Please note that this story takes place in 1983, and is based on a couple of snippets taken from the Series 3 press pack. If you haven't read that then this probably won't make much sense and might spoil your enjoyment of Series 3 when it airs. Also, once Series 3 is out, this fic is likely to look somewhat out of date.

Chapter 1

Alex Drake eased herself out of bed, careful not to disturb the figure sleeping alongside her. Sunlight had begun to filter through the blinds, just enough so that she could make out his features, and she bit her lip as she stared down at him. What had she done? Shaking her head, she knew she needed to get away for a moment, escape from his overwhelming presence, but she just couldn't walk out through the door. Oh God, what the hell had she done?

Pulling in a breath, she quietly turned the door handle and padded into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and sipped slowly, thinking back to the night before. She couldn't, in all honesty, pretend that she hadn't seen it coming. Ever since she'd been back on duty he'd been there, in her space, in her head. It wasn't easy to put your finger on it but his manner around her had been different, more intense somehow, almost as though he was trying to consume her by the force of his personality alone.

For weeks she'd been on edge. Keats' allegation was barely credible – how could she ever believe that Gene could be Sam's killer? – but she was running out of options and Keats had told her that unveiling Gene as a murderer would secure her passage back to 2008 and Molly. But every time she considered Keats' words, every time she thought about investigating his allegation, she felt a pull in her stomach telling her she was doing the wrong thing.

The problem was, Gene was the only person in this world she felt connected to. Properly, genuinely connected. He was the rock around which she anchored herself. So different to her in so many ways, their views almost never aligned, yet in temperament they were more similar than she cared to admit. And then there was the attraction, the physical desire she felt when she looked at him, which had always been there but which had grown stronger and more insistent since she'd recovered from her coma.

Last night had begun like so many since she'd arrived in the 80s, with a drink in Luigi's with the team. This time, though, Gene had asked her to share a meal, and they'd moved to a corner table and put in their orders for bolognaise and carbonara. He'd taken a seat alongside her on the bench and although he wasn't touching her she could sense every movement of his body, feel the heat of his gaze. This time had been different.

Alex smiled and put her hand to her lips. She remembered how she'd barely managed to finish her meal, her stomach turning summersaults, her awareness of Gene so strong she'd struggled with every mouthful. Gene, too, had pushed his plate away half-eaten, before turning to her and suggesting a nightcap.

She'd never really stood a chance. He'd followed her up to the flat and poured her a whiskey, bringing it to her, standing way too close. His lips had been on hers before she'd even taken a sip.

In her kitchen, Alex closed her eyes and leaned against the worktop. Rubbed a hand across her face. This should never have happened. This was exactly what she was trying to avoid. All she needed to focus on was Molly and getting back to 2008. Keats had opened the door, and all she had to do was walk through it. So why, for heaven's sake, had she allowed herself the complication of Gene Hunt?

She just hadn't expected it to be so good. Well, okay. She'd always thought it would be good. But last night… Bloody hell, she hadn't been prepared for that. Lying in his arms in the aftermath, her heart racing and her body weak, she'd felt, for the first time since arriving in this world, at peace. Like she'd arrived where she was meant to be. And when he looked down at her she could see the emotion darken his eyes and she'd welcomed it, wanted it. Wanted to show him she felt the same way.

"No, no, no," she muttered to herself. She couldn't be with Gene. Needed to get back to Molly. Needed to learn the truth about Sam. So last night could never be repeated. She would walk away, but it would kill her.

~ o ~

They made it through the working day without discussing the previous evening, and although once or twice she'd felt his eyes upon her when he was supposed to be working, he was always staring at files when she looked up. Her stomach was jittery when the usual dispersal began at five-thirty. Fiddling around with things on her desk, she couldn't concentrate on the statements she was reading. Took a deep breath as he stopped at her desk on the way out.

"Coming for a quick drink?" It sounded innocuous enough but she was sure she could read a completely different question in his eyes. Shrugging slightly, she gave a short nod.

"Just finishing up. See you over there."

He nodded back and tapped a hand on her desk before following Chris and Ray through the double doors. Swallowing her anxiety she took her time gathering her possessions before flicking out the desk lamp and making her way across to Luigi's.

