A/N: An almost similar piece to my last only it is actually basically… exactly true to canon piece. Well, the canon which should have been. Basically every single piece of speech in this story is from the original shooting script of 3x08. And the actions are also mostly from the script, too. (slightly expanded on for fluff and angst, of course.

Her Star Beyond my Order

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

- A Drinking Song by W.B. Yeats

Gene knew he'd end up standing around like an idiot dancing the moment she asked. He couldn't and wouldn't deny her anything.

Years of foreplay led to this moment. When he could feel almost everything slip away from him. His friends were dying, doubting and the woman he knew without words that he loved was closer than ever. And something told him still bloody unattainable.

So, of course he'd get up and dance. She fumbled with the tapes and he rolled his eyes. The prelude was ridiculous. The ending was the same for the both of them. At least what they wanted it to be the same.

As the tape unravelled, he refused to believe that it was some sort of sign for how the night would go.

"Give it here, woman," he stood swiftly and picked up a pencil with one hand and took the tape from her with the other. Rewinding it, he hoped she wouldn't notice the tremor in his hands… if only he was so lucky.

"Your hand's shaking," she said, the surprise in her voice almost made him cringe. Of course he was bloody shaking, this wasn't some blonde at a bar, this was probably the only woman who has ever managed to make him feel… anything.

Not that he would say that.

"No, it's not," he grumbled, continuing to rewind the cassette. "Small earthquake in central London, happens all the time." He passed the tape to her, their fingers brushing in the process. Turning to the player she quietly speaks to him. Her own voice shy with nerves.

"I'm shaking, too."

He almost smiled, but kept his face in a pout, "If we're dancing, let's get it over with." His words were painfully three levels more confident than he actually felt but he ran with it, especially when she gave him a cheeky smile.

"Yes, sir."

After pressing play, Gene couldn't stop the look of distaste on his face. Spandau Ballet was not his version of romance, at least not his comfortable version of romancing.

"Got any Herb Alpert?"

Soft and sweet, she shook her head, "No." She didn't let him grumble for too long, stepping up to him one hand taking his, the other arm around his shoulder. He almost groaned at the feel of her. Never actually having her close, at least not with the promise of actual genuine fulfilment.

It could barely be called dancing. A slow sway of two people who were fragile, sensitive... She enjoyed the feel of his thumb brushing gently on her back where his hand rested.

What she hated, though was how awkward it was at first. They weren't strangers to serious situations; the bullet to the gut was enough of a testament to that. But it all boiled down to this. Whatever was between them, untouched was finally unravelling.

Resting her head on his shoulder, she couldn't stop the drop of her stomach. She loved him. Of course she did. No bullet hurt as much as the reality that she would be leaving him soon. Molly, her Molly… she knew how it had to end and it wasn't going to be in Gene Hunt's arms.

But for now? Now she would give in to the one thing she wanted. Needed. Gene was right, it was trust. Their trust was shaky at best, but she had so much more to lose and less time to prove it than Sam Tyler ever did. And she never wanted to trust someone so wholly as she wanted to trust Gene Bloody Hunt.

Keats thinks you killed him. He's never going to give up.

I don't care about Keats. I care about you.

How he managed to say everything and nothing with a few words, she never understood. He could shatter the whole world around her with a look; she couldn't help but hold him closer, how hard it must be for a man to wield that much power over everyone.

You've scrubbed up alright, Bolly... Alex.

Thank you, you don't look too bad yourself.

His lips on her forehead surprised her. She expected a lot but nothing as intimate as this. There was just something profoundly telling about the act. The same reason his eyes closed the moment she rested her head in his shoulder. It was instinct.

The she felt the command. Because Gene Hunt may be a shy man under the bluster, he may – if she prayed to herself enough – be in love with her. But he wasn't subtle. His lips were replaced by his nose, a nudge.

Time's up, Alex. Gene Hunt gave you a dance, gave a piece of himself over to you in the process. It's now or never. The swaying remained, although it slowed. She clenched her hand in his as their eyes met.

How many times have they shared this look? The eyes in a heated hold, drifting only briefly to lips before looking away like a chastised child… Only now the movement between the two was visible, his nose brushed against hers and she could actually feel his breath on her lips.

