Hi all, I hope you will excuse a really self indulgent fic. This doesn't fit into series 2 events, but the date is that of a real event, which I wanted to keep accurate. I would like to dedicate this story to the Mayfair, Newcastle, an amazing venue snatched away before my fake ID was no longer necessary, and all those who rocked out there.

I do not own Ashes to Ashes.

Chapter One- Time to go

Thursday 11th March, 1982

Alex entered CID. Gene was grinning devilishly; it made Alex nervous about what was coming next.

"Bolly, perfect timing," he said, her heart sinking slightly at what was coming next. Gene rubbed his hands together, relishing his brief moment of power over his stubborn and often insubordinate DI.

"Yes, Guv," she sighed. Whatever he had planned, she suspected she wouldn't like it all that much. Chris had sunk down into his chair; he clearly knew what it was and was trying to avoid being drawn into any involvement, never a good sign.

"Tell yer what, want the good news or the bad news first?" he said still grinning inanely.

"Good news, soften the blow," she said resigned to the fact that whatever marginally positive point he had managed to extract from the news to follow, it would by far be outweighed by the attached negative.

"George Carter, blagger from last week, cheeky northern muppet, well, we had a phone call from a DI Newton, he's been nicked," Gene said perching on the edge of Alex's desk.

"Well that's good, let me guess the bad news is somebody else is claiming your collar, and it's dented your delicate ego that he eluded the mighty Manc Lion?" Alex felt somewhat relieved; whatever macho-bullshit rant was to follow was manageable. Her relief was short-lived.

"No, Lady Bols, the bad news is that DI Newton of Northumbria Police is 'olding our villain at," he referred to a scrap of paper in his hand, "Pilgrim Street station, Newcastle. Seems our blagger legged it home to Geordieland sharpish when he thought the Gene Genie was looking for 'im. You and I, Drakey, are going up there to collect 'im."

"Well, why me?" Alex protested, it would certainly involve an overnight stay, alone, away with Gene Hunt, stuck together in the car for hours on end, his impatient driving, the others were bound to suggest things, it was a complete nightmare.

"Drew the short straw, Bolly," he said, still beaming at the prospect of an overnight stay with his glamorous DI.

"I didn't draw any straws," she insisted.

"Raymondo 'as cried off sick, and Chris is a dozy twonk, tough, yer goin'."

Chris looked up, indignant at the Guv's remark, before having enough sense to realise it was in his best interests to maintain a low profile and allow himself to be ruled out of the venture by virtue of being a twonk, he'd promised Shaz he'd take her out that evening and he didn't fancy a trip to the frozen north and a long ride back to London with a notoriously gobby villain on Friday.

"Right, go 'ome, pack all those wotsits you women take with yer, try and keep it to one suitcase, Bols, it's only one night, no need for the kitchen sink," he instructed as Alex reluctantly shrugged on her jacket, it seemed she had only taken off a few minutes ago, "oh and pack something slutty, we'll be going out."

Alex fumed as she headed back to the flat, muttering her annoyance at Gene as she went. He had arranged to collect her in an hour, plenty of time to collect her things and calm down. The front of that man, to just assume she had to accompany him out, he'd done this on purpose. Resigned to her trip away she started to pack, the usual things, toiletries, change of clothes. Alex momentarily considered ignoring his demand, and then laid a short black cocktail dress and matching black stilettos onto the top of her case, being careful not to crease it as she zipped it up. She couldn't explain why she did it, she suddenly wanted to, remembered how she liked it when he looked her up and down admiringly, wanted him to notice her. It made her feel foolish, that ship had long since sailed. There had been drunken moments, almosts and nearlys, but that was a long time ago, it was never going to happen. If he'd wanted her, he'd have taken his opportunity when it presented itself, not leaving her to fall into the arms of some Thatcherite wanker, or to sleep it off alone.

Gene sat impatiently in the Quattro. It had taken him all of five minutes to throw a few essentials into a bag. She was taking her time packing; he'd beeped the horn twice, only to be waved at and then shouted at from the window of the flat. Maybe she was going to a little trouble fishing out something special, God, he hoped so. It was a golden opportunity, away from prying eyes and nosey parkers. It was wishful thinking, perhaps. In all the time she'd been there he never felt he'd gotten even remotely near, except when she was far too drunk to be taken seriously. Who was he kidding? She was far too good for him, always would be, although her taste in blokes left a lot to be desired, poncy sleazes the lot of 'em. He snapped back to reality when she suddenly appeared on the pavement, a small pull along case in tow. Forcing any thoughts of getting closer to her out of his mind, he leapt out to take the case and load it into the boot.

"I'm not completely useless you know, I could have done that myself," she said, trying to disguise her approval. It was nice to be treated like a lady sometimes...by him. Gene Hunt the gentleman, she rather liked that chivalrous streak that occasionally shone through the hard and crass front he put on.

"Sorry I troubled myself," Gene muttered, wondering if that would set the tone for this trip away.

