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[oom] 3x03 - Tape Recorded Notes
[ tape begins ]
[ Alex sighs, settling in. She sounds a bit tipsy. ]
June 9th, 1983. Thatcher wins by a landslide, Gene Hunt closes a serial arson case, and DI Ray "Sensitivity" Carling cinched it shut by actually talking the man down. Can you imagine Ray, Molly, trying to do my job? Ray, who thinks a woman's place is in the kitchen? Ray, who is about as self-aware as a kipper? Ray, you remember Ray, the one we tricked into thinking he'd eaten a deep-fried penis? Yes, that Ray.
It was -- it was brilliant, to be perfectly honest. He managed to leverage his rapport with the suspect, using his own experience, his own relationship with his father. It was heartbreaking, honestly. I don't know what's wrong with me, but it had me in tears.
No, that's not right, is it? I do know, at least why I've been on the ragged emotional edge of late. I feel -- It feels like I have been relegated to spectator in this little morality play. Unable to control or effect the course of the play, I am stuck with front row seats to some epic battle between Good and Evil, between Gene "The Sheriff" Hunt and Jim "The Accountant" Keats. It's pathetic, to watch them huff and growl at one another. I almost expect one of them to whip it out and mark his territory with a wide arc of piss. God, there's an image. [ tipsy bitter laughter, and a sigh. ]
It's horrible to watch them in action, and neither of them seem to care who gets caught in the crossfire. They each stood over Ray these past few days, egging him on, pushing him far beyond his breaking point. I'm convinced they were the reason he ran into that burning building in the first place. [ Exasperated sigh. ] And it's a damned good thing he did, saving that cleaning woman. It was stupid, and brave, and... Stupid.
[ Long silence. ]
I always knew he had it in him.
[ Another silence, broken only by the sound of a glass of wine being poured. ]
Aside from that, nothing's really changed. Keats is still prowling around, looking for something to pin on us, something to justify his suspicions. Like any witch hunt, he's bound to find something, sooner or later. It's only a matter of time.
And Gene...
Gene thinks I don't trust him. He honestly thinks I'm trying to tear him down, trying to take away his precious "kingdom". I can stand by his side, and defend his actions to Jim's face, and he still bristles every time he looks at me.
All because of that file in my desk.
I know he saw the coat. God, I have no idea why Manchester sent me all of Sam's personal effects in the first place. Why didn't they give them to Annie? Or Gene? It's all so strange, and no one, no one wants to talk about it. It's as if...
...It's almost as if he disappeared from the face of the earth.
And every time I press Gene for information, he winces, as if I'm causing him physical pain. As if my refusal to take his order to drop it is an insult to to to not just his authority, but to his very person. He doesn't -- no, he refuses to understand why I need to know. He simply won't hear it. Every detail he must have picked up over the last two years is in one ear and out the other. Pfffft. Like so much dust. It doesn't seem to stick.
We never talked, after St. Joseph's. We never spoke about the fight we had in his office. He's never apologised, never even asked me why... [ Her shaking voice cuts off abruptly, and returns a few breaths later, more controlled. ] It doesn't matter. I don't need an apology. I just -- I wish I could talk to him about it. About it all.
About the young copper who appears to me, bringing that air of oppressive darkness with him. About the sound of the ravens, about the stars. I found out that Shaz has seen them as well. I can't talk to him about the number someone carved into the surface of my desk. That number, 6-6-20, I can't seem to place it. It's important, I know that much. And all of it -- it's all pressing at me.
What's worse is...
[ long silence, before she continues, her voice much quieter. ]
What's worse is that before, with Summers, I know that if I told him about what was happening, he'd have thought I was mental -- but he would have listened. He might not have believed me, but he would have listened. He would have protected me, as best he could. If I had told him from the beginning, about the roses, about the murder...
If I had talked to him, asked him for help, he would have pissed and moaned and yelled his head off at me. But he would have listened.
Now? We don't even have that anymore. It's like he's moving away from me. Away from us all. Drifting around the edges of the squad room like a ghost, scrabbling to control his crumbling world view. It might be pitiable if it weren't so terrifying to watch. He's like a lost little boy, screaming epithets at the darkness, telling them all he's not afraid. Nothing scares him. He's Gene Bloody Hunt.
Well, I know what scares him.
Something in that file. Something he'd like to forget. Something to do with Sam Tyler's death has to do with why I'm here, and how I'm supposed to get back home.
I don't want to force the issue, but if things continue down this path, I don't think he's going to give me any alternatives.