And then their lips met. The tiniest of pecks, breaking apart before meeting again, and she almost wanted to laugh about how awkward it was. Her first ever kiss had gone smoother, but then… she doubted she ever felt like she did about any man she'd kissed the same way she felt for him.

She could feel his growl of frustration vibrate against her lips, and she quirked a smile. They had broken the barrier, the never before touched line and it wasn't moving quickly enough for either of them.

And what a kiss that was. An instant meeting of tongues and hands moving apart, hers in his hair as if she could devour him. She felt a little self-satisfaction when his hands predictably moved to her arse. A tiny squeeze before he pulled her closer to him, his erection pushing against her.

She couldn't have stopped the mewl of pleasure if someone ripped her away from him. His growl in response was matched by his hands moving to her hips and pulling her slightly back from him.

"I want you, Alex Drake," he whispered, his breathing as harsh as hers as their eyes locked, there was no unease with this. They were finally on the same page.

"Yes," was all she replied, it was too complicated for anything else. She stopped and pressed her lips to his again, a sweet and promising kiss as her hand trailed down his arm taking his hand in hers and pulling him as she moved away.

She had imagined this moment so many times she'd be too embarrassed to admit to a psychiatrist, but it was never as tentative as the reality was. In her daydreams, things would knock to the floor, clothes would rip, instead his hand entwined with hers and he walked dutifully to the side of her. Equals.

Then there is a pounding knock on the door. Something shatters in Alex. How dare someone try to interrupt this?

"Who is it?" she asks, feeling Gene's hand slowly leaving hers before she grasps it tighter. There is no answer from the door just another louder knock.

She turned to Gene, letting go of his hand and placing two hands on his chest, forcing him to bring his eyes to hers.

"Go to the bathroom," she whispers, not the bedroom… not without her, "I'll get rid of them." He nods his assent and moves to leave before stopping and kissing her briefly again. She can't help but feel the kiss is a plea but she can't fathom what for.

Then she opens the door to Jim Keats and she wonders if Gene Hunt knew he was there all along.

"Alex."

"This is not a good time," she bites at him. She has always been so painfully polite to Jim, always respectful but not this night.

"Is that right?" he asks, that smirk on his face like he already knew that. His eyes flick into the room where he could spot the used wine bottles and before they drifted shut for a moment, "I love this song."

Opening his eyes his smile drops and he produces a brown envelope, passing it to her with the most serious expression.

"What is it?" she cursed her hands for shaking.

"I got your photos developed," he tilted his head towards the envelope. She opened it and pulled out a handful of black and white photos. It didn't take too long for her to realise that these weren't Gene Hunt's. They were Sam Tyler's. If only for the sweet smiling photo of Annie Cartwright on top of the pile, looking every bit a happy in love woman, the next a photo of Ray and Chris smiling at a pub. They looked younger and happier for it, too.

The next photo caused her breath to catch. Gene Hunt, smiling and looking like he didn't have any problems in the world. She brushed a finger across the image, her heart in the room a little ways over. She was acutely aware of Jim watching her and she moved to the next photo. The last photo in the small pile. It was of a cottage, the weather vane she had been haunted by since her return…

"Farrington Mill, Lancashire," Jim provided, pausing as he lowered his voice, his eyes looking behind her, "Be careful, Alex. Be very careful." And as though it was nothing, he left her with whatever revelation she was about to face. She looked at the image again, tears stinging her eyes. With a sigh she turned it over…

I think we've found our grave.

She glanced, a tear dropping down her face as she looked at the bathroom door. In a decision she would later regret, she grabbed her coat and left. Left him and whatever truth he hid from her behind. Every inch of her aching, knowing all too well the pain she was going to cause the man she left behind.

Last night I was soaring like an eagle,
But like Icarus, I flew too near the sun.
So this morning I am just a broken woman
Devastated that my dancing days are done.

- You Made Me Late Again by Pam Ayres

A/N: A fitting romantic W.B. Yeats poem and a dramatic Pam Ayres poem? It was definitely hard, I mean... Yeats should stick to his dramatic stuff. Also... the PA poem is rather out of context, but christ that ending is so fitting for Alex in that moment. Obviously this is down to Gene mistaking Yeats for Pam Ayres... and a little extra the title is from a Leonard Cohen song called Came So Far For Beauty, it's a very Gene-song and quite fitting for... those two bastards. Ugh, I hate that they still get to me. Thanks for reading!