A/N: Christmas is my favourite time of year, so I couldn't resist a bit of Galex at Christmas!
First instalment of a two-parter, I suppose set during S2...if you ignore the angst of the latter half of the series and forget that Gene ever (accidentally) shot Alex. I just needed to write some fluffy - and eventually sexy - Galex, which meant I had to ditch the canon timeline from mid-way through S2.
Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes To Ashes or any of its characters (more's the pity).
A Star Above the City
Chapter 1
Of all the places Alex Drake could have expected to be on Christmas Eve, a hospital room two hundred plus miles away from London was not high on her list.
Still, things could have been much worse, and she consoled herself with the fact that at least she wasn't alone, ruminating on all that she was missing out on.
The good thing about being in the police force in this less-than-modern era and at this time of year was that work was relentless up until almost the stroke of midnight on December 25th. If she was back in 2008 she would have had no problem with hanging up her duties by the 23rd, if not earlier, so that she could devote herself entirely to the other role in her life for the entirety of the season. As it was she was relieved that she could immerse herself in the nitty-gritty details of the lives of London's criminals in all their varieties. She was after a break as much as anyone, and didn't expect anything more taxing than collaring a couple of alcohol-soaked Santas who had run off with the proceeds of the local supermarket's charity collection. Hardly anything that would win her the title of Police Psychologist of the Year, but enough to provide a distraction.
What she hadn't banked on was the jailbreak of Tommy Smithers – otherwise known as 'The Middleton Menace' – who had fled from Belmarsh and was hot-footing it to his home city, intent on settling a few scores before fate inevitably caught up with him. It was hardly a surprise to discover that Gene knew Tommy rather well, and had been responsible for seeing him behind bars in Manchester on more than one occasion before he graduated to the bigger leagues. So there could only be one Detective Chief Inspector to sling Smithers back where he belonged - and give him a few new shining bruises as early Christmas presents while he was at it.
The A Team wasn't assembled; she was lucky enough – or otherwise cursed – to be the only one who Gene had called upon to accompany him back up North in pursuit of Smithers.
"As much as you'd like to think so, Bolly, my middle name isn't Scrooge," he'd told her when she'd enquired exactly why he wanted her on the case and not Ray and Chris instead, with what she believed to be calm rationality. "Besides, as far as I can see, it's not like yer've got anythin' better to do."
She could have decided to be deeply offended and start another slanging match with him, but not only would it not have been worth it, it would have also shone a spotlight on the painful truth which she wasn't prepared to fully admit to even herself as yet.
Last Christmas had been the first she had spent away from Molly and she had felt the sting in her heart and soul long before the day itself. She was plagued by thoughts of traditions that had once upon a time brought her endless joy – spending hours on her hands and knees in front of the fire wrapping presents (she always went overboard), going to the carol service and midnight mass with Evan, hanging Molly's stocking by the foot of her bed and checking that she was sound asleep before heading to bed herself, filled with a couple of brandies and childish excitement – and felt herself spiralling deeper, headlong into extremes of guilt and sorrow which no amount of wine was able to drown.
She had no notion of how much time had passed in the real world. It could have been nowhere near Christmas, and she hoped for Molly's sake that it wasn't.
She had intended to spend as much of her first Christmas Day in the '80s curled up in bed, pretending that she wasn't there and that it was all a dream – which of course it was, if she thought logically. The memories that were imprinted on her brain had her waking up at not that far past dawn and the first thing she did was sob helplessly, face down into her pillow.
Eventually she had dragged herself up, not bothering to get changed out of her dressing gown, pyjamas and bed-socks, arming herself with whatever bottles were stashed in the fridge. She watched television on a loop, hoping that she might find Molly dancing out of the audience on Top of the Pops, telling her that everything was going to be alright and that her heart was still beating. When that didn't happen she put on a VHS of one of her favourite films, one that she had seen what felt like hundreds of times. This year it was more bittersweet than she usually found it, tears brimming in her eyes as she identified strongly with the fate of poor George Bailey. If she had never been born then she wouldn't have left someone else so wretched and heartbroken, on her own to survive just as she had once upon a time in a world that seemed as far away as another universe.
Christmas dinner was foregone entirely, in favour of a liquid lunch instead. She was surprised that she was able to stand, opening the door to her flat before another series of thudding knocks could rain down upon it.
"Flamin' 'eck, you look awful. Get nothin' other than a lump of coal in yer stocking, did yer?"
"Merry Christmas to you as well, Guv."
