A/N: This came into my head during an English Literature essay (of all times!) and wouldn't go away, so my rabbit demanded I write it or she wouldn't eat any more lettuce for a week. Since I'm a member of the Anti-Muse Anorexia League (twinned with the Anti-Nazi League our very own Gene took such exception to), I had to concede. So, I hereby present: Weird Stalker Dating Agency Lady, or as it's actually called, Cousin Alex. Inspired by Cousin Kate, by Christina Rossetti. Post S3 E2.
PS: No offence is to be taken by Beth Goddard, Keeley Hawes, Philip Glenister or anyone whose character is... er... left less than whole by this story. But, just in case (and in case Gene finds out where I live and comes to get me): sorry!
She'd seen him with that bitch of a DI who'd tried to join her agency undercover, and her heart had burst into flames at that very second.
Snogging like teenagers on a bench in Regent Park.
No! NO!
She could still remember their date. Gene had been such a gentleman, pulling her chair out for her, paying the bill, forever making sure she was comfortable- but Elaine had constantly been plagued by the feeling that this was some kind of trial run for something else. Maybe someone else, although she hadn't been sure. The way he'd comforted that young girl back in her shop, she'd thought maybe it was her- but then she'd seen the way he looked at his DI and she'd decided to make her move. He'd clearly become interested in Alex Drake- she had to pounce.
She'd thought the date might help. But then he sent her a message, telling her that he had entered a relationship with another woman, and that it had been lovely knowing her, but that they wouldn't have another date.
Elaine had screamed and shrieked, rattling the windows of the dating agency, flinging a vase of flowers at the wall, imagining it was his mystery lady's face.
The stain had looked a little like Alex Drake.
She'd started planning that day. Watching him, watching her, watching the idiots that made up their team. Documenting their every move, their every word and expression, skulking in the corner of Luigi's with her coat done up to her throat, a scarf half-covering her face. He'd never noticed her, she thought with remorse. He'd been too preoccupied with staring down the front of his DI's blouse, as he fingered her thigh under the table. How she'd wished it was her leg his long, delicate fingers were stroking, her breasts those breathtaking eyes were ogling; she was a feminist through and through, but oh, what she'd give to fall into those arms, surrender herself to those magician's fingers, those glowing orbs, the long, lean, manly body she could never get enough of...
The perfect opportunity had presented itself when she'd taken a walk in Regent Park, hoping to think of a proper plan, and seen them in their romantic embrace on an old peeled bench, just out of sight of the main path.
The dragon in her chest had howled, pain shooting through her very being, her soul and psyche- but at the same time, her mind had leapt to and her mouth had curled into a sly smile.
Walking up to them would be too obvious; she needed to be as surreptitious as possible, a panther in the night. A panther stalking her prey. Her aching chest had leapt at the prospect. She had the gags and the rope in her pockets; if she brought her car along here, slipped off the road and hid it behind the trees... who would know?
Alex giggling at something Gene had murmured, in a low voice dripping with sex and allure, had sealed her resolve.
Knocking her out had been a piece of cake, the dozy cow- never looking around. Gene, on the other hand... she hadn't wanted to hurt him. She'd tried to show him that, tried to kiss him, grab her chance, make him forget about the DI, the bitch, the man-stealer, now lying at his feet- but he'd pushed her away, pulled out his cuffs, made to grasp her wrists. She'd swung the bat at his head before she'd known it. She'd felt terrible as he crumpled to the ground, her sensuous man senseless.
But his arm had been round Alex, even in painful unconsciousness. The dragon had spat fire into her stomach. She needed to get them out of here.
Then he would see sense.
Then he would come round.
Then he would love her.
Lugging him hadn't quite been what she'd thought; she'd imagined copping a feel as she eased him in, staring into those laser-bright eyes, but his eyelids had been closed, as though he was dozing, eyelashes matted together with coagulating blood. She'd bent to kiss his forehead, and his skin had stunk of it.
"I'm sorry," she'd whispered to her unconscious love, closing the boot on him and his bitch. She refused to even give the whore a name.
Taking them home, she'd been full of joy, pride, triumph: she had everything she could want in the boot of her car, the man of more than just her dreams, of her daydreams and her soul and her every waking moment too. Of course, the whore would need to be dealt with, too... but she could worry about her later.
