[fic] Winning the Battle [Gene Hunt/Harold Saxon; LoM/DW]
Title: Winning the Battle
Author: hllangel
Fandom: Life on Mars/Doctor Who
Pairing: Gene Hunt/Harold Saxon
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,400
Warnings: Mention of character deaths; slightly dub-con.
Notes: Happy Birthday karaokegal! I hope you enjoy your present – it's been a long time in the making. Many thanks to my wonderful beta. Any remaining errors are mine.

Summary: Manchester plays host to a string of gruesome murders.



Saxon wasn’t anticipating a physical attack, so Gene Hunt took him by surprise.

“I reckon you’re a twisted little fuck,” Gene breathed in his ear, “but I’m still bigger than you, so what I say goes, got it?” Gene shoved him once more for good measure before letting go and lighting up a cigarette. Once it was resting comfortably in his mouth, he crossed back to Saxon and shoved him down into the chair.

“Three murders. John Smith,” Gene pulled out the photo of the crime scene and slapped it down in front of Saxon. It was one of the more gruesome ones they’d encountered, and more than one of the PCs working that day had been sick. Saxon didn’t so much as twitch. “Martha Jones, Francine Jones.” Gene followed the same routine, looking for any sort of break in the man’s hard gaze. “Jack Harkness in the hospital, near dead. Bloody fingerprints everywhere.”

Saxon sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, lips tightly closed.

Damn it, Gene thought. He looked back at Chris, standing silently just inside the door. Fat lot of good that one was at interrogation. Ray might be a better choice, but it was always difficult to tell with Ray. He really needed Tyler, who was at his flat, sick. The bastard. “Does your wife know what you’re doing, Mr. Saxon? Does she still fuck you when you come home covered in blood?”

A sinister smile spread across Saxon’s face. “She likes to call me Master when we do.”

Gene stepped forward and slapped him across the face as hard as he could. Damn Tyler and his hands-off bullshit. Sometimes the buggers needed it. Gene felt himself slipping back into his old interrogation tactics, and he leaned over the table, getting close to Saxon, cigarette hanging just millimeters away from the bastard’s skin.

Saxon didn’t move, and Gene nearly burned him when the door opened and Ray walked in carrying a new file. “Jack Harkness died a few minutes ago, Guv,” he said, handing the file to Gene.

“Fuck.”

“I think I’ll be going then,” Saxon said, brushing off his coat and making his way to the door.

Gene grabbed his collar again, “Not so fast, you bastard.”

Saxon slithered out of Gene’s grip, and managed to swap positions so that Gene was now leaning against the wall with Saxon edging into his space. “If I’m not mistaken, the last victim just died, which means you don’t have anyone to say I did it. That would make me a free man. I’ll see you around, Hunt,” he said, twirling on his heels and walking out of interrogation.

Gene just stood there, staring for a minute or two before Chris’ tentative “Guv?” broke through and Gene scowled at everyone down in the cells. “Get out there and find me some evidence. I want this bastard off my streets.”

Ray and Chris were just about out the door when Gene spoke again, “Not a word of this to Tyler. Got it?”

***

It had been days since they’d had to let Saxon go, Now that Sam was walking through the door, they all did a double-take, not having realized just how much Sam and Saxon looked alike. It was a bit disconcerting. When it was Saxon there, they didn’t think of it; the accent was different, as was the hardened expression and pure malice radiating from their suspect.

Gene put Sam on busywork and reviewing old cases with Annie (who he wanted to keep away from Saxon for completely different reasons). The rest of them surreptitiously handled the witnesses and poured through the evidence looking for something, anything to allow them to impale Saxon’s head on a very sharp and pointy stick. Several times.

While Ray and Chris were drinking more and more each day they didn’t crack the case, Gene was cutting back (slightly, only slightly) and leaving the pub early most nights in order to tail Saxon. It turned out to be a more boring job than anticipated. So far, the man had done nothing to suggest he was even remotely guilty. He came home from his law firm every night to dinner and a drink provided by his wife, and then spent the evening reading the paper, working or watching TV. On one memorable occasion, Gene had caught a stray ‘Master’ coming from the bedroom after the lights went out.