Gene was sitting with the team, at the corner of a long table, and she slipped into the chair next to him, pouring herself a glass of white. She guessed that none of the team would recognise the shift in dynamic between her and Gene but, to her, it screamed out loud. Her whole body was attuned to his, every sweep of his hands or shift in his pose drawing a response. It wasn't long before she felt the need to escape and she scampered to the bar to collect another bottle.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised when he joined her shortly afterwards. Angling his body slightly, shielding her from the rest of the team, he laid his hand on the bar and touched his finger lightly against hers. The tiniest movement but she felt herself shiver anyway. He spoke so quietly she had to lean closer to hear him.

"So, um. You hungry?"

His voice sent a rumble of desire straight through her. God, this was going to hurt. But she'd made her decision, and it wasn't him.

"Sorry, Guv. Headache."

She felt him still for a moment before drawing away, physically and emotionally. He coughed, swallowed. "Right you are."

Nodding unhappily, she took the bottle that Luigi had brought over and slid off her stool. "Night, Guv," she said, before beating a retreat to the safety of her flat.

~ o ~

Molly. Molly. Mollymollymolly. She had to focus on that, on her daughter, on her escape from the 80s, on getting home. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but Molly, stopping Molly from having to live the same motherless life that she'd led herself.

1983 was not real. Gene Hunt was not real. Molly needed her and nothing else mattered.

Nothing else mattered.

Alex turned looked down at her desk, staring with unseeing eyes at the paperwork in front of her.

If nothing else mattered, why did she feel so hollow? It had been a week since she'd spent the night with Gene. It felt like a month. A cool reserve had grown between them in the office and in the evenings, at Luigi's, they interacted with the team but not with each other. Her body ached with need for him and it was getting harder and harder to maintain her resolve.

He killed Sam. The words kept going around and around in her head, Keats' deadpan delivery masking the shocking implication. It didn't seem possible. Yet Sam's body was never found. Who knew how he died? But this was Gene she was thinking about. Gene Hunt, her protector and saviour. Her thoughts skidded this way and that, until she no longer knew what to believe.

Keats' words played through her mind again and again. Gene was the answer. Uncover Gene's role in Sam's death. Understand Gene, understand how to get home.

Enough. She pushed back her chair and walked across the squad room to Keats' office. His door was open and she peered inside; he was reviewing case files in his usual methodical manner and smiled when he saw her, motioning for her to come in.

She took a seat opposite him, her spine straight and her gaze clear. "I don't know how you think the Guv – the other Guv – I don't know how you think he could be involved in DI Tyler's death."

Keats looked across at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Well, now, let's see," he said. "Tell me why exactly have you reached that view?"

"Okay." Alex let out a breath. "The Guv was nowhere near the location of Sam's death. He was at a training course all day in the use of firearms. There were dozens of witnesses. Most of them police officers." This was all true. When Alex had finally accepted that Keats might be trying to lead her homeward, she'd steeled herself to review the facts around Sam's death. To her relief, it hadn't taken long to find that there was no way Gene could have been near the canal where Sam's car was found. Yet she couldn't rid herself of the idea that Keats was trying to tell her something.

Keats nodded slowly. "You're right, of course," he said. "The problem is, I think you're looking in the wrong place."

"What do you mean?" Alex was struggling to rein in her temper. She was sacrificing everything for this. Why couldn't he just give her a straight answer?

"Well, perhaps not so much the wrong place. More the wrong time."

She stared at him for a moment, then blinked. "What –"

"Must be going, Alex. Always good to catch up." Cutting her off, Keats gathered some papers on his desk and rose from his chair, gesturing for Alex to lead him out.

"But – what –"

"Talk soon." And he was off.

Alex walked slowly back to her desk, her mind buzzing. Wrong time. What on earth was he getting at?

Taking her seat, Alex risked a glance towards Gene, who was sitting back with his legs crossed on his desk, his eyes on the ceiling, the phone at his ear. She bit her lip, filled with a sudden longing that took her breath away.

Wrong time. If not 1981, then… Could Keats somehow be referring to Sam Tyler's death in 2006? Alex had long since given up on figuring out what Keats meant for her journey home, whether he was another figment from her subconscious prompting her to remember things she already knew or whether he was something else altogether. Right now, though, he was the only lead she had, and she couldn't let it go.