She snatched the bottle of wine from his hand, wandering in search of the corkscrew and leaving Gene to his own devices, striding behind her. They ended up on the sofa, the pattern of which hurt her eyes the longer she stared at it and with the more alcohol she consumed.
It wasn't a shock to discover that Gene wasn't an advocate of the festive season, and she listened to him go on about what a load of shit it all was for what seemed like hours, holding herself together stoically. She couldn't even recall afterwards the remark that broke her but she ended up in a heap, blubbering so hard that she could hardly open her eyes. He'd mumbled something, putting down his glass on the coffee table before putting an arm around her, less reluctantly than she might have considered in the circumstances.
"It's all bollocks, but there's no need for the waterworks, Bols. C'mon, this is me best shirt and yer gunna ruin it with all that mascara dripping down yer face."
His attempt at a comforting piece of advice didn't have the same effect as the bulk of him nestled to her side. She leant her head against his chest, buried her nose in his shirt. If only his blasted tie wasn't in the way she could have got a better whiff of his 'man-stink', which wasn't as off-putting as it sounded. He smelt delightfully musky and masculine, the expected aromas of cigarette smoke and whisky there but something else surprisingly sweeter lying beneath the surface. If she had to guess she'd imagine that he'd spritzed more than a touch of aftershave on as well.
Her voice came out too high and half-indecipherable, but she knew that she had told him in her sorry state that she missed her little girl. She missed her mum and dad, the grieving she'd had to relive all over again still painfully clear in her senses.
He did nothing but hold her, waiting for the tears to subside and for normal service to resume.
"If you keep on whingin' like this, yer never gunna get any other yuppie twats to shag yer."
His hand stroked absent-mindedly upon her back, and not for the first time she felt stirrings within her at the caresses of his fingertips, much gentler than she'd ever imagined – though she had experienced them before.
It was a good job that he wasn't a mind-reader, else he would have been privy to her thoughts that she didn't want to go anywhere near another city boy with red or any other colour braces for as long as she was still there. If she was going to be intimate with anyone else in this existence there was only one choice, and the realisation no longer shocked her to the core. In fact, it occurred to her that wanting him was quite possibly the only thing that made sense. Trust your instincts.
She stopped crying before Boxing Day was ushered in, and they got steadily drunk as the clock ticked round. The only way to see out an arsehole of a day, as Gene had so eloquently put it, and she felt that she had to agree, even if her head would hate her in the morning.
Of course in actual 1982 she would have been spending Christmas with Evan. Less of a shambles than the first that they had had, just the two of them, as she could recall. He had spoilt her rotten, overcompensating. A half-dozen dolls and a red bike that went almost completely untouched. She still remained fascinated with the Rubix Cube, turning and twisting it in her hands, wondering if there was a way she could take it apart tiny plastic piece by piece and put it back together, as good as new.
Christmas was a time for families, and Gene was the closest to family that she had here. The two of them, as good as alone in this world but for each other. She'd been thinking about it seriously for a week previous, if not a little longer. Alright; since the start of the month. She could drop it casually into conversation as the house rubbish flowed between them in Luigi's. A proper Christmas dinner, even with sprouts, and a turkey bigger than the two of them could manage. Pudding with brandy butter, and a cheeseboard. Quite enough booze, of course, but she would be sensible and aim to lead by example, no matter how much he coaxed her.
She'd wear red. Festive. A silky blouse that she hadn't long purchased, just enough buttons left undone so that she could offer him a teasing peek of her bra. As much of a grumpy sod that he is, he deserves a present. Black, she thought, for a contrast. Lacy, with half-cups. Or perhaps she could wear a bustier instead? No, too many clasps, too fiddly. Shit, she was thinking way too much about this.
They'd end the evening pleasantly merry, some appropriate music playing in the background. Sod being Lonely This Christmas. She'd raise a thumb to his lips, stopping him before he could utter 'Bollykecks', tracing the curve of his mouth in anticipation of feeling it pressed against hers urgently. Staring into his eyes, those pools of blue that absorbed her completely and said so much more than he would ever let on. Like I want you, Alex. Want you so much that it's fuckin' killing me.
I know. God, don't I bloody well know.
It would be so much better than a drunken fumble that they both would have sorely regretted if it had actually happened twelve months previously. Every kiss earned, every touch written upon a list. Father Christmas would blush the colour of his suit if he knew what she'd been wishing to get up to with DCI Gene Hunt. Time would slow to a stop, previously unknown, as they became lost, found only to each other. Getting what they deserved.
