"He didn't deserve a shallow grave, did he? Did he Alex?"

"No… no you didn't."

He found himself thinking of his mum, his brother… shit, even his twat of a father. There had been a girl… Marjory? Moira? Mary? They had fumbled together down by the canal. She hadd let him upstairs, inside… the first one… the only one.

They never knew what happened. Son, brother, lover… vanished.

Memories, flooding back…

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She stepped towards him, crying the tears that hadn't been shed over his grave.

"I forgot… I forgot everything. And do you know what… I wish I still had."

"It's all right," she whispered, holding him tight. He felt her lips caress his cheek.

Turning his head, he captured her mouth with his own. He needed this, needed her. The sweet surrender of her body against his shocked him to the core. He'd never thought she would feel like this... the softness of her breast under his hand, the warmth of her body as she pressed against him.

As gently has he could, he lowered them both to the floor.

/\/\/\/\/\

This wasn't the way he had planned it. There had been no dancing, no champagne, no posh hotel room… a hard floor covered with a dusty blanket had served for their bed.

"It'll be getting dark soon, " she murmured, stating the bloody obvious as always.

"I'm not about to start skipping about under the stars, or watching moonrises."

She giggled, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"You cold?" he asked.

"No, why?"

"I just wondered why you were in such a hurry to get your clothes back on?"

"Someone might come."

"Someone already has… in fact someone scored a hat trick… and it weren't me."

She grinned at him and Gene realised that he had every right to be proud of himself.

"You have unexpected talents, Mr. Hunt, ones that I am not about to share."

He approved of that. Running his hand from her breast to her arse Gene realised that he didn't want to share either. But even the risk of being discovered in flagrante wasn't enough for him to contemplate moving… at least not yet. He hadn't felt this way about any woman since the first heady years of his marriage… his wife… had she been another lost soul or had she been a construct of this world? A figure conjured up by his imagination to help combat the loneliness.

Gene pulled Alex closer, wanting to feel more of her skin pressed against his own. These moments were precious to him. Bittersweet. With the return of his memories had come the certain knowledge that he couldn't keep her here with him forever. She, like the others, deserved the chance to move on. Perhaps he'd been selfish to give in to his desires, but he knew with certainty that she had wanted it too. Still did, judging by the way her fingers were stroking circles on his chest, drifting lower. Taking her caress as an invitation, Gene rolled over, settling himself between her welcoming thighs.

"Beautiful," he whispered as he looked down at her. The single word caused her face to light up. Gene couldn't understand how she could have any doubts.

Was this love? Gene didn't know. Or at least he wasn't prepared to admit it. Love made you vulnerable, and falling out of love was even worse. Alex already knew too much about him and he wasn't quite ready to give her his heart. His mind still held onto the nagging doubt that this was nothing more than a pity fuck.

Although, looking down at her now, her face flushed, her eyes shining, he didn't think she could possibly be faking it. But what did he know? The only women he had ever been with were part of this world.

"We could find a hotel for the night," she suggested.

He was sorely tempted, but the burden of his responsibilities came crashing back down. They'd already been gone for too long.

"Best get back," he sighed, "and make sure Fenchurch East is still standing."

"Ray it more than capable of…"

Her voice started to rise in both volume and pitch, signs that they were rapidly heading towards a blazing row. However, Gene now had a new way to shut her up. Bending down, he kissed the argument right out of her.

"Alex, I'd rather you didn't mention Ray when you've got your tits out… it's putting me off me stride."

The last thing Gene expected as his statement to be met by a round of applause. He scrambled up, instinctively hiding Alex's body with his own, watching in apprehension as Jim Keats stepped out of the shadows.

'This is beautiful…"

/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Club Tropicana, drinks are free.

Fun and sunshine, there's enough for everyone.

All that's missing is the sea,

But don't worry, you can suntan!"

Alex gritted her teeth. She'd hated the song the first time around and it didn't improve with time… or with volume. But even Wham's worst did little to hide the roar of the Quattro's engine. With its owner relegated to the passenger seat, it sounded as if the much-loved vehicle was protesting. Shivering, Alex pulled her coat closer, wishing that Gene were also in the back seat keeping her warm. The darkness outside was oppressive. She couldn't pick out any familiar landmarks as they sped down the M1.

Cold, hungry, tired, Alex wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a hot meal… but she had the feeling that the night was far from over.

"What a song!" Keats exclaimed joyfully. "I love this car!"

She glanced at Gene, waiting, hoping for a reaction but he just took another pull at his flask. He looked as if he was set on drinking himself to oblivion as quickly as possible but Alex doubted there was enough whiskey in the car for him to achieve that goal.

He didn't deserve this.

Alex reached forward between the seats trying to take his free hand, but he ignored her, refusing to respond to her caress. She drew her hand back. Alex looked down seeing the dirt on her fingers, the torn nails from where she'd dug into the earth. She'd wanted the truth, but her heart was being ripped in two.

"I think we should listen to this over and over again all of the way home!"

"Castaways and lover's meet, then kiss in Tropicana's heat…"

'I'm doing this for Molly,' Alex kept repeating to herself, 'She can't be without me. I'm doing this for Molly.'

Even that knowledge did little to help her state of mind. Something didn't feel right. Her last view of the real world had been a hospital room. She'd seen herself lying in that bed with no sign of a gunshot wound. There hadn't been anyone with her.

And then there had been the dream… the uniform had been the same but Molly had been older. How much time had passed? Hours? Months? Years? Unbidden a tear stole down her cheek. She'd never felt so alone. This world had proved to be more than she ever imagined. And Gene Hunt's place in it more complex. He had grown up here and become the man she had fallen for.

It all made sense now. If Gene Hunt was attracted to the dying, it wasn't for the reasons that Keats had intimated.

She remembered Sally, the stripper from Hyde, Super Mac, Martin Summers… Gene had been there as they died; offering comfort as they passed over to what Alex as sure was a better place. Viv? Oh God, had he been in time to save Viv? Keats had got there first. There had been no peace, no reassurance…. Viv had died in fear. Gene had known that… at some level, he had known. The tears were falling in earnest now. Small, ugly noises escaping from her throat.

"Shhhh… It's all right to cry, Alex. You've been through so much," Keats' voice was soft, but she knew now that the comfort he offered was meaningless.

"Don't you talk to me!" Alex sobbed.

Gene hated it when she cried. He would think she was weak, pathetic but to her surprise he seemed to have roused himself from his stupor.

"Stop the car," he said, quietly.

"Club Tropicana drinks are free. Fun and sunshine, there's enough for everyone," Keats sang at the top of his voice. "Sing along Gene!"

"I said stop the fucking car!"

Gene reached across to grab the steering wheel but before he could take control, Keats slammed on the brakes, sending Gene flying forwards. Luckily he managed to brace himself on the dashboard and stop himself crashing through the windscreen.

"Don't do that again," Keats hissed. "You wouldn't want to cause an accident, would you? Some one might get hurt… or killed… and what would happen then?"

Ignoring Keats, Gene somehow managed to scramble into the back seat. The car took off with a screech throwing him onto Alex, almost crushing the breath out of her, but only for a moment. He quickly pulled himself up and over to the far side of the seat. Alex lay there for a moment, as she tried to get her breath back. Then she crawled closer to Gene, letting him put a comforting arm about her shoulders.

"Don't cry, Bols," he whispered as he handed her the flask.

"I'm not."

Alex took a sip, grateful for the liquid warmth. There was silence for a moment whilst Keats rewound the tape. Then the music started again.

"Let me take you to a place, where membership's a smiling face ..."

/\/\/\/\

Lyrics to 'Club Tropicana' by George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley.