A/N: I wrote this Monday, I was irrationally moody and for some reason an hour slowing forming and writing this really helped..
She sends Molly away. They both need a little space from each other. Molly's over-bearing and Alex is certain she is being neglectful.
Day 1.
She does nothing, except mope guiltily around the house. Obsessively touching the indentation on her head and sliding her hand under her starched shirt to feel the clear, unmarred stretch of skin beneath it.
Day 2.
She leaves the house, but not until late in the evening, when only street lamps can pick out her features and even then her fringe is styled strategically and checked regularly.
She self-consciously buys two bottles of wine with her meal of Italian Ravioli con la Ricotta for one.
Day 3.
She gives up trying not to think about him, because he is all that occupies her dreams.
The first bottle gets uncorked as she starts reading through the book, 'her' book, the one she hasn't finished.
She reads with fresh eyes. She laughs and cries through her old views; stilted and narrow-minded, and the familiarity with which Sam Tyler describes Gene Hunt.
Day 4.
She forgets to eat. It might be the wine she drank last night or the dream that followed, but all she can taste is Gene.
She brushes her teeth till her mouth is mint and copper, but she can't get him out.
She touches her stomach and forehead on repeat, trying to balance out reality.
She closes her eyes and she can glimpse the morning sun, warm as it shines down on her face, his kisses heaving a trail of flames in their wake.
When she blinks into the bathroom sink and watches the water twist in an endless flow down the drain, the only flavor infusing her tongue is Gene Hunt and it makes her eyes shine with moisture, not because nowadays emotions are closer to the surface, but because she never took chances when she had them.
She never kissed Gene, and yet all she can taste is him.
Day 5.
She's drunk. The wine is gone and the whiskey; warm smoky amber, is quintessentially him. She is drinking him down; sunlight in a crystal tumbler until she blacks out.
They are in bed, again. His head is propped on his arm as he blows smoke out over the natural swell of her stomach, tendrils of smoke softly rippling over skin and curling upwards as they dissipate, his hand breaking up the last of his artificial mist and she sighs with a bone deep sense of contentment, a sigh she didn't realize she was capable of.
Day 6.
She smoothens out invisible creases on her trousers suit. She cannot leave until her make-up is just right and her hair sleek over her forehead.
Today she is trying to look as though she is stepping forward, and pretending that she isn't scared that her psychologist might be able to see what she cannot hide.
Day 7.
It wasn't home and neither is this. She tells herself it is only temporary. There are things she needs to know, things she needs to fix.
She misses the turning of 1982 into 1983, but there are some things she is not prepared to miss, even if everything is a mess. She's hopeful it will all work out, that the chances will come and she will be brave enough to take them, because she has to find out whether her dreams of Gene are just wishful thinking or if there is a chance reality lays within them.
I spent a good block of time imagining Gene smoking in bed after sex, I came to the conclusion it would be rather sexy, he would be really sexy, he is anyway, but... I think I've short circuited my own mind with Gene, smoke billowing softly from his parted lips... *Bang*