"So, Gene."

They had been sitting in companionable silence for about ten minutes, but she couldn't get into the book this evening. Something was compelling her to keep sneaking glances up at Gene's lounging form. He looked impossibly comfortable, stretched out between the two plastic chairs, legs crossed, dozing lightly.

When he didn't answer, she took the opportunity to study him for a moment. He looked younger like this, dressed casually and napping. It suited him. A tuft of now-dry hair had fallen over his forehead, and she noticed, not for the first time, his impossibly long eyelashes. The whole effect was to make him look incongruously boyish and… she couldn't believe she was using this word, but… innocent. Charming, in fact. His face was relaxed and his breathing even, yet she sensed that he wasn't really asleep, even though he hadn't responded to her.

"Gene."

"Hmmm?"

"You awake?"

He opened one eye and looked at her. "It would seem so. Those loads aren't done yet, are they?"

"No." She found herself fixated on his long lashes, which fluttered… delicately? really? how have I never noticed that before? as he opened his eyes completely and looked over at her sleepily. He didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue.

She realized she'd been staring again, and looked away. "I just wondered if you wanted to talk."

"'Bout what?"

"Anything."

"Hmmm. Can we talk about your bra size?"

So much for innocent. "Almost anything."

"How badly d'you think City'll bust United next week?"

She sighed. "I honestly couldn't say, sorry."

He stretched a little and laced his fingers behind his head. "You daft bint. We talk nearly every day. You're my D.I. We go for lunch, and we talk some more. Come on now, do you have anything to talk about? Preferably not work-related. I'm off the clock tonight."

She smiled. She honestly had no idea what was possessing her to try and make idle conversation. Maybe she did have a bit of a compulsion to talk too much. "Well, I did invite you to my laundrette. I'm not being a very good hostess if I sit here and read."

He snorted. "All right then, Bolly." He swung his legs off the chair and sat up, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, his chin in his hands, and fixing his piercing gaze on her completely. "No current work, we can't talk about your bra size, and you don't know a thing about football, but you want to talk. Fine. Tell me a story."

That drew a real laugh. "A story? What, like my most embarrassing moment or something?"

His eyes sparkled mischievously and he quirked a sly grin. "Anything. You've got the floor and my full attention. Tell me about… the most fun you've ever had with your clothes on." She rolled her eyes but was still smiling. "OK, then, what's the strangest case you ever had before you came to CID? Come on, story time with Bolly Knickers and the Gene Genie. You first, then me."

He waggled his eyebrows and offered her his flask again. As she slid her chair closer and took it from him this time, she felt something flutter in her chest at this final step in his transformation. Disarming, that's the word. He wasn't saying or doing anything he wouldn't have while making small talk after hours in Luigi's, but here, where he was completely out of the CID element and totally relaxed… she found she was completely enchanted, despite herself.

The whiskey went down in the best possible way, with a good burn. "Hmm, strangest case. That would have to be…" Actually, she thought, it would have to be Sam Tyler. She immediately decided this was not the time to bring up Tyler. Gene was, dare she say it, in a cheerful mood and actually enjoyable to be around at the moment. No need to spoil it for tonight.

"… it would have to be the guy I once talked down from jumping who was distraught because he'd been told he couldn't legally marry his car."

"Pardonez-what?"

"He was a mechapheliac."

"In English, you posh fruitcake?"

"An objectum-sexual, someone who forms romantic and often sexual attractions to inanimate objects. In his case, a 1978 MGB which he called 'Jenny.'"

"Dear God. You are not serious!"

"Oh yes. He was devastated, because he'd just been denied a marriage license. Although, it was a little more complicated than that." She settled in with another mouthful of whiskey. "At the time, he was most concerned that I understand his affair had been a one-time mistake."

"If I say I don't follow you, it would be like saying Chris Skelton will never be Prime Minister. Pass that 'ere, I can see I'm going to need it." He beckoned for her to pass the flask back and he took a large drink.

"Well, when he'd been denied the marriage license, he'd been unable to face his dear Jenny. Instead, he sought the comfort of his neighbour's Mini Cooper, on which he'd had an unrequited crush for years before finding his true love, and… one thing led to another. He was terribly wracked with guilt."

Gene sputtered and coughed as he tried to swallow, and finally a full-on laugh escaped. It was a lovely sound that she had rarely heard. It made her a little tingly. Or perhaps that was just the whiskey. Please, let it be the whiskey.

"Things were not helped," she continued, now in full-on storytelling mode, "by the fact that his neighbor caught him in the act and called the cops. He'd spent the night in a cell, and when he was cut loose the next morning, he headed to the roof of his building, intent on ending it all. That's when I was called in."

Gene was nearly choking with laughter now. "Sweet Jesus, Bolly. You should've just let 'im jump, it might've been kinder to the poor sod to let him off 'imself! How in hell did you talk him down?"

By this time, Alex was laughing, too, despite herself. "I told him," she straightened up and pulled her best dead-serious professional face, "that I was certain if he just talked to 'Jenny' that she would forgive him. Especially if their love was true, and if his indiscretion was a one-time thing brought on by the sheer desperation of the situation. Also, that she surely would understand that the inherent animacy prejudices of the legal system which were responsible for denying them the right to marry were not his fault. I convinced him he should live to fight the system."

She snatched the flask back from him and held it up in mock salute before downing another mouthful.

Gene was still laughing. "Christ, Bols, you're good."

"Not that good," she sighed, with a sad smile. "He was found dead a week later, behind the wheel of his beloved. Suicide."

"Oh, wait, let me guess…"

"Auto-erotic asphixiation," they said in unison, before both collapsing in laughter again, Alex clinging to his arm for support.

They were drawing the notice of others - Alex saw a kindly-looking older woman smiling their way, and the two girls who had taken notice of Gene earlier were looking their direction and whispering behind their hands. She realized that these people obviously thought they were a couple by the way they were carrying on, and the tingling from earlier made its way up the back of her neck. She left her hand resting on his arm.

Gene recovered first, shaking his head and wiping his eyes. "Only so much you can do, Bols. When they want to go…"

"Oh, we're horrible. Laughing at the poor man's pain."

"Oh, please, you… you… soft, sissy girl. He was a complete bloody nutter, destined for the looney bin."

"Now Gene, with proper counseling and medication…"

"I mean, I love the Quattro, but I draw the line at stickin' me todger up the tailpipe!"

Alex punched his arm and collapsed against him in laughter again. "All right, then, your turn."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I had to dress up as a sodding squirrel to break into me own office?"

"What?"

"S'truth. For one night, I was the best piece of tail in the GMC."

She settled back with a smile on her face. "Go on then. Time for the Gene Genie to tell me a story."