shifted_logs | The Seventh Match

Entry tags:

The Seventh Match

Characters: Gene, Diva, Spectators
Location: The Coliseum.
Time: Two days after the last fights.
Summary: The seventh of the death matches.
Warnings: Character death warning.

Today, Weber had let in a visitor early. With his coffee cup balanced on the seat between them, he was all smooth smiles, a performance designed for one.

The Doctor wasn't happy with Weber, but his conversation with Ten reminded him that he still owed the man a cup of coffee. So he brought him one, and got right down to business. "Tried to find the Emperor, but he never showed up. Any tips? Or are you gonna point a revolver at my head for interfering?"

Weber startled. He almost dropped his cup. Then he drew his revolver, not to point it at the Doctor, but to aim for the head of the man in sable robes who had appeared behind the Doctor, the one known to Naminé merely as the king. Weber got to his feet. “My liege.”

The king returned the smile. “My liar.”

Weber’s gun hand was severed from his wrist in the flash of the king’s sword. Silver blood fell from the wound, but Weber didn’t hesitate. He was forward in a moment, his other hand swinging up for the king's face, but the king caught that and twisted, forcing Weber to the ground.

“Oh, your most glorious majesty.” There was no stopping Weber’s smile, even as he cradled his injured arm to his chest. “How the sight of you brings me to my knees.”

“Were it that you would learn your place there.” With Weber now held down, the king offered the Doctor a brief flicker of his attention. “Another victim, my liar?”

The Doctor rose from his seat—no, the Oncoming Storm rose from his seat. "Let him go. I'm nobody's victim, and neither is he." He stepped forward, placing a hand on Weber's shoulder. "This ends now, your Majesty. I gave you a chance, and you've lost it."

“Doctor, don’t—”

Weber’s shout was pointless. In a gesture too easy and too familiar, the king shoved his sword through the Doctor’s chest and twisted.

The Doctor gasped, both in surprise and pain. His jumper was stained with blood as he collapsed to the ground, and he knew he was dying again. "Time to be a real boy, Pinocchio," he whispered, only for Weber to hear.

The two immortals watched the Doctor die. Then the king drew a card from his robes. As the Doctor's body dissolved into nothing, so too did a gold bracelet on the king's wrist. He drew out another card. One of his gold rings thinned, almost imperceptible to anyone at a distance. The king released Weber and offered him his hand.

And Weber, with his now-regrown hand, took it, sweeping his fallen hat up from the floor and putting it back on his head. “The fight, my liege?”

“Of course.” The king took the Emperor's throne with the arrogance of born royalty. Obedient, the man in the silver-stained cravat sat at his king's side. They were decadence and dissonance, gold jewellery and black fabrics, one's clothing from the West, the other from the East. They had held thrones like these so many times before, and each fell easily into the familiar parts.

The king waved a callous hand. “Gene Hunt.”

Weber gave a sad smile. “Diva.”

The king said, “Get on with it.”

The sand in the hourglass fell, unable to reach the black and silver blood lingering beneath its frame.

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"...Oh, no, did he tell you about that? I told Ray that he couldn't share with anyone else!"

Her face was turning red, since she had misunderstood. After all, she had told Ray stories of that nature and wasn't actually that surprised that he had decided to pass them along to Chris. But she didn't expect Chris to tell Gene! If he had, anyways.

"The hell are you talking about?" Gene just stared at the girl across from him, seriously reconsidering the amount of booze he'd drank. He was beginning to feel sick. Maybe having time run out on them wouldn't be so bad after all. "What're you doing talking to Carling?"

She waved her hand quickly, as if to brush the point of conversation away.

"It's nothing! Really, nothing at all, I just misunderstood what you meant." A beat. "And what do you mean? I can talk to whoever I want! Ray is nice to me and so is Chris."

He ignored her attempts to ignore his question, leaning forward.

"The only reason Ray would give a bird the time of day is because he intended on getting in her knickers come nightfall or she was needed for questioning. Wouldn't put it past the bloke to combine the two if he bloody well could." A pause, likewise, for Gene. "When did you start getting cozy with my CID?"

