Fandom: Ashes to Ashes
Word Count: 400 words.
Notes: I really want to like Alex and the best way for me to do that is to get inside her fictional head, much like Gene. Title from the song 'It's a Man's Man's Man's World', in this case, deliberate double negative. Spoilers for 1.01 and 1.02.
Her mother had said --- no, it wasn't her mother, it was a construct --- it had said that Alex had to act like a man in order to survive in her profession, implying that she hadn't. But Alex remembered the hastily prepared dinners, prepared by her father, the cold, clinical gaze as she was picked up from school.
Her mother was not maternal. Her mother was not the cuddling type. Her mother was blown up before Alex ever got to learn that this had had a profound effect on her personality.
She'd read various exponents on gender theory, knew that gender itself was a social construct, but that didn't stop her wondering if it was inherently female to show affection for another living creature - especially one you created yourself. She knew she loved Molly, she knew she did everything in her power to show that, she knew she had fought tooth and nail for custody, and just as well, given Molly's father's track record.
She went by the name 'Alex', and not because she was lazy.
Her profiling instincts told her that it was latent misogyny she had repressed coming to the fore. Her mother was a bitch, she was a bitch, therefore, in order for women to exist in a Man's world, they all had to be bitches to survive. A false syllogism, perhaps, if it even was one, but pertinent nonetheless.
Her profiling instincts were based on stereotypes and simplification of humanity - on patterns and mathematical equations. On psychological bullshit, if she let herself admit it.
If Alex's mind was most interested in wanting to explore feminist theory, she had few hopes for the kind of fantastical stories Sam Tyler had concocted. And she had seen Gene Hunt with his snooker cue and bared arse.
Alex downed more wine - she could drink any of her colleagues under the table - and narrowed her eyes as she stared at Luigi's wall. Did it really matter? Woman or man, she tried to make her mark - surely that was what counted? She attempted to make a difference. In this day and age, a girl could love decorating and DeLoreans. Could decide to be a doctor and a desirable proposition for the opposite - or same - sex.
But which day and age? The real one, or the one fabricated from case notes, recordings, and a bullet to the head?