It was a good job she'd got all of the supplies in before they headed off on the long drive down the M40.
Tommy Smithers wasn't as half as clever as he thought he was, which she could have informed him of if it wouldn't have risked inflaming things even further. Hardly a couple of hours had passed by until they'd tracked him down to a 'hideaway' – his cousin's terraced house in a run-down council estate on the outskirts of Middleton. Nowhere left to run.
"Yer've been a very naughty boy this year, Smithers. Saint Nick won't be best pleased. And the Gene-Genie is bloody furious..."
In a frenzy, Tommy had pointed his shooter. First at her, causing her to draw in an unsteady breath.
"Think about what you're doing, Tommy. If you come quietly, everything will be so much easier."
She looked at him square in the eyes, trying not to see the face of Layton before her.
"Just shut up!"
"If you think that's gunna make 'er stop, you really are a dumb bastard."
"Fuck you, Hunt!"
Smithers' shaking hands swerved to the left, aiming directly at Gene. She was ready to throw herself into the line of fire as he pulled the trigger, Gene's exasperated and frantic cries of 'Bolly' ringing in her ears before everything went black. As it turned out, Tommy was a terrible shot and instead fired the gun skywards.
"Bleedin' hell, no wonder your missus left yer. Happy Christmas, Tommy. It's the last you'll see out of bars for a good while."
She was trembling when they got back to the safety of the Quattro, lying and saying it was to do with the cold. During the drive to the centre of the city she tried to convince him to stop off somewhere to let the shock subside. "Gene Hunt does not get shock, and especially not because of twatty twerps like that." He wouldn't look at her in the eyes, being unusually conscientious about his driving, and she knew he was covering.
The sky was darkening quickly, the window rolled down on his side letting the freezing air fly into the car. She was about to beg him to shut it when a piercing cry tore through the otherwise silent not-quite-yet night. Gene's eyebrows shot up and he mumbled something about running over a cat. She, however, recognised the emission of such a noise from experience.
The girl had half-fallen into a doorway, surrounded by overflowing binbags, the light from an incredibly bright star overhead bringing her features out of the darkness. Examining her face, twisted in pain, Alex saw that she couldn't have been older than eighteen. Frightened and unsure at first, she grasped firmly onto Alex's hand, yanking her forward as the other hand clutched at the swollen stomach.
"I'm not ready, not yet. Please, please don't leave me!"
While Gene muttered "Jesus effin' Christ..." behind her, Alex smiled reassuringly, putting her arm around the girl in order to slowly bring her to her feet.
"What's your name?"
"Marie."
It wouldn't be until later on that she realised how coincidental it all was.
"It's going to be alright, Marie. We're not going to leave you."
Helping the heavily pregnant girl into the back of the Quattro, Alex turned to glare at Gene, swiftly shutting him up on the subject of complaining about any 'gunk' making its way onto the leather. He huffed with exaggeration, slamming the door shut behind him and turning the car in the direction of the nearest hospital. All the way there Alex craned her head to gaze through the gap between the front seats, asking Marie to count the seconds between her contractions and encouraging her to breathe. To her surprise rather than being intent on testing the speed limit Gene drove with calm consideration, muttering a sincere "sorry, love" to Marie as they traversed over bumps in the road.
Not two hours later she found herself standing by the girl's bedside, hands in the back pockets of her jeans, a silly and sentimental smile on her face as she regarded the scene before her. There was a lovely amber glow in the room generated by one bedside and another taller standing lamp, significantly different from the silver sheen of starlight that had tailed them on the journey to the hospital but no less beautiful. Completely fitting for such a special moment, serenity casting a protective circle around the young newly-made mother and her precious babe in arms.
Alex leaned forward on the toes of her boots, drawn in by that wonderful, indescribable smell that she recalled with tears pricking at her eyes. The baby, who had been soundly asleep, squirmed his little limbs and blinked open his eyes of brilliant blue. She felt a jolt in her heart, an almost physical ache in her soul.
"He's beautiful," she murmured softly to Marie. The girl was intent as she lay in the bed, absolutely entranced with her son. Alex remembered her own immediate infatuation in the seconds after Molly was born, on an almost unbearably warm afternoon in summer.
"We're all girls in our family," Marie uttered, holding her little finger out and waving it in front of the child's sleepy gaze. "I don't 'ave a clue what to do with 'im."
"You'll pick it up quickly. It'll become second nature, like you've known it all along." She stopped herself from touching the baby, instead smoothing her hand against the starchy hospital bedsheets. "He'll have a very proud grandfather, I'm sure."