Diva paused for a moment, thinking about how silly this conversation was. She didn't just mean the misunderstandings about what she had or hadn't told CID, but just their whole, bizarre picnic. Some people might be concerned over that, but Diva just leaned forward in return as her lips turned down into a pouting frown.

"I don't think it's much of your business! I can be friends with who I want," she said half-sourly. But, the first sentence was true. Sam had said that to her not long after she had met Ray, and they were both right. Even if it had been to pacify the albino twins that had been on the Plane, she had slept with Ray.

Might as well make Gene mad while she had the chance.

"You are right about Ray, though, I'll admit. But I only did it because Ray was being stupid and wouldn't just give me the knife. You remember those twins, the really pale ones? Ray took a knife of their's, and the reason that they attacked Chris and Ray was because he wouldn't give it back! They said that if I got that knife for them, they wouldn't bother CID anymore."

Yeah, okay. Gene need more alcohol, nevermind feeling ill. He grabbed the tin of Party Four and poured out another pint, downing it quickly. "You. Boffed Ray." Definitely needed more alcohol. "Christ, you slept with Ray."

Death could not come soon enough.

"No, Diva, you can't be friends with whoever, because you bloody slept with my DS." Maybe it was a disjointed sense of entitlement when it came to his team, or perhaps misplaced protectiveness of Diva herself, but Gene was not taking this news well. If only he hadn't set his gun down, he could at least shoot himself in the head and purge the memory of what she'd told him. "Is it at all possible for you to keep your sodding knickers on?"

Now she was verging on exasperation. "Why does everyone get mad about that?! It's not like it matters."

She knew that it did, in a way, but how she understood it was flawed. It wasn't like Diva had exactly been comfortable with the situation, but it was what she had to do to get the knife and protect (Sam) CID. It was one of the only things she had to barter, and considering her unusual biology, it was of no consequence to do so.

"Ne, I knew I shouldn't have told you that! Now you won't ever leave me alone for it. Sam was already upset enough, thank you!"

"Opening your legs for any bloke who comes 'round matters plenty, Diva. What do you think street girls are? What do you think happens to them after some bastard's had his way with her and she's not worth the money he's s'posed to give her?" Gene jabbed a finger at Diva's chest. "Not to mention it's disgusting that you'd shack up with Ray when you say you want Tyler. No wonder he won't sleep with you. Why would any bloke want someone who isn't faithful?"

"I--I would never have sex for money!" she said angrily halfway through, but went quiet when Sam was brought up. Diva looked genuinely surprised.

"It's...not like that, though! Sam said--" Diva broke off. Sam had always stepped around the issue when it was brought up or even remotely hinted at. And now she was unsure, so she looked down and away from Gene.

She started again quietly. "Sam didn't say anything. I would be faithful, if he...ever wanted that. Is that something that he would want, do you think?"

Oh for the love of. "I didn't call you a prozzie, Diva. But that's what you act like and there's consequences to that sort of lifestyle. Same with queers, same with druggies."

Gene groaned, rubbing at his temple. "Tell you what. Let's forget we started talkin' 'bout this, because I don't ever want to think about what Sam Tyler wants when it comes to sex."

She was quiet, thinking about it. It wasn't really the time to talk about it. But she noticed something on the corner of her dress that made her blood run cold.

Maybe she had been listening, faintly, unable to really turn her attention away. It seemed impossible, because even she shouldn't be able to hear the running sand that would tell her when her life would end. But as Gene spoke, she felt a sudden heaviness, and turned to look back.

The hourglass was empty. But she felt nothing. She expected something right away, so at first, she smiled with relief. It was just a game, all you had to do was sit and wait and--

It was hot.

Just all of the sudden, it was hot. So she dropped her glass, letting it spill all over her tablecloth as she stumbled back and away from Gene. She saw it, just on the corner of her dress and tried to pat it out, but it didn't go away.

"Oh, no. No, nonono--!" She had come with the picnic in hand knowing that she would die. She had resigned herself to that. But when it came to it, she didn't want to die. Especially not this way. Already, she could feel that flame searing her flesh and it hurt. And it was getting larger and larger.

