Okay, the Froggy Muses have alighted upon my overheated brain cell and demanded they be listened to. This idea came from seemingly nowhere but the malestrom (and I just know I've spelt that wrong but bear with me, please?) of my imagination and bit of wish fulfillment. I willingly hold up my hand to being a massive Gene/Alex shipper, guilty as charged m'lud. Two such brilliantly strong characters bouncing metaphorically off each other deserve a bit of flirtation, even if Gene would doubtless be shocked to the very core at the idea of such a suggestion. And you see - that's why I love him. He just can't help himself, whether throwing in a bit of sexually provacative harrassment that today would have him whisked straight into a tribunal of epic proportions, consuming enough strong spirits to warrant a visit from 'Most Haunted' or, despite himself, emotionally throwing himself at Alex. And yet, as we've all witnessed, he's a very different animal than we originally had the dubious pleasure of meeting in LoM with the late lamented Sam Tyler - this Gene Genie is a bit softer round the edges, and a little bit less gob and more vunerable, especially when a certain female DI freefalls into his world.
This is a multi-chapter effort, so hang on in there. I hope you enjoy it and please - feel free to comment! At time of posting I'm about 30 seconds of screen time from finishing but something is holding me back! Your reviews could well encourage me to close this one down and move onto the next G/A fic :)
Thanking you all kindly in advance.
Now - fire up the Quattro!!

Monday Morning Beckons

He'd searched all weekend.
He'd turned his flat upside down.
He'd looked in suit pockets, trouser pockets, coat pockets.
He'd removed every cushion that was removable from the sofa and chairs to search.
He'd even searched in his car, and though it had been unsuccessful in that respect, he had managed to clear out the growing amount of rubbish that had been stuffed in the back, mostly under the driver's seat.
There was now nowhere left to look. 'Damn.' he muttered and sat down, looking a bit lost and more than a bit worried.
Gene Hunt had to admit failure - he had lost his favourite tie.
He knew he'd had it on Friday, he remembered it distinctly.
He mentally ran through his day, something he tried not to do too often since his move to the Met.

He'd been early in, beating all but the cleaner in. Again, since his move down to London, he'd found it easier to be in early. It helped him get a better grasp on the day ahead. Besides with so many reports flying about, it gave him a good half hour or so to read and try and take in the proposed changes to policing as he knew it.

Ray had rolled in, grunting 'morning Guv' and instantly lighting up whilst he searched for his coffee mug. Chris and Shaz had clocked in shortly afterwards, Chris all adoring looks, and Shaz pretending not to notice so much, and just about getting away with it.

Then Alex had wandered in, all sunglasses and white bomber jacket, putting Gene's senses on high alert for another day.

To try and distract himself, he'd lit up and made himself concentrate on yet another report about the Brixton Riots. After two pages, Gene admitted he hadn't taken more than a couple of things in and tossed the bound paperwork into his 'pending' tray.

He heard the low buzz of human voices that came from the main CID room, the product of open plan working.

Trying to convince himself it was an exercise in monitoring his staff, Gene listened as he heard Ray coughing and winding up Vic, the desk sergeant, about his afro. In the corner, standing by the filing cabinet, Shaz was still with Chris, the young man leaning forward nervously as Shaz hugged a folder to her and looked up him through her eyelashes.

Gene had been fooling himself that he wasn't interested in what Alex was doing, that he couldn't care less what she was involved with.

At her desk, her head propped up with one hand, while the other leafed through a file. No, it wasn't a file, it was a book. He watched her pick up a pen and bend her head to start writing. She was completely absorbed in the task, seemingly oblivious to the conversation of her colleagues and the ringing of the phones around her. He saw her pause, look up into the middle distance and then smile to herself, then start to write again.

What was she writing? And what had made her smile? Damnit, Gene told himself, pull yourself together man. And, as he did so, the phone rang on his desk. He snatched it up, 'Hunt, CID' he barked. And then listened. 'Right. We'll be there.' he finished, nodded curtly and slammed the phone down. He stood up, grabbing his jacket as he did so and shoving the two way radio into his pocket, he flung open the door of his office and marched out into the main space beyond.

The inhabitants of the fluorescently lighted room stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Gene cast his eyes around and they finally stopped on Alex. Even she had stopped writing, but the pen was paused in midair, and she wore an amused expression when he finally locked eyes on her.

'Drake, get your coat.'

'If I must…' she told him and closing the book she had been writing in, she opened one of her desk drawers, dropped the book in it, locked it and pocketed the key.

As they walked through the corridors with him, she slipped her coat on and produced her sunglasses, ready to fend off the summer's strong sunshine outside.

'This is just too 'Miami Vice' meets 'The Sweeney'' Alex muttered as they stepped into the Audi.

'Flash bastards.' Gene told her and starting up the car they roared off down the street.

Gene stood up from his sofa and walked to the window in his kitchen. It wasn't much of a view, overlooking a communal garden he only used when the sun was hot and his flat was too stuffy.
Nothing there to suggest where he'd left the damn tie. Why was it bugging him so much? He knew he could go out and get another tie. In fact, he had quite a collection in his wardrobe, he didn't need another tie at all.
But his tie had been a present. Not from his ex-wife, long gone and departed leaving recriminations and dissatisfaction in her wake.
It had been a present from Sam Tyler.

One night, in the Railway Arms, Sam had walked up to him and handed Gene a small gift wrapped box. Annie had stood behind Sam, grinning at them both.

'Guv - small token of our esteem.' Sam had told him. 'It's not Christmas!' 'No, but it is your birthday.' Sam replied. Gene had been floored. He took the gift and shoved it in his pocket, promising to open it later, and covering up his embarrassment by demanding they buy him the most expensive scotch Nelson could provide.

When he opened the present a few weeks later, Sam was dead.
The entire of CID was numb from the loss.
Annie was on extended leave.
And Gene had decided that he could no longer stay in the place he had loved so much, but now held such an appalling memory.
He had to leave, to move away from the shock of this unforgivable event.

So he had applied to come on secondment to the Met.
So what if he slagged off London like City fans abused United?
So what if he thought everyone in the South lived the high life leaving the North to go to the dogs?
So what if he would have to learn to drink wine and champagne instead of a decent beer?
He had made his bed, and, as his father used to slur, he would have to learn to lie in it.

Alone.
Even though Ray and Chris had followed shortly afterwards, Gene was aware that the old ties had been stretched thin since their leaving of North West HQ.
Ray and he would occasionally go for an overpriced beer when they first arrived, but now, the new CID - his new CID, decamped en-masse to Luigi's.
And Gene had learned that actually, wine wasn't that bad at all.
But he was still alone.

Outside of work, away from Luigi's, he'd retreated within himself, a man alone and learning to live with it.