Fic: 5 Times Gene Hunt Believed in God, green cortina, dakfinv
Title: 5 Times Gene Hunt Believed in God
Author: dak
Word Count: 1101 words
Rating: green cortina
A/N: For
amproof
1.
She’d been missing for three days. They had searched high and low - not a brick in Manchester had been left unturned - and Gene was about ready to trawl the canal. On the morning of the fourth day, Phyllis fielded an anonymous tip which sent DCI and DI to an abandoned warehouse at the far side of town.
They entered with their guns cocked and loaded, but the firepower was unnecessary. She was unable to move, propped up on blocks, but other than her missing tires, the Cortina was in perfect condition. There wasn’t even a scratch on her chassis.
Gene was so relieved, he nearly hugged Tyler. Instead, he settled for a quick nod to the Man upstairs, and radioed the station for a new set of tires.
2.
He’d never been that good at this sort of thing. It was something the lads had always teased him about while he was in the Service. But, CID was a man down after DS Majors broke his hand in a botched arrest, and it was DCI Rathbone who’d handpicked DC Hunt for the cause.
Gene knew he only had himself to blame for this. In an attempt to erase from memory his horrible darts record, he’d gotten a bit pissed one night and boasted about his superior skills to anyone within earshot. DCI Rathbone had been one of those men.
He had spent three nights in a row practicing, in secret, with his dad’s old dartboard. Now, after a tense neck-in-neck scrap with visiting Special Branch, it was down to Gene to hit the game shot and double out, thereby preserving CID’s pride. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and chucked the dart.
Despite all the drinks he’d been plied with the night before, Gene still made it to church the next morning to say his thanks.
3.
It was a routine training exercise - just a little bit of war games. They’d been supplied with fake ammunition, then dumped somewhere in Scotland, and left to scour the country and capture their targets. Gene had been placed on B-Team and his best mate Tom was on C. The night before the exercise, they happily vowed to cut the other’s balls off should they meet-up during the game.
Thirty-six hours later, Gene spotted his chance to uphold that vow. He snuck up on Tommy, raised his gun, and pulled the trigger. His gun jammed. Tommy heard the click, spun round, and Gene was forced to surrender.
After the exercise ended, Gene’s Sergeant examined the malfunctioning weapon, the gave him a hearty pat on the back. Pvt. Hunt had been exceedingly lucky, he said. Somehow, his weapon had been supplied with live ammunition. Had it not jammed, he would have blown Tom’s head clean off.
Gene skipped the pub and settled for a night in the barracks with his mam’s worn copy of the Good Book.
4.
He looked perfectly normal, except that he was dead. His skin was only slighter paler than normal. His body wasn’t bloated and stinking. The only sign that something was off was the track marks running up his arms.
Harry had allowed his DI a private moment with the body, and Gene had turned that moment into an hour. Standing over his brother’s body, Gene remembered all he had done wrong in trying to help him. He had threatened him. He had bullied him. He had begged him. What if he had simply spoken to him? What if he had paid more attention to him?
Gene closed his eyes and cursed God because there had to be a god. If there was no God, he had only himself to blame.
5.
Gene had never seen someone lose so much blood and still live. Well, maybe he wouldn’t live. They’d just brought him to hospital now. What made it worse, Gene decided, was that it had all been an accident. There were no crims to blame. There was no one to punch. It was simply a freak, random occurrence that resulted in Tyler needing to be splayed out on a surgical slab and have pints of blood forced into him.
Gene paced the waiting room. It had been the berk’s idea to take more target practice. This could all be Sam’s fault, surely. It could have been the fault of the instructor. He was supposed to make sure his guns were cleaned and working properly and not backfiring so that the bullet landed in his DI’s stomach instead of the paper target.
Gene collapsed in the chair. It could be his own fault for not checking his gun properly before waving it about and betting he could land more kill shots than prissy, little Gladys. If Sam died, Gene would win that bet. One kill shot to none.
Gene lit a cigarette. He had never lost a man since he started running CID. Oh, he’d come close plenty of times. Some even had to retire because of permanent injuries. But, none of them had lost their life. Now, Sam could, and it would be his own Guv’s fault.
He just wanted him to live. He didn’t care if Tyler hated him or quit or transferred or put on a dress and took up drag. He just didn’t want him to die - not because of him, not because of anyone. He’d do nearly anything to see Sammy walk out of hospital via the front door, and not rolled out the back.
He clasped his hands together and waited. He whispered to himself and waited. He glanced upwards and waited. If the Bastard wanted to prove Himself, why couldn’t He do it now? One good miracle, quick as you like. Right now, please. Thanks ever so much.
Gene closed his eyes and waited.
Three hours later, a doctor stepped forward. He said DI Tyler wished to speak with him and lodge a formal complaint about CID’s weapons policy. Gene hesitated, then walked towards the recovery room. He was going to throttle the little gobshite for getting in the way of his bullet, then having the nerve to complain about it. He would have to yell at Tyler before Tyler began yelling at him because Tyler would yell. He would yell and scream and lay the guilt on thick as custard.
After a long walk, Gene reached Tyler’s room. When Sammy finally noticed him, he was too tired to do anything but grin and say, “ ‘S alright, Guv. Was an accident,” before he slipped into sleep.
In his entire life, Gene had never believed more.