Last time
Gene Hunt escaped from the confines of Luigi's and the clutches of a certain harpy. She hadn't been near him for a long time, she'd been kicked out with the others, but he could still feel her claws on his arms, her perfume clinging to his clothes. He breathed in the fresh air and promptly smothered it with a cigarette as he started walking. His thoughts were a tumble and he let them spin around. Something might drop out. He let his feet take him, head down, coat drifting, and didn't think about the route.
There was a scumbag murderer out there for him to catch and Drake's little game had gotten them no closer to the bastard. What was the next move? Gene stopped and dropped the cigarette end to the pavement, glancing up and frowning. He was back at Luigi's. Must have done a circle of the block. He almost walked on, but a light in Alex's flat caught his eye. Maybe she wanted to talk about it some more, over a scotch. He certainly wasn't going to be sleeping tonight. If nothing else, he could give her hell about the evening he'd had.
Gene found himself at her door before he'd made the conscious decision to do so. He harrumphed at himself and prepared to barge in as he had all those times before. Bols never did lock her door. He'd always figured that if she really didn't want him there, she would make sure of it.
This time though he couldn't quite do it.
"God forbid I barge straight into those two and the twins," he murmured to himself at the same time as knowing that wasn't really the problem.
He tried to imagine her in there alone, behind the door, waiting for him, maybe finishing a bottle of wine, all loose and relaxed. It was enough to make him put his hand out to shove the door open. He had the cool metal under his touch, smooth and polished from use, when the alternative scenario invaded his thoughts. DCI Keats wandered into the image and passed the sitting Alex another glass of wine. She smiled up at him as she reached to take it, their hands both on the glass. He made a comment and she laughed, just like she had that evening at the restaurant. Gene snatched his hand back from the door and turned to walk away, the same sick feeling in his gut from earlier lingering. He had been busy beating that woman off with a crowbar when he'd heard Alex's clear laugh. He had scowled further and sought the source of her amusement; her enjoyment was salt in the wound while he suffered. He was prepared to give her hell about whichever tosser she'd chosen, thoughts of calling him a Thatcherite Wanker floating about. He'd looked up and there had been a nasty lurch in his insides. Keats. She was laughing with Keats. Their shared glances in the office, their little smiles as they spoke, took on whole new meanings. Much worse than a Thatcherite. He could just about hear them discussing music in soft delighted tones.
"Luigi! If you don't ring that bloody bell!" he'd bellowed.
Gene got halfway down the stairs before he slammed his hands palm flat against the wall, forcibly halting himself. Couldn't go forward. Couldn't go back.
"Well this is a bloody mess," he stated with a growl and slowly twisted his neck to look back up at the door. Still there. Still closed. Still a mystery. "All roads lead to here. Mate."
He thought about knocking. Then she could untangle herself from Keats and come to the door; he wouldn't have to walk in on them. He made a disgusted face. Problem was Gene Hunt did – not – knock. He was the Manc lion.
He imagined Alex answering to his knock, her eyes wide with surprise, and then Keats appearing at her shoulder, smug grin in place.
Gene dropped his head and shut his eyes, wall still holding his weight. It was solid. It grounded him.
"Guv, what are you doing?"
He lifted his head sharply and opened his eyes into Alex's bewildered ones. She was stood in front of him, at the bottom of the stairs. Not in her flat. Not with Keats. The sick feeling vanished. Just her and him. Her eyes were concerned and light and everything felt better. Not that he let it show.
"Guv?"
He dropped his hands to his sides.
"Thought you might want to talk about the case Bols. We've got our nuts in a vice here. You weren't home." He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question. She smiled at him then, all fondness and delight.
"Actually, I was looking for you."
His back straightened a little further. "Really?"
Her smile turned teasing. "Well I owed you an apology after your experience tonight."
"That you do Bols. I will take it in the form of a large Scotch."
She started up the stairs and paused as she reached him, her voice a whisper.
"Well you'd better come in then." She jerked her head in the direction of the door and slid herself past him. He could swear she deliberately pressed every inch of her soft body against him as she did so.
"Right behind you Bols," he responded as he watched her arse.
They didn't really end up talking about the case.
She had some of the files on her table in the lounge. As she went to fetch him the scotch he scooped up the manila folder, dropping out from under it a sheath of other papers.
"Bugger," he muttered and bent to pick them up, his eyes scanning the top sheet as he did so. A strange feeling crept inside his chest and settled down to stay.
He placed the brown folder back on the table and directed his attention to the other dropped sheets.
"You come back to the flat before you went to find me?" he called through to her, voice strained but neutral.
"Yes. Had to drop some things off." She re-joined him in the lounge, holding out his tumbler. "What's that?"
Gene held up the paper, so she could see it, and she flushed a little.
"I was hoping you could tell me Bols."