But Sam's real death, his 2006 death, was a suicide. There was absolutely no question about that. And Gene – well, Gene didn't exist in the modern world. He couldn't possibly be involved in Sam's suicide.

Except, if it weren't for Gene and the team he'd created in 1973, Sam would not have been so desperate to return. If Gene and Annie hadn't exerted such a tremendous pull, there would have been no 2006 suicide. Was this the key? Was this what Keats was trying to tell her?

Alex's head hurt trying to make sense of it all. She glanced at her watch as Gene strode out of his office – she hadn't realised it had got so late. Gene was shrugging into his coat and she watched as he made a general announcement about quitting for the day. He didn't catch her eye before he vanished through the doors.

She didn't hesitate for long. Pushing back her chair she cast around for her bag and jacket and hurried out to follow him. She was relieved when she spotted him disappearing down the stairs to Luigi's and she slowed her pace, catching her breath before she crossed the road and followed him into the restaurant.

He was sitting on a stool, hunched over, his elbows resting on the bar, smoke filtering upwards from an ashtray at his elbow. She walked quietly over, sliding onto the stool next to him, helping herself to a glass of wine from his bottle.

He sent her a quick look from the corner of his eye before picking up his cigarette and taking a draw. "Hope you're going to replace that," he said, nodding at her wineglass.

"Don't worry. I'll buy the next bottle." She swallowed down the contents of her glass and refilled it, topping up his at the same time.

Gene nodded at Luigi, signalling for a new bottle. "Put it on the Segnorina's tab," he said, then turned to Alex, eyebrows raised. "Bad day?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." She could smell him, the heady scent of smoke and wine and man, and she lifted her glass to her lips again to stop herself saying something she'd regret.

He looked at her for a moment, then drained his own glass. "Can't let you make a drunken fool of yourself alone."

They sat for a moment, nursing their glasses, and Alex finally began to relax as the warmth from the alcohol flowed through her. She'd missed this. Missed this closeness, this unwinding together at the end of the day. Could they ever get it back? A small part of her brain nagged at her, tried to remind her about Molly, about Sam, but she closed her ears to it and took another gulp of wine.

It wasn't long before the rest of the team drifted in, giving Alex and Gene something to focus on and they assessed Ray's chances of pulling the pretty blonde clerk from the records room and debated the wisdom of Chris's highlights. For a few minutes Alex allowed herself to forget about Keats and the puzzle he'd posed, focusing instead on Gene and the aching need within her.

As the night wore on, she found herself sitting closer to him, her hand occasionally resting on his sleeve, her glance dropping down to his lips. At first he sat stiffly, maintaining a distance from her, but gradually he seemed to thaw, occasionally leaning in to mutter something in her ear, shifting around on the stool so that his knee touched hers.

They were still sitting together several hours and several bottles later, and as Alex turned her head she saw that they were almost the only customers still in the place. "Oops," she smiled, blinking as she tried to focus on Gene's face. "Luigi'll be kicking us out any minute."

He stared at her before knocking back the last of his wine and easing himself to his feet. "Better call it a night then."

She nodded slowly and slid off her stool. "Yeah. Better had."

They stood together for a moment, unmoving, until Gene took a breath and shook his head. Catching her eye again, he said, "See you up?"

A pause. "Kay." She turned, only slightly wobbly, and made for the stairs, confident that he'd follow her.

They'd barely made it into her sitting room before he reached for her, pulling her into his arms and dropping an urgent kiss on her upturned mouth. "I'm not messing about, Alex," he muttered between snatched kisses, his hands busy with hers removing layers from bodies.

"No. Me neither. Messing," she replied, distracted by the feel of his teeth against her throat. She pulled at his tie, pushed buttons through holes, hopping and staggering with him towards the bedroom where they collapsed onto the bed together.

"I mean it, Alex." He lowered his head, kissing his way down to her breast and swirling the peak with his tongue. "Don't mess me around."

Her eyes slid closed as he took her other nipple between finger and thumb, pinching gently, pulling it taut. A dart of pleasure flew through her body, straight to her core, and she moaned out loud, "Gene, God Gene, never thought, please."

His hands slid over her skin, across her ribcage, down her thighs, his fingers seeking out her hot centre. "Gene," she gasped, parting her knees, allowing him easier access. "Want. More." He slid a finger inside her, easing it back and forth, smiling against her thigh as she raised her hips in time with his movements.