He wasn't looking at her at first and so thought her protests were in regards to Sam. Gene grumbled, pinching his nose in frustration. "Just once I'd like for you to listen to me--"

Looking up, the first thing Gene noticed was Diva's face. Terrified, anguished. A moment later he saw the flames licking up her side and he scrambled to his feet, alcohol forgotten in the rush. The Guv cursed, glancing into the stands at where Weber sat with a self-satisfied smile -- always that bloody smile -- and the hourglass sat still and silent.

Time was up.

Bending over, Gene grabbed the blanket, scattering food and the Party Four tin across the arena floor, lunging for Diva. If he could just get the blanket around her, maybe he could smother the flames. But as he took that first step, something seized up in him and he gasped, staggering. He couldn't breathe, his throat constricting and lungs wheezing for air. Gene grimaced, taking another painful step, shaking uncontrollably. Heh. The bastard hadn't been lying, had he? It seems Gene wasn't getting out of death that easily, either.

But he still couldn't let Diva burn.

Diva didn't know the first thing about how to put out a fire other than water, but there wasn't any around. She suddenly regretted bringing only beer instead of water. She was in the dirt, trying to pile it on herself in a frenzy to put out the flame, but it wasn't stopped at all.

But she could still see Gene. She cried out for him, when he grabbed the blanket and let out another cry when she saw him stumble. The fire was agony, like every pain she'd ever been through had suddenly come back to her all at once. It was engulfing her, and she was afraid. The first time she had really, truly died, there wasn't any pain at all. She had crumbled into dust and had her time to say goodbyes. She wasn't afraid, then, because it hadn't hurt at all.

She couldn't stay standing, despite how quickly she had jumped up, and she crumbled in the dirt with her hand reaching out for Gene as she burned.

His feet felt like lead and every step sent stabbing pains through his chest, but Gene didn't care. He couldn't, because Diva was burning and he had to save someone. He couldn't let his team down, not now. Not ever.

How he managed to make it to her he didn't know, but Gene collapsed beside her, teeth gritted as he shoved the blanket over her, trying to pat out the flames. He could feel the heat through the fabric and sucked in a breath that lodged in his throat; he gagged, hacking up phlegm and blood and what looked like pieces of lung. Oh bloody hell.

"Always causing me trouble," he wheezed quietly, patting desperately at the flames. "Never did know when to quit, did you?"

She had promised herself that she wouldn't cry, but now she couldn't help it. It was so hot, and she was begging it for it to be over in her mind, whatever over was. If she lived or if she died, it didn't matter because then it would be over.

She heard his words, but couldn't respond. It was hot to do that. It was like the fire was burning away all her thoughts, the tears on her cheeks and everything she could see. It was so hot.

And it was so funny, so she laughed. What else was there to do but laugh? She could feel the flames roasting her flesh. She couldn't bear it unless she was laughing, but she just cried more as she laughed, since it was impossible. She was immortal. She wasn't dying. And Gene was trying to save her. That was funny too, wasn't it?

I don't want to die. Not now, not when things were getting better. Not now, when Sam was back--oh, she hoped he wasn't watching. And she couldn't think about Gene, because it burned, it hurt and she was dying.

She couldn't laugh anymore. She could only scream with her dying breaths as her flesh cooked from a fire that wouldn't go away, no matter how much Gene tried to save her. There was a last breath crying out for help, and then--

It was cold.

And then it was nothing at all.

"No!" Gene yelled, watching as the flames licked through the blanket, as Diva's flesh cracked and smouldered. "I won't let you die!" He couldn't. He couldn't because Diva was part of his team and goddamnit if he let them down what good was he? But the flames weren't listening and his fingers were covered in blisters, red and angry and bubbling across his flesh like puss-filled sores.

The blanket was all but gone and Diva had fallen silent, leaving Gene alone, and he fell back, hacking and choking on his own blood. His vision blurred and he fought to stay conscious, turning his attention back to the emperor's box and the bastards sitting there. After a moment he couldn't see them, but Gene knew they were there and he kept his eyes trained on that spot until the hacking grew so bad he doubled over, clawing at the ground and his chest to stop the pain.

Blood covered his hands and the ground beneath him, pieces of gore smattered among the red stains. Gene stared, gaping like a fish out of water, until the darkness enveloped the world and, eventually, his thoughts, leaving him in blessed, painless silence.

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The Seventh Match

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