[ tape ends ]
[ Alex sighs, settling in. She sounds a bit tipsy. ]
June 9th, 1983. Thatcher wins by a landslide, Gene Hunt closes a serial arson case, and DI Ray "Sensitivity" Carling cinched it shut by actually talking the man down. Can you imagine Ray, Molly, trying to do my job? Ray, who thinks a woman's place is in the kitchen? Ray, who is about as self-aware as a kipper? Ray, you remember Ray, the one we tricked into thinking he'd eaten a deep-fried penis? Yes, that Ray.
It was -- it was brilliant, to be perfectly honest. He managed to leverage his rapport with the suspect, using his own experience, his own relationship with his father. It was heartbreaking, honestly. I don't know what's wrong with me, but it had me in tears.
No, that's not right, is it? I do know, at least why I've been on the ragged emotional edge of late. I feel -- It feels like I have been relegated to spectator in this little morality play. Unable to control or effect the course of the play, I am stuck with front row seats to some epic battle between Good and Evil, between Gene "The Sheriff" Hunt and Jim "The Accountant" Keats. It's pathetic, to watch them huff and growl at one another. I almost expect one of them to whip it out and mark his territory with a wide arc of piss. God, there's an image. [ tipsy bitter laughter, and a sigh. ]
It's horrible to watch them in action, and neither of them seem to care who gets caught in the crossfire. They each stood over Ray these past few days, egging him on, pushing him far beyond his breaking point. I'm convinced they were the reason he ran into that burning building in the first place. [ Exasperated sigh. ] And it's a damned good thing he did, saving that cleaning woman. It was stupid, and brave, and... Stupid.
[ Long silence. ]
I always knew he had it in him.
[ Another silence, broken only by the sound of a glass of wine being poured. ]
Aside from that, nothing's really changed. Keats is still prowling around, looking for something to pin on us, something to justify his suspicions. Like any witch hunt, he's bound to find something, sooner or later. It's only a matter of time.
And Gene...
Gene thinks I don't trust him. He honestly thinks I'm trying to tear him down, trying to take away his precious "kingdom". I can stand by his side, and defend his actions to Jim's face, and he still bristles every time he looks at me.
All because of that file in my desk.
I know he saw the coat. God, I have no idea why Manchester sent me all of Sam's personal effects in the first place. Why didn't they give them to Annie? Or Gene? It's all so strange, and no one, no one wants to talk about it. It's as if...
...It's almost as if he disappeared from the face of the earth.
And every time I press Gene for information, he winces, as if I'm causing him physical pain. As if my refusal to take his order to drop it is an insult to to to not just his authority, but to his very person. He doesn't -- no, he refuses to understand why I need to know. He simply won't hear it. Every detail he must have picked up over the last two years is in one ear and out the other. Pfffft. Like so much dust. It doesn't seem to stick.
We never talked, after St. Joseph's. We never spoke about the fight we had in his office. He's never apologised, never even asked me why... [ Her shaking voice cuts off abruptly, and returns a few breaths later, more controlled. ] It doesn't matter. I don't need an apology. I just -- I wish I could talk to him about it. About it all.
About the young copper who appears to me, bringing that air of oppressive darkness with him. About the sound of the ravens, about the stars. I found out that Shaz has seen them as well. I can't talk to him about the number someone carved into the surface of my desk. That number, 6-6-20, I can't seem to place it. It's important, I know that much. And all of it -- it's all pressing at me.
What's worse is...
[ long silence, before she continues, her voice much quieter. ]
What's worse is that before, with Summers, I know that if I told him about what was happening, he'd have thought I was mental -- but he would have listened. He might not have believed me, but he would have listened. He would have protected me, as best he could. If I had told him from the beginning, about the roses, about the murder...
If I had talked to him, asked him for help, he would have pissed and moaned and yelled his head off at me. But he would have listened.
Now? We don't even have that anymore. It's like he's moving away from me. Away from us all. Drifting around the edges of the squad room like a ghost, scrabbling to control his crumbling world view. It might be pitiable if it weren't so terrifying to watch. He's like a lost little boy, screaming epithets at the darkness, telling them all he's not afraid. Nothing scares him. He's Gene Bloody Hunt.
Well, I know what scares him.
Something in that file. Something he'd like to forget. Something to do with Sam Tyler's death has to do with why I'm here, and how I'm supposed to get back home.
I don't want to force the issue, but if things continue down this path, I don't think he's going to give me any alternatives.
[ tape ends ]