A/N: I've had a few incredibly kind reviews lately which have left me a bit shell-shocked! Thank you so much to everyone who reads, reviews, favourites or follows - it really does mean a lot to me.

This chapter turned out to be super-long, whoops. I hold my hands up and admit I'm indulging myself ;)


Chapter 4

Her hair was styled, her make-up was in place. She'd kept it simple tonight; no brightly-coloured shocks of eyeshadow, lips a dusky-pink shade rather than vibrant, heart-stopping red. The look was far more reminiscent of 2008 – or more accurately, a few years earlier than that, probably the last time she had gone to such an effort. Alex took a long, steadying breath and a gulp of water, now rather warm, from the glass tumbler, keeping her gaze focused on her reflection. At this precise moment she could have done with something much stronger to quell the jittering of nerves and the sparks niggling away in the pit of her stomach.

The silk of her dressing gown was still cool against her skin, sending goosepimples to prickle upon her arms while she stood, staring over the bed in contemplation. She had managed to narrow the choice down to two; a black number and the other off-white, distinct from one another in style. Looking at one, then the other in quick succession wasn't doing anything to persuade her a particular way. A muted smile crept onto her lips as she recalled Gene's opinion on the matter; that he would only go if she wore something slutty. Neither fit the bill precisely on that score; she had to preserve some decorum, after all, but she hoped that he would settle for satisfaction with her underwear – or lack thereof.

Time was ticking away and she was none the closer. She had become terribly indecisive in the '80s. It was getting to the point where she honestly thought she would have to resort to eeny, meeny, miney, mo.

Catch a tiger by its toe. If it grumbles, let it go...

Images flashed through her mind suddenly, making her throat tighten and hurt. The girl in front of her eyes was small, not older than four or five, and dissolving into giggles as she received tickles along her ribs and under her arms.

"Mummy!" she laughed, squeals getting higher, wriggling against the brilliantly green grass.

Then she morphed in the next moment, sitting on the stool by the dresser, her increasingly gangly legs dangling down from the edge, looking with pleading eyes straight towards her.

"Molls," Alex whispered, her limbs freezing numb.

She seemed so real before her in the corner of the room, her smile bright. She could smell her comforting scent from here, shampoo and soap and washing powder. She needed to get closer to ascertain whether it really was her daughter and not another hopeless illusion. Why couldn't she move? She tried so hard, heaved her legs that felt as heavy as lead, breathing raggedly with the effort, and yet they stayed rooted to the spot.

"Why can't I go with you, Mum?" she asked, her words echoing around the room. "Why don't you take me with you?"

The tears threatened to roll down her cheeks, ruining her carefully administered eyeliner and mascara.

"You don't belong here, Molls," she returned, aware that she was speaking to someone who wasn't there, yet her heart still yearned. "I don't belong here." She breathed in too quickly, the air too much for her lungs to hold, making her temporarily light headed. "I don't belong here. I have to keep focus, I have to get back. You have to help me, Molls. You'll help me, won't you?"

As she turned her head, she was gone. Her beautiful, precious daughter – or rather, the vision her mind had conjured of her. Disappeared again. Alex sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments, trying to calm her speeding heart-rate and stop her head from spinning. It wasn't too late to call it off, say that she wasn't feeling well. A voice in her head told her that there was always next year, and the thought that she would still be here in twelve months time caused her to grieve deeply. But there was no way out that she could see, every door and window slamming shut as she got within touching distance.

Her hand had landed on the black dress, and as she regained rational thought she decided it was good enough reasoning as any. She pulled herself to her feet, filling up with a new sense of determinism. One thing was for sure; she was never going to find her way back if she simply rolled over and admitted defeat. While she was here, she needed to live life to the full.

Perhaps it was her only escape route.

She picked up the head of the hanger, the dress trailing to the floor as she moved to the stereo. The silence made her feel uneasy, the remnants of 'Molly's' words ringing loud in her ears, and she felt terribly guilty for drowning them out by pressing play on the cassette, the same one she had kept in there for a few weeks now. She wrapped her arms around the dress, pressing it to her body and swaying slightly in time to the music, feeling a kind of haze of drunkenness possess her even though she was stone-cold sober.

# It was fun for a while
There was no way of knowing
Like a dream in the night
Who can say where we're going?

No care in the world
Maybe I'm learning
Why the sea on the tide
Has no way of turning #

Alex closed her eyes against the strains of Bryan Ferry's crooning, the familiar and almost obsessive thoughts pervading her mind once more. She hadn't been able to stop them from cutting through, diving beneath the surface when she lay her head down to sleep at night and staying with her through several levels of dreaming, until she woke with them in the clear light of day.

More than mere thought; she could feel, the longing and the craving taking over her whole being. She couldn't get it out of her head, returned to it time and time again. Gene's lips brushing her skin, parting slightly as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. The memory and the desperate reconstruction that her mind had pieced together caused tingles to race through her. There had been fragments of deeper feeling before, as much as she had tried to deny them afterwards, but they had been borne out of primal, extreme emotions; fear, hopelessness, gratitude, the loss of inhibition in what she had believed were the last moments of her life. Replaying them later, she had been certain that each one had equated to the heat of the moment. She had never before lingered on such an encounter between them, thoroughly confused by its meaning and yet knowing it all too clearly. It frightened her and she fought hard to deny, even as the rush became stronger with each time she recalled.

