Nothing at all belongs to me, I just borrowed them to play =D

For those who are reading 'Let me Go' - I have not forgotten and do plan to get the next chapter up very soon, thank you for your patients, you guys rule! =D

Little Wing.

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Listening to the light melody of the old vinyl recorded that spun repetitively, the softness of the sound filling the space within his tiny, prison like office, where he used to spend most his days. He let the vibrations from the mouth of the speaker wash over his body filling him with a very unfamiliar sense of tranquillity. He decided to let himself for this moment, forget everything. Forget all the shit was still wandering the streets, forget the loneliness that ate away at his soul and try to forget her.

Leaning back in his well used chair he slowly lifted his burning cigarette to his lips and pulled. He felt as the luscious poison made its way through his body and into his lungs, filling him with a moment of satisfaction and then he gradually released it, smothering him in a murky fog.

Strangely he felt numb, which after the series of emotions he had been on recently came as a massive relief. He took his chance to look out of his window and onto the empty desks of the other officers, all of whom had lost all respect for him. He prayed that his numbness would uphold, as he knew that he could not handle the pain that thoughts such as these would caused him. Not now.

His eyes landed on Chris's desk; scruffy and unorganised and he remembered the moment of his betrayal. Chris, the one who had always played the fool, made the station roar with laughter, the nervous one. He remembered how it had felt as if someone had poured acid down his throat letting it burn away at his insides when he had realised that the disease had spread to him, one of his own coppers.

His numbness held.

His eyes then fell upon Ray's desk. His trusted Raymondo, always by his side, loyalty that never wavered, until now. Since that night Ray wouldn't meet his eyes and on the rare occasion that they did all that Gene could see was a deepening sadness that seemed to be taking a stronger hold on his D.S as each day went by.

His numbness held.

Then his eyes found her table, his Bolly's table. Everything neat and orderly; her papers sat on top of one another in straight piles, no overflowing cigarette tray, no coffee stains. The only imperfection was the layer of dusk that had now rested there, which nobody dared to clean, nobody dared to touch her desk.

The memories that he had tried to bury deep within his mind started to resurface; he remembered her face as he suspended her. She was filled with such passion, such fire, these things that had once drawn him to her now haunted him. It was the look of pain that haunted him the most, a pain that he had caused and one that he would now have to live with. He remembered his anger as she stormed out of his office, how he had let it get the better of him, and you dare to get in my way, I swear to god I will kill you. This sentence seemed to circle his mind and he sighed in frustration.

He reached for his emptying whisky bottle and poured some of the amber liquid into a glass. He swirled it lightly and prayed that this would help replace the numbness that seemed to be wearing off. Lifting it to his lips he drank the content in one with a skill he had required over years of practice and felt as it left a warm sensation down his throat. However the memories continued to appear; Y'know it's jus' struck me 'ow cold you really are Drake. The cold sting of his cheek as her hand had collided with his face did not even come close to the pain that he was feeling inside at that moment.

His numbness failed. Pain began to splinter through his body, a pain that was caused by guilt and the knowledge that he had done this to himself, he could blame nobody else. The thoughts of her had slowly been pulling him apart, tearing down the once unbreakable walls of the almightily lion leaving him completely vulnerable. He had pulled that trigger and had stood there motionless as her fallen body had lost precious blood, her skin turning a ghostly white, her pulse decreasing. He had said those horrible unforgivable things to her, that even if she woke up he would not expect her to forgive.

The doctors say that she's stable; no better, no worse, unknowing when or even if she will awaken from her coma. He closed his eyes and saw her lying motionless in that hospital bed, looking so small and fragile, something he had never noticed about her. Tubes linking her to different machines, her hair limp, her face unmade. He ripped open his eyes from the fear that the image filled him with. She had always been so strong, maybe the strongest woman he had ever known - of course he would never tell her that - and now she looked like a different person; one who should be handled with care for fear of breaking.

