Mar 21
That's it. That's the show.
seen from Belgium
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Thailand
seen from China
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from Brazil
seen from Thailand
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Malawi
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Brazil
That's it. That's the show.
Nelson:
Alex:
In his world. With him. She's alive. 🌌
Ashes 2.07
...And to Gene Hunt. The Guv. The Lion of Fenchurch East.
ALEX: Guv, you know, it's, um...it’s okay to be scared. GENE: They went after you, Bols, a woman. I mean, that's a line, right there. ALEX: Yeah, but we can't sink to Riley's level. GENE: You know, there's always been scum, preyin’ on decent ordinary folk. There was a code of honour as well. You came at him from the front, not like a coward from the back. Everybody wants to be the centre of the universe these days - writin’ their own rules, doin’ whatever they want. ALEX: And what’re you planning to do? GENE: D’you know a good beatin’ clears the head, Bols. Our Mr Riley thinks he can run his little empire, thinks he can bump off a someone like Colin Mitchell without retribution. Well, I'm just workin’ out exactly what sort of retribution is required. ALEX: Will you promise me something, Guv? That we'll do this the right way. GENE: Sometimes, Bolly, you have to fight fire with fire.
Alex + stalker board.
“Have you and Hunt got something going on?”
Post-ep for 2.06. Gene responds to Alex’s goodbye letter.
...
“‘Ere. Wrote you somin, an’ all.”
She fingers the unevenly folded paper napkin. “What’s this?”
“You said I ‘ad no poetry in me soul.” He stabs the thing with a finger. “Read it an’ weep.”
“You wrote me a poem?” She picks it up and opens it, brows slightly raised. “To what? Prove a point?”
Gene huffs tiredly, head falling back against the wall. “Bolly, no bloke in all of human history ever wrote a poem for any other reason than to prove some point or other to some daft bird.”
The edges of her lips twitch towards a smile. “And your point is?”
His beady eye cuts to her. “Anythin’ you can do.”
“How touching,” she breathes.
He snaps: “You gonna read it or what?”
She turns the napkin round, right way up, squints at his careless scrawl and begins to read. “There once was a woman named Drake.” She glances at him from beneath her brows. “Original beginning.”
“Just keep readin’,” he mutters behind his ice.
She draws a breath, continues with a trepidatious expression: “There once was a woman named Drake, Who could be a right arse-ache. Oh. Gets better and better…”
He glares at her one-eyed. “That’s enough from the peanut gallery.”
Her lips twist but she reads on. “She came and she saw, she conquered ‘em all…” Alex hesitates, her smile beginning to fade. “Then left…without so much as an handshake.” Staring at the final line, she feels her eyes turn guilty. She lowers the napkin, murmurs in a quiet voice, “Well, the last line doesn’t quite scan.”
Gene looks affronted. “S’me favourite bit. I slaved over that!”
“Oh yeah.”
“Took me at least two seconds. And at least mine rhymes.” He taps the small pile of envelopes by her salt and pepper shakers, the one marked ‘Gene’ resting on top. “Bet yours doesn’t.”
She chuffs, sliding the napkin back across the table. “Don’t give up your day job, Guv.”
“Oh, no-no-no-no,” he mock insists, sliding it back towards her. “That’s all yours, sweetheart. Somin to remember me by after you skive off to wherever you’re always yappin’ on about skivin’ off to.”
“I hardly think,” she says, rising and heading for the fridge, “I’m in danger of forgetting you.” She secures the napkin to the fridge with a magnet of the Tower of Pisa then looks over her shoulder at him.
“S’what they all say...” he rumbles, head lowered.
Alex hesitates. Then she steps closer and extends a hand.
Gene looks up, blue eyes wide. “Wha’s this?”
“A handshake.” She tilts her palm upwards, inviting his. “Just in case I don’t get to…you know….” her voice fades, her sentence failing, “later.”
He exhales heavily, drawing the ice pack away from his eye and letting it drop wetly to the table. “Think we both know,” he replies slowly and without looking at her, “I want more from y’ than an ‘andshake.” He grimaces at the linoleum, adds slightly lower, “Always ‘ave done.”
...