Freezing, her body succumbing to the cold. The Bowie Clown filling her vision, flickering to a familiar rugged face, then back again. Strong arms lifting her, faint sights and sounds filtering through the fog in her mind. Roughened hands pumping her chest, pushing her limp curls back off her face. Warm breath coming in short bursts, tickling her cheek. Opening her eyes to see Gene Hunt hovering inches above her, face a mask of relief, frustration and something indefinable.
She'd seen that expression again later, in the hallway when she'd accepted Evan's offer of a lift to the hospital in place of Gene's pre-arranged escort home. And then he'd stumbled over his goodbye, got his words all mixed up - something she never thought she'd live to see.
It was almost endearing really, quite the "stiff-upper-lip" romantic hero. . . It always amazed her how this Neanderthal, this most alpha of the alpha males could inspire in her such conflicting feelings; one minute she'd want to slap him right across his arrogant face, the next she'd be desperate to throw herself into his arms. The man was an enigma. One she was determined to crack.
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An ordinary end to an extraordinary day for Gene Hunt and his motley crew. Settling back against the bar with foaming pint in hand, the DCI cast a critical eye over his men. Chris and Ray were reprising "Mr Chatterbox's Shotgun Dance™", much to the delight of the assembled plod, while Shaz buried her head in her hands. Gene smacked his lips together in satisfaction; only Bolly-knickers was missing, which he was somewhat grateful for - he didn't particularly want to find out if she'd seen his "work of art".
Hunt glared at his young WPC - it had to be her, Raymondo and Christopher didn't have the brains or the balls to go rummaging through a senior officer's private areas. Although he mused, there was a certain police officer he wouldn't mind investigating his drawers . . . Gene mentally kicked himself, as he drained the last of his bitter - none of that nancy-boy spirit and soda for him -, those kind of thoughts were what nearly got him into hot water earlier.
He was about to signal to Luigi for some of his very best house rubbish, when he noted with some surprise an open bottle of red and a half full glass waiting for him. Gene suppressed a horrified groan. The waiting wine could only mean one thing - Bolly had arrived.
"Hello Gene," the familiar voice purred.
Rolling his eyes, he turned to face her, whereupon they nearly popped out of his skull.
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When Gene finally regained the power of speech - after several minutes of vigorous coughing and spluttering - the first words that came out of his mouth were no surprise to Alex.
"Bloody hell Bolly, I can nearly see yer breakfast,"
Almost word for word the first thing he had ever said to her. Alex smiled; her carefully selected outfit was obviously having the desired effect. Turning her back on him, she made sure to lean forward, bending slightly, so the red silk rode that little bit higher up the back of her thighs. A small smile graced her lips as she imagined his stormy eyes moving upwards, tracing the progress of her skirt. Such a predictably male man wasn't her usual type, yet there was something about Gene that just kept drawing her in, a raw sexuality beneath the hard-man exterior.
She nodded her thanks to Luigi as he placed a fresh glass in her hand, and poured herself a generous helping of red, before turning back to her superior officer.
"Something wrong Gene?"
Alex could barely prevent an amused giggle escaping her, as she watched him drag his eyes back up to her face and swallow audibly.
"No no, not at all Bols, not with me anyway. Just, its just,"
She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow as he tripped over his own tongue, and cleared his throat once, twice, three times, before he spoke again.
"Its just that some of the er, other clients of this establishment might think you're actually a Tom dressed like that. Whereas I know you're only a posh mouthy tart, with too many brains in her pretty little head and not enough common sense."
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Her hand collided gently with his cheek in a playful slap, but to Gene it was like her touch burned through him to his very core, as her fingers rested on his unshaven cheek for perhaps a fraction of a second longer than they should have. Suddenly he couldn't look her in those frustrating, maddeningly gorgeous eyes; he was almost afraid of what he might see there.
Gulping the last of his wine, he pulled away from her and straightened up quickly.
"I need a bloody fag. Raymondo, care to join me?"
As he waited for his bumbling DS to pull himself together, Gene risked a quick look at Alex, and immediately wished he hadn't. She looked utterly confused, totally lost and a little sad. He turned on his heel swiftly and strode out of the restaurant without a backward glance.