Alex climbed into the passenger seat. She had changed out of her unspeakably tight jeans into a knitted dress, ankle boots and thick black tights for the journey, if she was not entirely comfortable with the excursion, then she was at least going to be comfortable in her clothes. Gene glanced down at her thighs and she suddenly became self-conscious, tugging at the hem of her dress, which suddenly felt much shorter than she had thought in the flat.

"All set?" he smiled as wickedly as he had in CID when he'd first told her about the trip to Tyneside.

Alex nodded, in two minds whether or not to fasten her seat belt as the Quattro roared into life and skidded off for the long journey north.

As they finally made their way out of London, the traffic thinned. The A1 northbound wasn't busy, but it was a long road stretched out in front of them. They talked a little about police business, Carter's record, the job he had pulled, and then there was a long and awkward silence. They rarely talked socially without alcohol to loosen the tongue. There was almost a sense of nervousness in the atmosphere. Alex flicked on the radio. It wasn't a recent hit, if Alex could fathom what constituted recent anymore. It was...she calculated about three years old.

Gene scowled, "what's this bloody rubbish?" he snapped.

"Joy Division, Love Will Tear Us Apart, it's a classic," Alex replied a little dismayed at his lack of knowledge of popular music and culture.

"Joy Division, Joy?" he questioned, "Christ, sounds bloody miserable to me." He didn't know much about love tearing people apart, a pack of rabid dogs on the other hand, now that would silence that whining noise.

"Well I suppose Ian Curtis did kill himself," she said glumly acknowledging that perhaps he had a point, it wasn't the jolliest of sounds, but surely he could see there was more to it than that, did he always have to look at everything in such black and white terms.

They had never talked about things like music. She guessed from his taste in films, "Don't you like country music then?"

Gene nodded, whizzing past a heavy goods vehicle and momentarily focusing a little more on the road.

"Well isn't that depressing?" Alex quizzed.

There was no point arguing, she knew it all, an answer for everything. He suspected popular music was a subject that would only make him look even more out of date and seem old to her. Best change the subject he thought.

"You got something nice to squeeze that arse of yours into tonight?" he asked.

Alex rolled her eyes. He couldn't get anything right. If he lit a cigarette, she coughed in an exaggerated manner, wafting the smoke and winding down the window, making the car freezing cold, and it seemed like you could feel the temperature dropping as they headed north. Spring had most definitely not sprung. He decided to stay quiet, save making an idiot of himself. Being alone with her and sober, he lost his bravado. This wasn't going as he'd hoped.

Alex decided it best to stay quiet. Whatever she said she got little out of him, or she'd have to open the window and could barely hear what he was saying over the drone of the traffic. It started to rain. The motion and low whirring sound of the windscreen wipers slowly started to lull Alex off to sleep. Her lids became heavy; until she could not fight the hypnotic effect of the constant back and forth swish and her eyes closed. She drifted off into a dream, a blur of images. They were sitting in Luigi's in their usual spot in the corner; there was no one else there. The flicker of the candle light made his blue eyes sparkle. She watched his mouth closely as he took a drink, licking his lips knowingly. He leant toward her; she tilted her head slightly, inviting him closer. Gene's lips brushed hers...

Gene watched her sleep; her head tipped back, lips slightly parted. She let out a soft sigh and shuffled a little in her seat. She looked so sweet and gentle, thankfully quiet, not shouting at him for a change. He felt an overwhelming urge to reach across and touch her, feel the warmth of her skin, brush back her soft brown curls, even kiss her. He wondered what she was dreaming about, it looked like she found whatever it was pleasant, more than likely it was some posh tosser or another. He was distracted, needed to stop; stretch his legs and get some air. The familiar rumble of hunger in his stomach made his mind up. The turn off to the services was coming up; he indicated and pulled onto the slip road. He could just imagine Bollinger Knickers' response to the greasy road side transport cafe; she'd turn her pretty little nose up no doubt. Nor was he keen on a set of rowdy truck drivers eyeing her up, and slobbering all over her.

Alex was suddenly jolted awake, realising that they had come to a sudden halt. She brushed her lip with her fingertips, slowly recalling the images that her subconscious had conjured up. It was a silly dream, nothing more, her cheeks flushed a little and she avoided eye contact. Even in a dream it had sent a bolt of electricity through her. She wrestled with her own thoughts, unwilling to acknowledge that it was what she wanted, hoped for, didn't dare to hope for.

"Where are we?" she asked, still bleary eyed and wondering how long she had slept.

"Breakfast time, Bolls," he said merrily, looking forward to the usual fare these places served.

Alex looked at her watch, "it's gone one," she said, still not fully in tune with Gene's skewed version of meal times.

"It's breakfast all day 'ere... lovely," he said with mounting enthusiasm, his stomach now almost audibly growling for the large fry up that would be waiting inside.

Alex looked at the cafe; it wasn't the most appealing of places to eat, but she was a little hungry. Her mouth felt dry, thirst she hoped, and not a result of any undesirable dreams.

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tbc