dear_mun | (no subject)

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(no subject)

What is this, lady?

I've been off the air for five years. Five bloomin' years, and don't you talk to me about that charade with the scarcely clad psychology graduate. That's after my 'canon point', as you would put it. See? I speak your language. No wonder, as you've moved me into your head.

Don't know what I'm doing here. 's full of goody-two-shoes and bits of skirts I'm not allowed to look at 'cos they'll take my head off with their Japanese friggin' swords. Is there anyone in here I can have a drink with? Apart from the vampire? He's wearing lace and drinking something even I can't identify. Heretic.

Anyway. You've put me in here, now you've got me. Don't come crying to me if you realize you don't like it. To put it in words you might understand: you want a guarantee, buy a toaster.

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Yeah, well, haven't been here for that long yet, have I. Between the Amazon with the sodding great sword and the blue bloke with the antlers, I kind of decided to hang back a bit. Let them come to me. Y'know. [Not that the fact that there's a blue-skinned man with moving antennae unsettles him. He's Gene Hunt. He doesn't get unsettled.]

[And then he's going to side-eye Sam. You're doing your thing. Your twitchy freak-out thing.] What d'you mean, they looked like you?

What? [Froooown. He can't tell if you're just taking the piss, not having any company that doesn't look humanoid, himself. But for a moment, he looks slightly amused.] And you don't find that at all intimidating, of course. Nothing Freudian about the sword, right?

[That, though. Why did you have to bring that back up? He's had enough identity crises for one lifetime, thank you, he'd rather not dwell on this one.] Exactly what I said. They looked like me, even sounded like me, a bit. Almost identical. But they-- weren't me. At all, really. I'm sure they weren't. [He shakes his head again.] They're-- I don't know.

No, nothing Freudian about it. It's not a metaphorical bloody sword; doesn't need to be Freudian to make a smart man wary. [Not intimidated. Wary.]

[Oh. Now you're doing more of your thing. With the talking to yourself and the stammering and shaking your head. Stop that. It's weird.] Identical? Haven't got a twin brother you haven't-- wait. [He just realized something.] Wait, I think there's one of them in here. Looks like you, sounds like you, but isn't you? [He's got one of those. He thinks. He wrinkles his nose.] That bloke's a creep.

Fair enough. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. [Said half-heartedly. He's all distracted, now.]

[Why is he even telling you this? You're not Annie. And she's the only one who ever really listened when he talked about how nonsensical his life can be. He's just about to say that of course he hasn't got a twin brother, don't be daft, he would know—when Gene has that realization.]

You're kidding. [He leans forward, interested and intense.] God, not another one-- you're sure? [And his eyes widen a bit. This is new, someone else seeing the same impossible things he sees. And then, almost to himself:] So I'm not the only one, then. And you could tell? You were sure it wasn't me.

[Oh, this is great. Why is it that he can never have a conversation with his DI without his DI going all Randle McMurphy on him? He's just going to squint his eyes at Sam and give a little shrug.]

'course I'm sure. 've got eyes, don't I? And 'course I could tell, 's not like you go around--being a creep. Not all the time, anyway.

[Truth is, that doppelganger freaked him out a bit. Not that he's interacted with him directly, yet. But he's watched him creep around in the shadows, in his black suit and tie, stalking everyone else and smirking to himself. He can tell a creep when he sees one, and that guy's a creep extraordinaire.]

's only the one, though. How many've you got?

Two, at least. Possibly three. Been a bit difficult to tell, funnily enough, considering they-- [He just huffs a little laugh. This is too surreal; he gives up.] Considering they all look exactly alike.

Reassuring to hear that out of the many colorful descriptions you've got for me, "a creep" isn't one of them. [He mulls that over for a moment.] Although that wouldn't be a completely inaccurate description for one of the people I've seen, to be honest. [He's sounding a bit more together now, because. This is rather amazing. He's talking about this with someone who can't just assume that he's mad. He didn't necessarily expect that person to be Gene, but still.]

Mhm. [Hey, Sam seems to have gotten over it. That was quick. Usually, there's more wall-punching and screaming at toilets involved. Gene's still going to eye the other man somewhat warily. This bout of normalcy might just be temporary, after all.]

Who else have you got? Anyone weird? Anyone you know? [He has someone who looks like that Vic Tyler bloke they never managed to arrest, but he's not going to tell Sam that, considering that last time that man showed up, Gene ended up with his DI pointing a gun at him.]

[Then he has a thought and sits up, suddenly intent.] Haven't got me, have you?

["Over it" would still be something of a stretch. That laugh had sounded slightly desperate. That's never a great sign.]

Not really. No one else seems particularly familiar. [He scrubs a weary hand across his face.] There've been a few other blokes who look alike, I think. I suppose that would qualify as "weird."

[And at that question, his eyebrows twitch.] You? No, not that I've noticed. Thank goodness for small mercies; one Guv is quite enough. [Because mild sarcasm is always a tried-and-true coping mechanism. He forces a half-smile, though.]

['Slightly desperate' is normal for Sam. He's not talking gibberish at radios; that's good enough for Gene. And that comment just gets a sharp side-glance. Gene did notice the sarcasm, but considering the circumstances, the possibility is too likely to occur for him to not take it seriously.]

Quite right one's enough. No bloody clown's gonna steal my face. [You go ahead and have an existential crisis about the fact there are others who look like you. If Gene ever meets someone who looks like him, that someone better had a good explanation if they want to avoid a punch to the face.]

So there's four of you. How many others? [He's got a lot of competition in here, and he doesn't like it. He's curious if it's the same for everyone.]

Somehow, I doubt you'd have much say in the matter if they did. This isn't some bloody armed blag, Guv; you can't just put them in a stranglehold and expect them to give your face back. [He folds his arms, a bit too tightly. It probably looks more like he's hugging himself.]

No idea. Half a dozen? I've only been able to catch a glimpse of some of them. [Quite a few of them keep to the shadows. Sam reckons that's what happens when you get neglected and/or abandoned.]

[It does look like Sam's hugging himself. Gene will be ignoring that, rock back on his heels and hook his thumbs into his belt loops.] Watch me.

[And that'll just make him frown.] Half a dozen? And you're making a racket about it? I've got twenty of those buggers in here. [Some of them are more quiet than others, but they're all there. Watching and commenting and talking amongst themselves. They're making Gene feel like the new kid. He hasn't felt like the new kid in a long while, and he doesn't particularly like it.]

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