"Patience," he murmured, turning his head to place a kiss against her leg, moving lower, sucking gently at the sensitive flesh, until he finally reached the tight bundle of nerves. Raising his head for a moment and withdrawing his hand, he blew gently across her, smiling as she cried out in frustration.

She caught hold of his head, threading her fingers through his hair and urging him downward. This time he complied, lowering his lips and tracing her folds with his tongue, sweeping along and back again, circling the nub before trailing again, holding her hips steady as he worked. Her body was wracked with lust, waves of pleasure washing outwards from her middle to the tips of her fingers and toes. "Please," she cried, "now. You. Need you."

He continued sucking and licking her, bringing her closer and closer to the brink, stopping just short of her final release, leaving her sobbing and begging in his arms. He shushed her with a kiss and positioned himself above her, hissing as she took hold of him, groaning as she stroked solid length. She returned his caresses until he too was pleading. She loved this, loved the journey, knowing that she could make him weak like this, that she could bring this powerful man to a state of longing for her that drove everything else from his mind.

"Alex," he muttered, gently batting her hand away and settling himself at her entrance.

"Yes." She crooked a leg around his, tilting her hips, and he plunged into her, burying himself deep, for a moment unable to move. She draped her arm around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, and he slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting her sweetness.

She pushed against the mattress with her foot, arching her body up to his, begging him to fill her. Blind now to everything but the feel of him moving within her, she clutched at his shoulders, mewls and sighs escaping her as he thrust again and again.

It was almost more than she could bear and the felt the heaviness gathering between her legs, the familiar heat that told her she was close. Angling herself against him she increased the pressure at her core, the added friction sending her spiralling into oblivion, a breathtaking, dizzying fall. As she relaxed against the sheets she felt him collapse on top of her, grunting her name against her shoulder, gathering her close.

Her body was weak, pleasure leaving her melting against him, and she smiled as she felt him brush a curl behind her ear. "Night, Madam Bolls," he murmured, dropping a kiss against her temple, then closing his eyes and relaxing into sleep.

~ o ~

She woke in a rush, head spinning, a sickly sensation in her stomach. It wasn't a hangover, she knew well enough what they felt like, and this was different, this was something else entirely.

She looked across at her alarm clock. Six-fifteen. With some trepidation she rolled onto her side, staring at Gene's peaceful form. Shit.

Why had she done it? It didn't matter how drawn she was to him, how attractive he was, how much she craved his company and his affection. It didn't matter a damn that he was easily the most important part of her life in the eighties. Nothing mattered but Molly and she had allowed herself to be distracted by her own desires and wants. The guilt she'd carried with her ever since Molly had been born, the guilt she felt that she'd never be as good a mother as she wanted to be, returned with interest. She couldn't have Gene, couldn't allow Gene to get in the way of her journey home. Slipping carefully from the bed, she headed for the bathroom, hoping a scalding hot shower would help clear her head.

When she returned to the bedroom, one towel wrapped around her body and other around her head, Gene was sitting up against the headboard, sheet bunched around his waist, his arms linked comfortably behind his head. His eyes darkened as he saw her, a low growl escaping him as she stood uncertainly in the doorframe.

"You're up early. Was hoping you were making me a cuppa."

"Gene."

"Or a bacon sandwich. Not fussy."

"Gene, listen." She pushed her arms into a robe and belted it firmly around her middle before perching on the side of the bed. He sat up straighter and crossed his arms across his body.

"Go on."

"I'm sorry."

He looked over her shoulder and nodded his head. "You're sorry."

"Yes." She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but he flinched away, rolling out of bed on the far side from her and casting around for his clothes.

"Don't be like this."

"Don't be like what, Alex?" He belted his trousers and shrugged into his shirt, walking out into the hallway to retrieve socks and boots. "I told you not to mess me about. I told you. What do you call this, Alex?" He pulled on his socks and boots and grabbed for his coat.

She followed him into the hallway, blinking hard, trying not to show how much his anger unsettled her. "Gene, I can explain…"

"You know what, Alex?" He pushed open her front door and stood with his hand on the doorknob. "You don't need to explain. I know exactly what you're up to. But do me a favour next time and buy a vibrator instead." He turned on his heel and the door clicked closed behind him.