He returned his focus to the words sung from the voice of Jimi Hendrix singing Little Wing. He had never been his type of music, he was more of a Dire Straights man himself, but this record had been his brothers favourite and he only ever played it in times of need. He could never work out why this record meant so much to him, why whenever he played it he felt slightly uplifted. When his brother had died he had taken most of his stuff, but this record held some kind of deeper meaning.

Focusing on the words, him mind began to make connections.

"well she's walking through the clouds

With her circus mind

that's running wild

Butterflies and zebra's

And Moonbeams and fairytale

All she ever think about, is riding with the wind"

His Bolly might as well have been in the clouds, no way of getting through to her, not that there ever really was. He smiled lightly, her mind was most defiantly a circus with the amount of poxy posh bollocks she comes out with most of the time. Running wild, that sounded about right. The last line All she ever think about, is riding with the wind almost summed his Lady Bolls perfectly, she was always going on about getting home, how this was only ever temporary, writing bloody goodbye letters.

He was intrigued, this song may hold an ever stronger meaning than he first realised. Sitting still within his chair he listened:

"But when I'm sad, when I'm sad she comes to me

With a thousand smiles she gives to me free

Its alright, its alright, she says it alright

Take anything you want from me, anything, anything"

Then Jimi started doing what he did best: guitar solo, but Gene was still going over the lyrics. Although at first glance they may not seem to hold any significant similarities between Drake he couldn't help but feel that there was. Whenever he was down, even for something small like a bad day she would be ready to escort him down to Luigi's and she somehow managed to make him forget all the shit within his life, or at least get him pissed enough so he couldn't remember.

He had lost cont of how many times he had seem her smile, whether it be from happiness, smugness, exhaustion. He knew that they, for most of the day, were at one another's throats, but even within that she wore a smile. Memories began to resurface and he smiled lightly. He pictured her only a couple of week ago at Viv's birthday do, before the argument, before that Irish tart, before the bullet. God, did she look gorgeous in that gold number, he remembered her face wearing an almost teasing grin, her voice rang through his mind so, slinky enough? If only he could have that moment again he would crush his lips against hers and wouldn't care for the consequences.

She never asked for anything in return, only his trust, which when she needed it most had been buried along with his hurt feelings. She had given him so much and he had given her jack shit. He had called her corrupt, he had let his feelings for her effect his judgment because he knew that she was as straight as he was, if not more so. When he saw that still unnamed copper pointing a gun to her, shouting at her that because she couldn't be corrupted she was the one who had to stop operation rose he felt the first prickle of self-loathing and guilt. This now, mixed along with sadness and loneliness was making his life very difficult.

He looked to the window that lead to the outside world and could see the darkness of the sky slowly eroding away to the brightness of the day.

The whole of CID would be arriving soon and seeing as he was still a wanted man he knew that it was time for him to leave, but that didn't make it any easier. Although he felt like a ponce only coming here after dark, after everyone had left to go home or get drunk at Luigi's, there was something slightly comforting about sitting in his chair and remembering what it felt like to be D.C.I Gene Hunt.

Grabbing his coat he threw it on, he packed away the old record and he stubbed out the last of his cigarette, knowing full well that this would prove his presents to the others when they finally arrived. He stood slowly and began to walk, not planning to stop, but he was unable to continue going upon reaching D.I Drakes desk. The layer of dust had deepened he noticed on each visit. It was then in that moment when he finally realised how much he missed and needed her, it felt like an almost unbearable ache deep within his body which was slowly spreading and which he feared would soon take full control over his ever being.

His feet rooted to the ground. The dull intoxication of alcohol making it fairly difficult to focus on anything, but looking at her desk, the closest thing he had to her, he knew he had to do something to prove his sorrow for what he had done.

Slowly he lifted his finger and placed it on the middle of her desk and wrote:

Forgive me Bolls

I miss you.

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I don't know what made me write this, I listened to this song and went straight to my laptop and this is the result. Please, reviews would make me very happy and would be very well appreciated =D Hope everyone enjoyed =D x