"Maybe if 'e hadn't thrown us both out on our ear. I'm too much of a disgrace for this one to get any benefit."
Alex's smile faltered for a moment, as she considered how everything wasn't quite so simple as she was making out. How could anyone look at that perfect little bundle and not fall helplessly in love? His little fist grabbed firmly onto his mother's finger, causing both women to laugh.
"Quite a grip on him," Alex commented.
In those few seconds she was reassured that Marie had more than enough strength to survive, caring for her son and herself on her own, while hoping that the tides might yet turn.
The baby gurgled, a sound of perfect peace and contentment. In that little hospital room it seemed to be all that surrounded, no space for anything else.
"I'll leave you both to get to know each other better."
Marie raised her head slowly, an exhausted but gracious smile upon her face.
"Thank you," the girl said in a steady voice before Alex could leave the room completely, "for not just walkin' by and leavin' us on the street."
It saddened her that Marie felt the need to express her gratitude for what was a common courtesy.
"And thank 'im for me and all."
She smiled thinking of Gene and how he was probably cursing her this very second for being a soppy tart and keeping them held back, even if he secretly enjoyed spending a little more time in the city that he used to call his.
"I will do. Merry Christmas, to both of you."
Having shut the door as softly as she could behind her she looked at her watch, thinking how they'd be cutting it fine even if they headed off now. Tea and milk rattled from the vending machine and she plucked one polystyrene cup after the other, tipping an obscene amount of packet sugars into one. Even as she stirred valiantly it all collected like sediment at the bottom of the cup, and she grimaced at the thought of drinking it. The man is a law unto himself, never mind a heart attack waiting to happen.
She walked with haste down the corridors, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled at the back of her neck at the clinical smells and atmosphere. Gene's broad back in his overcoat greeted her, sitting in a chair that was far too small for his imposing frame in a quiet waiting area.
He turned his nose up at the cup she proffered, looking far from impressed.
"Oh, come on," she exclaimed. The very least he could do was pretend to be grateful. "It has five sugars and everything, I counted. Although I dread to think what it'll do to your blood pressure."
"After the day I've 'ad I'm after somethin' a bit stronger." She glared at him as he rifled through his pockets. "Bugger, I've left all me hip flasks in the car."
"Oh no," her eyes darted upwards as she looked at him, "we've got to drive back to London tonight. You are not touching a drop of alcohol."
"Well, you're full of Christmas cheer," he huffed, trying to avoid her steely gaze. "A couple doesn't count. It's more of a crime to be entirely sober on Christmas Eve round these parts."
"Oh, and that's an excuse that will stand up in court, of course. God help you, you would not last five minutes in the future..."
"Alright, Charles Dickens, don't get your knickers in a twist. And don't look at me like I've got two 'eads."
"Fairly standard cultural reference, I suppose," she smiled wryly. He was more likely to have watched the films than read the book.
He held out a still-gloved hand. "Give it 'ere."
She winced again as she watched him knock back the contents of the small cup in one go, making a noise to signal his barely-quenched thirst once he had finished. In contrast, she sipped her sugarless tea carefully.
"Anyway, wouldn't be so bad bein' delayed. You worried the polo club wouldn't let yer back in if they knew you'd been up North for longer than 'alf an hour?"
"I have never played polo in my life."
"That's your present buggered then. And I didn't even keep the receipt."
He shot her a mischievous look, eyes twinkling like moonlight dancing on water, and she felt her insides turn into a puddle of goo. She chastised herself for her reaction, even though it was to no avail. There really was no hope left for her now, not when it came to him.
As they set foot outside again, neither of them were mistaken in finding fine specks of white drifting down from the sky. Regardless, Alex looked upwards, trying to judge how much snowfall was likely to be on the cards. The fact that it was pitch black hampered her attempts somewhat.
"Yes, Bolly, it's snowin'. What a bloody Christmas miracle. Now get yer arse in the car."
She shook the swiftly melting flakes from her hair, climbing into the passenger seat. He really did have no romance in his soul; trust her to pin all of her hopes on him when their ideals were poles apart.
"Mind if I turn the radio on?" she asked as they chugged along the road.
"If you must," was his gruff reply.
The pop music floated around the Quattro's interior, Alex resting against the seat. Closing her eyes she attempted to regress, losing herself in childhood memories and a time when she had felt safe; although looking back, she wasn't sure that she could find a time or a place in which she could summon the sacred feeling.
As strange as it seemed, this very moment appeared to be the closest she had got.
