Gene Hunt

Oh my god you guys I have no idea what I have done here. Also I know nothing about writing children, especially British ones, and all historical inaccuracies are my fault. (I wanted Gene's dad to be a draft-dodger, but I'm not sure how terribly feasible that would've been by 1944.)

( Seriously, Gene hates wizards. )

#339 – What’s your favourite sport?

“Where’re you lot going?” Alex asks as Gene, Ray, and Chris slip out of CID one Saturday afternoon. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s got that pursed-lips look like someone’s shoved an extra couple of sticks up her arse. “Don’t tell me it’s football again. I thought we discussed work being more important than football.”

Gene scoffs as he’s shrugging into his coat. To a Manc, nothing is more important than football. “It’s not just football, Bolly. City’s playin’ United today. I’d miss me own gran’s funeral t’ watch th’ match.”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” Chris adds, ducking his head deferentially. “What th’ Guv said. ‘Cept there wasn’t a match on when me gran died.”

“It’s ‘ardly as if e’s goin’ t’ be less dead when we get back,” Ray points out. “An’ we ‘aven’t got a single lead. Maybe we’ll find one at th’ pub.”

Pubs, Gene has discovered over the years, are important to the investigative process. Many an answer to a puzzling problem has been found at the bottom of a pint glass. This, though, this is simpler. It’s just football.

He misses being back in Manchester for the match; the city’s always filled with a nervous tension before the game, the sort you feel deep down in your bones. Everybody turns out in their colours, whether they’re going or not – the entire city virtually shuts down. And after, well, that’s the fun bit for coppers, knocking a few heads together, City and United fans alike. Everybody ends up smashed at the end of the day.

But in London, today’s just an ordinary day like any other. It’s a bit sad, the three of them huddled ‘round the radio at Luigi’s. Gene’s used to being part of a crowd during matches, getting carried away by the emotions of it all. Everything’s amplified when you’re watching with your mates – the highs are higher, the lows are lower, and there’s always another round once everything’s said and done, whether you’re celebrating or drowning your sorrows. Three people is hardly a crowd, especially when one of them’s supporting United. (Alex, when she turns up, doesn’t count, both because she’s a bird and because she’s drinking wine.)

At the end of the day, football is football, and Gene’s pissed either way. Maybe it’s not the same as it used to be, but what is? Everything changes but him.

Muse: Gene Hunt
Fandom: Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes
Words: 397

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Aye. Didn't 'alf regret it later, though.

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A good Scotch, single malt. A nice pair o' tits, a good firm arse. A City win, especially if it's over United. That proper thud an' crunch y' get when y' slam a bastard int' a brick wall.

Oh, an' ruddy oxtail soup, which some people seem t' 'ave difficulty understandin'.

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I think psychiatry is a load of bollocks practised by people who want to cheat nonces out of their money. Not that they don't deserve it, mind, but 's still bloody ridiculous. Moods controlled by brain chemistry or brain chemistry controlling moods, what the 'ell's that meant t' mean?

I'll give you some brain chemistry. If you add alcohol t' th' brain, it'll make said organ stop working. (Add enough alcohol, and it'll make other organs stop working, too.)

Environmental factors that shape emotions: football.

Post here if you're down with adorable-ness.