Keeping everything away from Tyler was grinding on Gene's nerves, and the search had cost him several hours of quality pub time that week.

***

One week after Saxon had slipped away, Gene and Sam were out on a routine patrol when they got called to a murder scene at the Saxon house.

“Bastard’s at it again,” Gene muttered, peeling away from the curb they’d been sitting at for over an hour (the fact that it happened to be just around the corner from Saxon’s office had nothing to do with the anger he was feeling).

“Who?” Sam asked, clueless.

“Man by the name of Harold Saxon. Murdered four people while you were sick last week, and we couldn’t hold him on it.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Sam asked, indignant.

“I have my reasons. You don’t want to be anywhere near this case. And before you go spouting junk at me like you always do, remember that I’m in charge here, so what I say goes. Got it?” Gene cringed inwardly, remembering the last time he’d uttered the same words.

Sam stayed silent for the rest of the breakneck ride, and Gene breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t really put a finger on why he’d kept Sam away, much less explain it while driving to the scene.

***

“It’s worse than the others,” Chris said when they pulled up at the House.

“How can it possibly be worse than the Jones household? There were three of them,” Gene asked.

“It’s Lucy Saxon this time.”

“Fuck,” Gene said, turning towards the house. “His own wife.”

No one said anything, and taking his cue, Gene walked in, Sam behind him.

The scene was even worse than they’d said, not that they’d said much. Lucy Saxon was wearing a gorgeous red evening gown, or at least it looked red with the amount of blood soaking through it. If he hadn’t seen the Jones murders, Gene might well believe that that the human body wasn’t capable of carrying that much blood, let alone a slip of a woman like Mrs. Saxon. Saxon had cut thin strips through the gown and into her flesh, and the gown was so shredded that they wouldn’t be able to tell the full extent of the injuries until the post-mortem, by which point Saxon would likely be far out of their reach.

Tyler stayed to the sidelines, leaning against the door frame and looking at the scene as if he expected to learn the secrets of the universe by reading the blood spatters on the wall. Hell, he probably did. There was a something clasped in her hand, and Gene took one look at the forensic team who were busy taking samples of everything and pried open her fingers himself. She’d been clutching a blood-stained white cloth that had apparently been used to clean her face, which was the only thing in the room not covered in blood.

“Bastard said he loved her,” Gene said, “was bragging about it last time we had him in.”

Sam said nothing.

“Come on then, lots to do. And now that you’re here I can bring you in on this case. We could use your eyes on this one.”

“Sure. What about Annie?”

“She stays out of this one. It’s not a scene for a lady.”

“She’s an officer on your team, Guv. She has the right to be in on this.”

“No, she doesn’t. That’s the end of it.”

They spent the ride back to CID in silence, Gene tapping his fingers on the wheel, and Sam staring at his hands.

***

A full week after the murder, once Lucy’s body had been removed to the morgue and the house had been properly cleaned up, Saxon came home. He drove up in broad daylight and parked out front, not protesting when the plods on duty cuffed and arrested him before he'd turned the engine off.

Gene stormed up to Lost and Found in a foul mood, barking orders to keep everyone away from the suspect, and not a word to Tyler. Once Gene was inside and the door locked behind him, he shoved Saxon down in the chair, keeping his hands on Saxon’s shoulders, leaning down to speak right into his ear.

“Your own wife, you bastard,” Gene spat.

Saxon sat, silently and more still than any suspect Gene had had in the same situation.

“My own DS couldn’t go into that room.”

Saxon still didn’t so much as twitch, and Gene was getting increasingly agitated. He’d never had anyone resist his interrogation so long. He retreated to the other side of the table, still standing. He slapped Saxon across the face, hard. It seemed Saxon was anchored to the floor, as even the slap only served to twist his head to the side.