The papers he had picked up sat back on the table, the dating profiles of all her responders. This sheet though, was different. It was a list of all the men she'd spoken to that night. Some were crossed out. Some had little stars next to them.
"I was making notes," she replied steadily. "It was an investigation."
Gene's voice dropped an octave in displeasure.
"So why is his name on there."
He stabbed a finger at the 'Jim', written at the bottom of the list. Little doodled swirls surrounding it.
Alex frowned, on the defensive, "It was habit."
Gene locked eyes with her. "Was it now?"
"I don't know why we're even discussing this," she hissed. "It is none of your damn business."
"Not usually, no, but I've warned you away from him, Drakey. He is trying to pull this department on my head. Do – not – help – him."
She put her hands on her hips. "You know, maybe if you two just worked together…"
He cut her off. "You mean like the way you two are?"
Her head jerked a little. "Sorry?" she snapped, tone dangerous. He leveled his gaze at her.
"You heard me."
It took her a moment to respond.
"I don't have to listen to this," she turned to walk away, taking his scotch with her.
"The whispers. The giggles. The little looks…" He threw at her retreating back. She stopped and slammed down the glass.
"This is the last time I'm going to say this, not that I need to justify myself," she ranted with a raised voice, "but you have got it completely wrong."
"And this is the last time I'm going to say this, Drakey. Put my name at the top of this damned list." He slammed the sheet on the table and it was almost as though the noise startled them both to silence.
Alex found her voice first. "What did you say?"
Gene averted his eyes from her and stuffed his hand in his pockets. In for a penny, in for a pound. Cat was out of the bag now, unless he could salvage it.
"My name. It should be at the top."
Her heart was hammering in her chest but there was a caution to its beats. She'd walked this road before and it still had the scuff marks.
"Why?" she said quietly, "Why should it be at the top? Why should it be on the list at all?"
He looked at her with a steady steel gaze. "You being deliberately difficult or is it now so natural you don't need to try?"
Disappointment seeped through her bones and out in her voice. She nodded, "I see." It came out a little more venomously than she intended. "So, this is just about you and your ego. You just can't stand not to be the highest priority – the highest importance. Have to come before Keats. Can't stand to be left out…"
"No." He cut her off like an immovable wall.
"No?" she sneered.
"No."
She stared him down for a beat before exclaiming, "Well, thank you for the explanation Gene. That really cleared things up."
"If you would stop shouting for longer than a minute, I might be able to get a word in."
She folded her arms and waited. He dropped his gaze and looked elsewhere in the room, anywhere but at her. "Forget the damn list," he muttered. "There should only be one name on there anyway. Mine." She rolled her eyes and it put some fire in his voice. "We've been dancing around this for months Bols. Its you. Its been you all along." He managed to make it sound like an accusation before he softened a little.
Her eyes were tearing up a little, but she kept them in check.
"I wish I could believe you," her voice was hushed and tear-filled, "but we've done this before Gene, remember?"
He was silent a long minute before he spoke.
"This is the last time I'm gonna say it. In spite of everything, all our mistakes. Its been you all along Bols. Just you and me."
Tears had escaped now and were wet on her cheeks.
"And I suppose you're going to promise never to hurt me again?" She could hear her own cynicism.
Gene took a step closer to her, so he could look straight down into her eyes.
"Life's not a fairy tail Bols, and I'm no Prince Charming. I'm not going to make promises I can't keep." She didn't say a word, couldn't under the force of his stare. "I will make this promise though. No matter how much of a pain in the arse you are, I promise I won't shoot you again."
It wasn't really that funny, but she laughed, wet and teary but laughing. He waited until she had finished, wiping at her cheeks with the palm of her hand and looking back up at him. He was still as serious as ever, even though she knew he'd made her laugh on purpose.
"Well, Alex?"
Shock rippled through her. She looked into his face and saw that he was breaking apart in front of her, for her.
Her hands reached out of their own accord and touched his face, as though she could hold him together.
"Do you really think we can put the past behind us, just like that?"
"There is no past. Let there be nowhere to hide. Just look at you and me."
She searched his face, desperate to find the answer. He kissed her before she could look too far back
It was a good kiss. A belonging kiss. A pieces-all-fitting-together kiss. Neither passionate, nor lack-lustre. Just right and true.
When she drew away Alex gave a small sigh and smiled, her eyes soft.
"One moment." She stepped away from him and went to the table to collect the sheet that had started all this. Slowly she picked up a pen and put it at the top of the page, starting to write, leaning on her other hand, before pausing. She seemed stuck for a moment before glancing back at him.
"How do you spell Gene?" she teased.
His gaze smouldered on her and then he had wrapped her up in his arms and had tossed the pen some where else in the room entirely.
"Cheeky mare," he muttered before kissing her again, his boot firmly stomping on the list of names that had fluttered to the floor.