilled at acting than she'd given him credit for… but the fierce protectiveness appeared to be completely genuine, and to be the target of such actions on the part of Gene Hunt was an intoxicating sensation. The younger man seemed to back down readily in the face of the confrontation, giving Annie a strange look as if to say, 'You and him?'
Gene did not loosen his embrace, addressing Cox with artificial conviviality carefully underpinned by subtle menace. "I'll get another round in for you and the lads, soon as I can get this troublemaker back to work, eh?" He shifted their bodies sideways into the nearby doorframe under the pretense of clearing a path, casually brushing the inside of his thigh along the outside of hers in the process. Recognizing Gene's comment for the dismissal that it was, Cox muttered his assent and sauntered down the narrow passageway toward the main body of the pub.
Annie was left alone with Gene, not a sliver of air between her back and the solid bulk of his torso. He was tracing distracted patterns over her hip bone with his thumb, head leaning down over her shoulder as he spoke. She realized that he must have an absolutely perfect view of the substantial cleavage provided by her low-cut top. It wasn't something she would typically wear, but looking a bit tarty was supposed to help the operation… wasn't it? She shivered.
"Best steer clear of that one, petal. Pretty bloody obvious what the man wants."
She could feel the gentle warning vibrating out from Gene's chest where it pressed against her shoulder blades, triggering an involuntary wave of arousal. Annie found that she couldn't control her reaction, shifting against him almost wantonly and emitting a surprised gasp at the way he seemed to squeeze her even tighter in response. God, he felt good like this. Steady and sensual and warm as a furnace. "Guess so," she breathed, allowing her eyes to flutter shut and caressing his bare forearm where it was clasped around her waist. Gene made an odd purring noise, the fingers that had been teasing at her hip sliding up beneath the material of her blouse to stroke the skin just above the waistband of her denim skirt. His breathing was slightly erratic, and the possibility that this was turning him on as much as it was her gave Annie just enough nerve to push the point even further. "So… what do you want, then?"
He stilled, but didn't draw away. His forehead was leaning against her temple in a gesture that seemed tender, and she couldn't help but be aware of how easy it would be to twist her face up and press her lips to his. The idea was wild and irrational and wrong in so many ways, but in that moment Annie didn't care. His oddly affectionate and undeniably provocative gestures pointed to the same conclusion, but she could hear the steel creep back in beneath the smoke-roughened rumble of his voice. "Word of advice, Cartwright." He loosened his arm from around her waist and stroked downward so that both his hands were now gripping her hips, harsh breath tickling her hairline. "You wanna become a detective, yeah?"
The question caught Annie right off her guard, pulling her at least partly free from the sudden haze of lust that had descended around them. Since when had Gene Hunt been interested in her career path? "I-- yes, Guv--" She whimpered as he pulled her tight against him, and she felt his rather large and insistent erection grinding against her tailbone.
"Well then. Best learn not to ask a question until you're sure you can handle the answer."
With that he released her, stalking past and throwing her one last scorching look as he barreled through the door to the men's toilets. Annie watched him go as if in slow motion, taking in the long legs, the ruffled golden mane, and the shift of muscle concealed by the fabric of that green shirt. She leaned against the wall to collect herself, knowing that this brief and slightly unhinged moment would rule her nighttime fantasies for weeks on end and wondering, wondering what it could have been like. If he were a little more drunk and she slightly less virtuous, if they cared a fraction less about their duty or had just a modicum less respect for each other or themselves… but it wasn't to be, and she found that it only made her admire him more.
~/~/~/~/~
Sighing, Annie bundled up her very private memories and picked up her pen just in time to hear the man himself burst through the doors of CID with Sam following in his wake like a dolphin riding the current of an ocean liner at full steam. They were arguing, Sam's wild gestures more or less ignored by Gene as he strode confidently across the room with his head inclined slightly to the side and hands in his pockets. As the two men passed Annie's desk, they slowed almost imperceptibly. Gene gave a small, secret smile that was only seen by Annie, adding in a cheeky wink for good measure. Sam continued to rant at the back of the Guv's head, pausing only to throw Annie a fond wave before Gene spun around to grip the DI by the collar of his leather jacket and slam him through the door to his perpetually smoky office.
There were times when the adversarial affection between Sam and Gene made Annie jealous-- though she was not quite sure toward whom the feelings of jealousy were directed. Knowing that Sam would come home with her that night was some consolation, but she couldn't help but wonder whether she was finally ready to ask the right question-- hopefully one with an answer all three of them could 'handle' together…
xxxxx
Heh, looks like Gene and Annie got a bit carried away, hmm? Apparently Sam wasn't the only one to experience a bit of Gene's manhandling behind the scenes that night… I poked at this one a lot and wasn't completely happy with it in the end, so I hope it came out alright! Some further notes…
1. I take no responsibility whatsoever for accuracy of the floor plan in the Trafford Arms. In the little universe inside my head, the toilets are conveniently located along the same corridor as the kitchen. In my pub that's just how it is!
2. I didn't want to make it seem like Annie couldn't have handled this situation with Cox on her own… I think if Gene hadn't showed up and and asserted his manly protectiveness, she probably would have beaten him to a patent on the bruise-free groin slap. XD
3. As for Malcolm Cox, I chose to assume that he wouldn't have been charged with anything serious after the events of 1x5. For the purposes of this fic he was back out there acting like a little hoodlum in no time flat-- and yes, there really was a pitch invasion after a City vs United match in 1974. Historical accuracy FTW!
Next time, Yellow: Gene really hates his yellow shirt, but finds that adding blood stains does not mark much of an improvement.