She'd smiled as he came round some hours later, bloodied and bruised, tugging furiously at the ropes binding his arms to the bed. She'd started talking to him, soothing him, trying to bring him round; it had broken her heart when she'd leaned in for a kiss and he'd spat at her, growling for her to stay away, untie him, let him and Alex go. Didn't he realise she couldn't ever do that? He was hers now. Always would be. Always had to be. He couldn't ever be anything else... forever hers.
She'd kissed his forehead, so tender, so forgiving. She'd forgive him the spitting, the cruel words, the denial. She could forgive Gene anything. Gene had cried out, writhing beneath her body, struggling so hard it was a dagger in her psyche, blood soaking onto the pale rose covers. She'd started getting angry; as much as she'd tried to stop it, the dragon reared its loving head again, doused her in poison. She'd slapped him, her eyes tearing at his yelps, her soul shrieking within her- slapped him over and over and over again, until he remained silent, watching her with fear in those beautiful blue eyes. The eyes she could happily spend the rest of her life staring into.
She'd told him so. He'd laughed, laughed in her face, albeit shakily. Told her to let him go and let Alex go, that he was a police officer, that she wouldn't get away with this. Unable to help it, in more pain than she'd thought was humanly possible, Elaine had started crying then, promising she'd never touch him again, she'd never hurt him in the slightest ever again, if he'd love her, leave Alex, love her, because she loved him, more than life and the universe and consciousness itself...
He'd shaken his head.
That's when she'd lost control.
His shirt had been weak, much-worn, had torn easily; his screams pierced her heart, the way he squirmed like a rat caught in a trap. My beautiful boy... don't be afraid. She'd whispered it in his ear, stroked his cheek, tears dribbling onto his chest as he'd tried to get away from her, yanking desperately at his constraints, burning his wrists and ankles. Don't! You're hurting yourself. Lie still, my wonderful man. Let me show you how much I love you.
When he'd failed to keep the tears in check, she'd let the sobbing take her over.
She'd sat back and untied him, limb by exquisite limb, pulled him into a hopeless embrace, tears running down her neck. He'd held her. Held her back. And she dared to believe that maybe it would be OK, that maybe he'd love her back, maybe he'd seen sense...
But when the cuffs had snapped onto her wrists, she'd cried out.
Betrayed.
Deprived.
Loveless, bloodless.
He may as well have shot her.
His voice had been weak as he'd read her her rights, asked her where Alex was, held her down as she tried to kiss him. She hadn't realised how hard she'd hit him with the bat, back in the park, back a lifetime ago. He'd swayed dangerously as he stood up to let Alex out.
She hadn't been able to tell him she'd stabbed the whore.
His cry of desperate, shattering despair had broken the tiny bit of her left intact.
He'd saved her, though, carrying her outside, calling for an ambulance, surrendering to the paramedics himself as he'd told someone, some nameless man bearing her magnificent Gene's accent, to go in and get her, that she was under arrest. Her Gene's minion had just added the additional crimes and re-cautioned her. Procedure. Procedure. Procedure, when her heart was fragmenting and shuddering into an emotionless grave.
All so emotionless.
She knew now that they were still together. They had a child, a little girl, and were trying for another. She was still his whore. A whore, but his whore. And him? He was still her Gene. Her beautiful, beautiful Gene. The man she'd adored until her heart had withered with the force of her cherishing. Deep inside, he was the man she still loved.
Elaine looked once again round her cell, and stroked her thigh, closing her eyes.
She was in Luigi's, and she was sat next to Gene, and he was fingering her shapely legs, deft fingers arousing and soothing, a fire upon her skin.
Above Luigi's, in a warm, soft bed, Gene curled around his wife, pressing a kiss to the thick, serrated scar just above her left breast.
He cradled his baby daughter in one hand, and Alex's head in the other, beaming softly at her as she opened her mesmerising eyes and took him in, a soft smile lighting up her own features. From somewhere below came the sound of the world, the cruel, twisted, lit-up world he tried to govern and she tried to help, and they both held each other closer, warm flesh on warm flesh, soulmate on soulmate.
Their little daughter gave a gentle coo, tucked in her paradise between the warm bodies of her parents, swathed in love and happiness and gentle gentle emotions. They moved her to lie betwixt them, and she cuddled into them, their delight and their reward, eyes brighter than a harvest moon.
An unloved lover huddled into herself, eyes darker than a dying night.