"Jesus," Gene's disgusted exclamation punctured her thoughts, "what in the 'ell is this shit?"
A smile started on her lips as she listened to the schmaltzy tune.
"Renee and Renato," she replied. "I don't know how you haven't heard it."
"Because, Bolly, I am not in the 'abit of listening to the musical equivalent of steaming turds."
She stifled a chuckle. "Oh, I don't think it's that bad. It has a certain charm."
The lyrics weren't exactly the finest that had ever been penned but they were rather sweet, in an obvious and almost-too-sugary manner. Ironic, really, considering his penchant for the stuff.
#Darling I will love you endlessly
Even though you're far away from me
I can't forget the words I told you...#.
She turned her head so that he wouldn't catch her momentarily perturbed expression from the corner of his eye. This was all so ridiculous. Beyond that. One day soon she would wake up in a hospital bed of her own, not only miles but years away, surrounded by the real people whom she loved and who loved her back. A shudder went down her spine when she thought about Evan, the past he had kept a secret no longer so from her. She'd have Molly. She would always have Molly. She could never turn her back on her little girl, her own flesh and blood who she cherished with all of her heart and who she would never stop fighting for.
A lump had gathered in her throat and she sought to swallow it away, blaming it on some non-existent and dormant virus.
She'd go back eventually, but not before the year was out. It had been nearly eighteen months after all, a few more days wouldn't make any difference. Although, knowing her luck...
"Bloody Nora! If this goes on any longer me ears are gunna start bleedin'."
"It's number one in the charts, they must have done something right."
He took his eyes from the road for a second or two, unimpressed pout upon his face.
"Proves what I've always thought. That the general public are a bunch of dickheads."
Before the song could build to its crescendo, one gloved finger flicked off the switch of the radio, leaving them in silence once more.
"Thank Christ for that."
Nothing could be seen out of the window other than darkness and a flurry of white. Another melody started up in her head, inspired by the weather, and she bobbed from side to side.
#Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too
Come on it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you...#
"You're getting to be a dab hand with babies and pregnancy," Alex remarked with a smirk after a few contemplative moments had passed. His answer was a solitary grunt. "Have you been in touch to see how Jackie's getting on?"
"No, I 'ave bloody well not! I've told yer a million times, the sprog isn't mine."
She scoffed. "Paternity has nothing to do with it. I thought you'd be interested, as a friend."
"The further I can stay away from that woman, the better." He turned them a little too sharply around a corner, the wheels of the Quattro missing the edge of the pavement by mere millimetres. "Anyway, dunno why you're so bothered. Thought you couldn't stand 'er."
Only when I thought she was shagging you and it made me so insanely jealous that I couldn't bear it.
"I misjudged her. It can happen." She looked across to him, the passing glow from the orange streetlights framing his profile. She shifted in her seat as much as the fastened seatbelt would allow, squeezing her knees together. "Marie hadn't named the baby before I left her. I reckon that Manchester could have another little Gene on its hands."
A hint of a smile drifted across his face, hands in firm position upon the steering wheel. He did seem to have this unexplainable, powerful effect on the female of the species, no matter what the encounter. It was something she would be fascinated to study, though she wasn't sure she would ever find a definitive answer.
"She's a sweet kid," he uttered, speaking as though he'd come across a million Maries in his time. "Shouldn't 'ave been a shock, really. You'd be 'ard pressed to find three wise men around 'ere, never mind a bloody virgin."
Alex shook her head in barely feigned disbelief at his view of the situation and then smiled wistfully. God knows it had been hard enough for her and she had been a 'respectable' young wife, even if Pete didn't last out very long before he scarpered, leaving all responsibilities far behind him.
"She will be alright, won't she?"
She wasn't sure why Gene should have the answer, but somehow it didn't seem out of his league.
"Course she will," he replied, after thinking about it for a moment. "She's a Manc lass. None in the world are made from sterner stuff. You can take the Gene-Genie's word on that one, Bols."
She smiled, feeling reassured on Marie and her newborn son's behalf. Still she might offer up a prayer in the dead of night, hoping that her pleas might be listened to if they were for someone else other than herself.
"Christ on a bike, this is takin' the piss now."
The snow was coming down in steadier drifts, almost completely cloaking the windscreen.
"I never expect a white Christmas to actually happen."
Which was strange, really; if this was her fantasy then surely whatever she imagined would be the case.
