What Is and What Can Never Be
Disclaimer : Not mine – all characters belong to the nice people at Kudos and the BBC. I'm just playing with them for a little while and not making any money at all out of their creations.
A/N : I make no apologies for this – I'm totally in lust with DCI Gene Hunt and if that's too weird for you then don't read this. My first Geneverse fic – mainly because I don't write slash and he's now got a girl to play with (lucky woman!!) instead of Sam
He saw the door of the little trattoria open and watched her make her way across to the bar and settle herself on the stool.
His eyes glazed slightly as he ran the events of the last few days over and over in his mind – the annoying way she had of making those little gestures whenever she said his name; the laugh in her voice as she spoke to Chris and Ray; how she seemed to know them all when he knew damn well they'd never met before ; the smell of her perfume drifting lazily through the air and assaulting his senses ; the way she'd looked in leather, holding her gun competently and assimilating his instructions on how the take should go down; the way her eyes blazed as they'd fought and she gave as good as she got.
But most of all, he remembered the weight of her as he'd cradled her against his chest, carrying her through the police station until she was safe in the CID squad room. He'd felt powerful again. In control again. Needed again.
And Gene Hunt was a man who needed to be needed. He had always defined himself by what he was to others.
The people of Manchester had needed him to protect them against the scum who walked their streets, thieving, robbing, killing.
His men had needed him to teach them, protect them from villains inside and outside the force and, at times, from themselves.
His wife had needed him – he'd thought for himself but it turned out that she'd only needed his money.
And Sam Tyler had needed him. Sam had been a sheep to the slaughter when he'd walked into Gene's life. Sam, who'd taught Gene that there was more to life than being a – how had he put it? Oh yes, an "overweight, over-the-hill, nicotine-stained, borderline alcoholic homophobe with a superiority complex and an unhealthy obsession with male bonding".
Sam had been a breath of fresh air in a life that was too tawdry to be borne and later had been a trusted confidant, another brother to replace the one he'd lost all those years ago.
Now Sam was gone, his wife was gone, Manchester was a dim memory and Gene Hunt was lonely.
His gaze roamed around the restaurant again, flicking across Ray, who was chatting up some blonde, Chris and his new girl, and finally settling again on Alex, still sitting at the bar, as isolated as he was, in her own way.
Taking a deep breath, he stood up, grabbed the bottle of Italian plonk and walked over to her. Pouring a glass of red, he turned and went back to his table without saying a word. He watched her covertly as she leant down,wrapped her lips around the rim of her glass and drank.
Looking up, she saw his eyes on her and without breaking that point of contact, she picked up her glass and made her way over to join him.
He watched her come to him – every step bringing her nearer. His stomach roiled as she came closer, each footfall rocking his world
To Be Continued