When Saxon turned back to face Gene, there was a bright hand print clearly visible on his cheek. But the most startling thing was his expression: mouth twisted into a facsimile of a smile, making him look like a cruel imitation of Tyler. Their strange likeness was even more noticeable when Saxon smiled, a dead, cold smile.

“One thing I don’t understand,” Gene tried again, “Is why you cleaned her face.”

“Hmm,” Saxon said, breaking his silence at last. “I suppose it would look a bit funny, wouldn’t it?”

“Quit playing games,” Gene threatened, sliding the table out of the way so that he was standing directly in front of Saxon.

Once again, there was no reaction. Saxon didn’t even look up, just kept looking ahead as though he was looking at something that Gene couldn’t see, something just out of his range. Gene reached out and struck him again. This time, it broke the silence.

“I cleaned her face because I wanted it clean. And she’d let it get dirty.”

“She was dead.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Saxon said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Unlike this, which is just an excuse for you to get your rocks off.”

Gene punched him full in the mouth, sending the chair tipping over backwards. Saxon took a minute to recover, standing up and straightening himself up as best he could with his hands cuffed together.

“Admit it, Guv,” he began. “You get off on being in charge. You boss Skelton and the rest around because you like it.”

Gene swung again, but Saxon sidestepped him easily. No one had ever fought back before. Gene was so off balance with anger and unspent momentum that before he knew it, he was up against the wall with the chain of Saxon’s cuffs against his neck.

“We’re on my territory now,” he started. “Sure, this is your city, but I’ve got the upper hand. In fact, I’ve got two of them. We both know full well that you have no evidence. And here’s the important bit: I don’t follow your orders. I don’t come when you call, and I don’t sit back and take your moods. I’m not one of your underlings, and while I may look like it, I’m not Sam Bloody Tyler. In fact, my name isn’t really Harold Saxon, it was just something I came up with on short notice. You can call me Master. My wife did, and until the other night we got along pretty well.” Saxon abruptly pulled away, but before Gene could properly move, Saxon was back, hands at Gene’s waist, scrabbling with the button of his trousers and reaching inside.

Saxon sneered, “I knew you got off on this.” He scraped the cool metal of the cuff along the shaft of Gene’s prick and Gene shivered.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you locked that door after all,” Saxon said. Keeping his hands where they were, he leaned in and bit Gene’s neck, hard. Gene felt himself getting hard, and tried to push Saxon away, but he didn’t have enough leverage. Instead, he decided to fight dirty.

He reached up grabbed Saxon’s head, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, biting his lips, using pressure to force his mouth open, even as Saxon still fought for the upper hand. Gene was pretty sure he’d won when he let go and Saxon staggered back a few steps, looking momentarily lost. Gene took the opportunity to reverse their positions again.

He pinned Saxon to the wall using one arm and reached down, squeezing Saxon’s prick with the other. “Now who’s getting off?” he growled. Gene would not concede defeat, but his cock was definitely responding to the situation. He undid the button on Saxon’s trousers, and shoved them down his hips as far as he could with one hand, grasping Saxon’s dick roughly and feeling it harden to his touch. Saxon’s expression also hardened, and Gene felt Saxon’s hands back on his own cock.

They were both breathing heavily, trying not to show any reactions at all. Gene knew he had the advantage, and pressed home, using his arm to squeeze Saxon’s neck until he was gasping, and every trace of malice was wiped off his face in an effort to breathe.

“Tell me you killed them, you bastard,” Gene said, “Tell me why.”

Saxon was the first to break, hips surging forward, mouth open wide as he came. Gene let up pressure on his neck and Saxon dropped to the ground. The battle wasn’t over, however, and Gene's prick was sucked into Saxon’s mouth for the dirtiest blow-job he’d ever received. It was hard, fast and nearly painful. Within minutes he was coming down Saxon’s throat before staggering away from him to lean on the forgotten table while he regained a bit of composure.

“I want you out of my city,” Gene said, just loud enough that Saxon would hear it.

“Are you admitting that you have nothing on me?” Saxon asked.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Gene said.

Saxon's smile was more threatening than friendly. “Someday, you might actually like me."