Gene ignored her wonderings, swearing as the Quattro's wheels ground to a halt. The rest of the road was, rather unsurprisingly, empty, and yet a lone figure still patrolled, holding out an arm in front of him. When all was lost Gene shut off the car's engine, the Quattro seeming to sigh in relief that it wouldn't have to battle the blizzard any longer.
They got out in synchronisation, Alex zipping up her leather jacket to the collar. She really needed to invest in a decent winter coat, but was still reluctant to tempt fate.
The uniformed police officer caught sight of them and strolled over, a smile of recognition lighting his face as he looked upon Gene, not needing to take notice of the warrant card he was holding aloft.
"DCI Hunt," the young man exclaimed in a cheery tone, "PC Hawkins. This is a surprise, I thought you were in the big smoke now."
"Er, yeah, well got to pop up every now and then, see that things aren't goin' down the pan without me. Good to see yer again, Hawkins." It was evident that Gene didn't have a clue who the constable was, but his bluffing appeared to do the job well enough. "What's the story?"
"Storm's swept in from Scotland. Wasn't supposed to 'it us until New Year, and the worst 'asn't arrived yet." PC Hawkins cast his gaze between Gene and Alex, looking remorseful; he was sure to be on the receiving end of one hell of a bollocking for being the one who had to give the bad news to DCI Hunt. "We've been ordered to close all the roads off, for tonight at least."
The blaze of anger that both PC Hawkins and Alex expected to erupt from Gene dispersed with little more than a spark.
"No skin off my nose," he uttered, tapping a hand to the younger man's shoulder. "Sterlin' work, Constable. 'ave this to keep yerself warm."
PC Hawkins took the hip flask into both hands, paralysed less from the cold as from shock.
"Got plenty more where that came from."
"Blimey. Thankin' you very kindly, DCI Hunt. Happy Christmas."
Well, there was a Christmas miracle if she had ever seen one. The daze she felt at Gene's act of sudden and unprompted generosity quickly left her as the soft snow beneath her soles started to freeze her toes within her boots.
"But we've got to get back to London," she cried, her voice echoing in the silent and freezing night air. "We can't stay here all night, there's nowhere to go!"
"We 'aven't got much say in the matter, Bolly, not when Mother Nature is bein' a ragin' bitch."
She looked at him helplessly, trying to come up with a solution from the darkest depths of her brain. She was already stranded far from home with a man she both couldn't bear to be around or without, this was just taking it to another level.
He leant down to the barely open window of the Quattro, throwing the keys onto the dashboard.
"Can't stay in there," he told her when she looked at him as though he'd lost all control of his senses, "not if we want to live to see Christmas mornin'."
"Heaven forbid that I might pick up your precious car keys for a second, but you'll happily leave them on display for any passing stranger to see!" Her expression was incredulous as she stared at him, arms folded tight against her chest. "Aren't you worried it won't be here in the morning?"
He scoffed loudly at her reasoning. "We're not in Liverpool, Bolly. She'll be fine, don't you worry yer pretty 'ead about it."
She was so incensed at his reference to a bloody four-wheeled vehicle as a living, breathing person that she didn't notice him pointing into the near-distance.
"There yer go, light at the end of the tunnel. Relief for the weary travellers. What do I always say, Bols? If there's one place you can rely on, wherever you find yerself, then it's a pub."
She squinted against the flakes that continued to drift down, having to speed up to follow his strides. The Wayfarers Inn, the sign outside the rather pokey-looking establishment read. Of course; he was capable of sniffing out alcohol from as far as five miles away. Still, at least it advertised lodging; she could put up with rowdy booze-filled punters making a racket below for one night, and surely they would all have homes to go to before midnight arrived.
Several clouds of thick smoke assaulted the back of her throat on entering. Otherwise it looked quite nice, a bit on the obvious side perhaps. And so much bigger on the inside. Like the TARDIS. She might expect Peter Davison to pop out from behind the bar. Instead an older man with a very impressive set of sideboards manned the station instead.
" 'Scuse me, mate," Gene began, leaning an arm against the bar, "we're coppers, come up from London. Well, I'm a native, but this one's never been further north than Knightsbridge. And we were wonderin'..."
"If you're lookin' for rooms then I'm afraid I can't 'elp," the man quickly cut in. "Last one went just an 'alf-hour ago. We're all full, even to locals."
Alex couldn't stop herself from laughing aloud. "No room at the inn. Oh, I couldn't make this up if I tried. Or perhaps I just have." She stared with wide eyes at the landlord. "I suppose you've got a stable with a couple of donkeys and sheep out the back, and you could squeeze us in there if we're willing to sleep on the hay."
He looked blankly at her, sideboards twitching on his face in apparent confusion.
"Apologies for my colleague," Gene intervened, his head leaning in sympathetically, "we've spent 'alf the night at Manchester Infirmary and they still can't work out what's wrong with 'er."
"We don't 'ave any spare rooms, but you'd be welcome to spend the night," the landlord said, much to Gene's delight. "I'd be 'appy to throw a couple of drinks in, on the house."
"That is a very kind offer."
Alex waved a hand in front of Gene's face, if just to prove to herself that she hadn't been rendered invisible.
"I am not spending Christmas Eve draped on the tables of a pub!" She stage-whispered, trying to keep her voice down so as not to offend the owner. At her right side, a nearly-toothless man leant heavily upon the bar, tipping his pint glass and grinning at them.
"I've spent some of my best Christmases doin' just that," Gene replied. "Look, I know it's not what yer used to, but now is not the time to be actin' all high and mighty. We are close to bein' up Shit Creek and this is our canoe."
"A canoe that just so happens to be stocked full of booze," Alex rolled her eyes.
"For once in yer life, will you just shut yer trap and be grateful!" He quickly realised he might have overstepped the mark, snapping back into a calmer state of mind and his eyes softening. Either that or the alcohol that was being consumed by others was having a passive effect. "Look, they've got a saloon bar and everythin'."
She cast her gaze reluctantly towards the aforementioned bar, finding it less than impressive.
"I'd just rather not," she said, hoping to conclude the matter. She'd feel safe with him being there, there was little question about that, and the assorted drunks seemed pleasant enough. Still, it was a far cry from midnight mass. "Doesn't your mother live nearby?"
"Other side of town," he answered, looking less than comfortable. "Anyway if I turned up with you in tow I'd 'ave more questions fired at me than by the bloody Spanish Inquisition. And I really do not need that."
Feeling a touch offended by his implication she threw her head back to the ceiling. It was dangerous to leave him to his own devices for so long though, especially with so much temptation surrounding them.
"Well, looks like we need to go in search of a paddle, doesn't it?"
"Don't mean to interrupt..." the landlord piped up again.
"Please," Gene turned towards him, doing what he could to dodge her quietly burning gaze, "be my guest."
"There is somewhere that might have some space. It's about fifteen minutes from 'ere, once you get onto the main road. It's a lot bigger," he paused, looking at Alex specifically, "and it's not a boozer."
"I really didn't mean any offence," she explained, looking as earnest as she could.
"Cheers, mate," Gene said, turning up the collar on his overcoat. "Come on then, Fancy Knickers, better get a move on."
She followed behind him as he trundled through the streets, snow still tumbling from the sky and the blindingly bright star over their heads, appearing to guide them as they followed the directions the landlord had scribbled on the back of a beermat.
"Could 'ave been on me third pint by now if we'd stayed put," he grumbled, not turning back to look at her but just ploughing on.
"I'm sorry," she offered in a small but sincere voice, beginning to lose the feeling in her fingertips. "I'll buy you all the drinks you want when we get there."
He shook his head against the wind, and she could see little crystals melting against his crown.
"S'alright, Bolly. I'm used to bein' disappointed at this soddin' time of year."
She lowered her chin further down into her jacket, feeling shared sorrow as well as a keen curiosity for his lamenting.
"Well, bugger me sideways."
At the sound of his exclamation she looked up, finding with a little surprise that they had arrived at their destination. The hotel took up most of the length of the street, its hundreds of windows illuminated with light, throwing a reflection onto their shell-shocked faces.
"Have you been here before?" she asked him softly, considering that it was something of a stupid question as soon as she said it.
"What do you reckon, Bols? Been past a few times, felt like they'd bloody arrest me for even lookin' at it. The Midland's for posh knobs and out-of-towners, not hard-bitten bastards like meself."
She turned her head fully towards him in the starlight, glimpsing underneath the facade in the still quiet of the night that surrounded them.
"Though I s'pose me luck's in, walkin' in with you." He held an arm out, allowing her to take the lead in walking up the many steps to the hotel's entrance. "I'll let you do the talkin', Lady B. They'll lose their minds hearin' that plummy voice of yours, think Her Majesty 'as sent you especially for an inspection."
She let out a half-dismissive laugh, the heels of her boots clicking loudly on the polished marble floor as he followed in tow, their positions reversed. She smiled towards the young receptionist somewhat exaggeratedly, feeling rather intimidated herself by the lavish decor and gold gilting that was everywhere.
"Hello," she said, subconsciously clipping her vowels, "my colleague and I have been stranded by the blasted snowstorm, and we've searched everywhere for somewhere to stay for the night. I'm worried that if we go much further we'll end up freezing to death!"
The receptionist smiled politely, stifling a giggle as Alex let go instead, her inhibitions having disappeared along with most of the heat in her body.
"It might be out of the question, of course, but I don't suppose you have any vacancies?"
"Well, we are extremely busy, what with it being Christmas and all," the young woman pursed her lips to keep smiling, "but I can certainly check. One moment."
"Oh, thank you," Alex beamed, "you'd be our guardian angel if you could find something!"
She felt Gene's eyes upon her, a bemused expression upon his face.
Excuse me, Hunt, but I may just be saving us from getting hypothermia here.
"We do have a room," the receptionist informed them after a few moments searching, "but it is just the one room. If that would cause a problem at all..."
"Since you mention it, love..."
"Not a problem at all," Alex quickly cut across Gene, her eyes warning him to stay quiet and her arms barring him from cutting short the exchange at the desk.
Perhaps he was more of a prude than she'd had him down for, or otherwise he felt so uncomfortable staying in such a place that he'd rather retreat back to safer ground. But surely, staying in an actual hotel room was far preferable to perching yourself on a bar stool for the night.
"It's one of our best rooms," the young woman told them airily. "As it is last minute, the rate is a little more than it would usually be. It's £350 for the night."
" 'ow much?" Gene bellowed, his shout reverberating around the otherwise empty reception.
"£350, sir," the receptionist helpfully repeated. "I'm afraid given the lateness of the booking we won't be able to accept instalment payment either."
"Bleedin' hellfire."
"It's fine," Alex said, undoing the zip on one of her jacket pockets. "I'm sure I have a card on me..."
"No," Gene stepped forward, taking his wallet out of the inside pocket of his coat, "I'll pay."
"If you insist," Alex replied in almost a whisper, leaning back on her heels as he handed over the total in notes to the receptionist, who smiled graciously and supplied them both with a key.
They walked in silence to the lift, Alex pressing the button for the fourth floor when the door closed behind them.
"Three hundred and fifty quid, just to get yer head down for the night," he continued to complain as the lift propelled them upwards. "I'm expectin' a gold-plated bog for that bloody price."
"At least we'll be warm and comfortable," she replied, looking over her shoulder towards him as the doors slid open, welcoming them to a plush corridor lined with rooms.
"I would 'ave kept you warm, Bolly. Even if we might not 'ave been very comfortable."
She wished she wouldn't have got flutterings in her stomach at his insinuations, his warm breath on the back of her neck causing further electric tingles to race through into her bloodstream, but she seemed incapable of controlling her reactions when it came to him anymore. And she even found herself wondering about the possibilities that had passed them by.
There was no point in thinking upon them now, and anyway, she was confident that this was the right option after all.
"We could 'ave kipped at that pub for the price of a few ales. All I'm sayin' is that you owe me big time, Bols."
She paused to turn towards him as she put the key into the lock of Room 407. "Alright. I'll be your personal slave for a day when we get back to work. Is that what you want to hear?"
His eyes flickered down from hers to stare at her lips. At this point he wasn't even being subtle, not that it was ever one of his finer points.
"Somethin' along those lines would do quite nicely."
She shook her head, pushing the door open. It glided along the thick-pile carpet, dimmed lights flickering into life. It didn't take long at all to see why it was deemed the best room in the establishment; indeed, it was more of a suite, with its own dining and seating area and en-suite bathroom. They looked terribly small standing in it, considering they had no luggage and only the clothes that were on their backs.
Gene had plopped himself down into a chair, already ridding himself of his boots, leaving her to do the rest of the exploration. She walked through into the bedroom, hovering for a moment on the threshold, hand held to her mouth to see what was before her, quite plain.
Perhaps there was another little room hidden elsewhere. She wandered to the white shuttered doors inside, just to check, but found only wardrobe space.
Shit, if he wasn't mad enough already, he'll be absolutely fuming now.
"Gene?" she called after hesitating for a few moments. "There's a slight problem..."
A/N: Whatever could it be? ;) (I know it's a rather obvious trope) It doesn't actually snow that much up here, but needs must...
Save Your Love sung by Renee and Renato and written by Johnny Edward and Sue Edward. As it was Christmas Number One in 1982 I had to do a shout-out. Sleigh Ride is one of my Christmas favourites, though I'd much prefer a ride in the Quattro.