Her eyes flew open with a flash of light, almost blinding her. No. She wouldn't let herself surrender now. Not when she had fought so bloody hard, with every bit of her and breath in her. Nothing would keep her here, nothing mattered enough to make her give up the fight.

Certainly not Gene Hunt.

The loud rap on the door came as a laughably well-timed interruption, almost dispelling any strange romantic notions her subconscious had begun to conjure about him, coming perilously close to having convinced her.

"Bolly!" His bellow was muffled behind the closed door, and still it was all she was able to hear. "Get a wriggle on, will yer? If you take much longer yer'll have turned into a pumpkin before we even make it there."

She stifled a laugh at his obvious annoyance, stubbornly deciding that she would take as long as she damn well pleased and probably a bit longer just to rankle him even further.

"Won't be long," she said easily, dabbing the perfume onto the pulse points on her wrists and behind her ears. "Just have to pour myself into this dress."

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, and Alex could picture the look of realisation perfectly upon his face, even as it was disguised from her view.

"You sayin' you've got nothin' on?"

She smiled, unable to resist teasing him.

"Almost nothing."

"You do know that I can break this door down within the space of seconds? Sounds as though me services are required pretty urgently by a damsel in distress. Or, more accurately, out of a dress."

"Don't even think about it, Hunt."

As much as she was enjoying their banter it wasn't worth incurring serious damage to her property – and what's more, she knew that the bill would end up falling to her.

She opened the door to him without much further hesitation, noticing his expression fall slightly when he saw that she wasn't stark naked for his eager delectation. He soon shifted as his gaze raked over her, nodding his approval where his eyes travelled lazily. The dress was figure-hugging enough to resemble a second skin upon her.

"Scrub up well, Bols."

Alex smiled at his understated assertion of her appearance, seeing the greater enthusiasm in his eyes.

"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself."

She could hardly berate him when she was doing just as badly, tamping down the desire that had surged within her on sight of him. He looked very good indeed. No, not just good, but positively edible. The top button had been left open on his crisp white shirt, his hair dishevelled to just the right amount. She had never expected the day to come when she would find him wearing a tux, and wondered a little self-indulgently whether he had gone to the effort expressly for her. It didn't look as though it had been sitting at the back of a wardrobe gathering dust for years, fitting him like a glove – and causing her stomach to turn several somersaults.

Of course, he had to put his own twist on the formal wear as she noticed the tips of his crocodile-skin boots poking out the bottom of his trouser-legs, but he carried the unusual combination off rather well. Her smile was firmly in place and grew wider as her gaze went back upwards.

"Don't you know how to do a bow-tie?" Her tone was rather more accusing than she had intended.

"Can't say I've ever 'ad one on," he replied gruffly, "and I won't be tryin' it again. Fiddly bastards. Got fed up after twenty seconds."

The great Gene Hunt, the Manc Lion, defeated by a strip of fabric.

"I can't believe you've never worn one before."

"You might be used to the blokes at your la-di-dah public school gatherings lookin' like penguins," he near-spat the words, half in contempt at her upbringing she supposed, "but there wasn't much call for this kind of gear on the streets of Stalybridge."

She ceased her interrogation, moving nearer towards where he stood and bringing her hands up to his collar.

"Let me."

Her fingers threaded around the black tie that was currently draped loose around his neck. She fumbled a little, brushing bare warm skin for a moment or two, feeling Gene's eyes upon her as she lingered a touch too long where she needn't. The scent of his aftershave hit her nostrils and she felt rather intoxicated. Not the musky smell of Old Spice, which always reminded her of men who were much older than her and trying far too hard to impress. This was a lighter, fresher aroma, though still undeniably masculine. Something from God knows where within the recesses of her brain told her that it might be Paco Rabanne. She forced herself to pull back after moments, rather than nuzzling into his neck for a better appreciation.

The tie may well have remained untouched from the minutes previous, for all the progress she made. As he continued to stare at her, she tipped her head to the side and smiled, smoothing one palm over the material.

"It suits you like that," she eventually determined. "The style is inimitably Gene Hunt."

It occurred to her that she wouldn't want for any other option.

He looked at her somewhat perplexed, no doubt thinking she was off her rocker once more.

"Let's get a move on, then," he groused, "the sooner we leave, the sooner we can 'op it."

Alex sighed internally. All of her bubbling enthusiasm for the evening ahead was in danger of being steam-rollered by Gene's obvious grumpiness, hanging over his head like the darkest of clouds.

"Oh, I hope you're not going to be like this all night. You could at least try to fake it, for my sake."

"Speak for yerself, Bolly."

The heat rose to her head for a moment or two; it had to be another handy quip of his, because surely he was in no doubt that thus far she hadn't faked anything with him.

In order to stop her own insecurities, she raised a smile.

"I 'ate these bloody things," he continued, huffing like a petulant schoolboy. " 'Policeman's ball'? Sure as shit isn't the reason why I joined the force, to get trussed up like a prize turkey, throw a load of posh tripe down me neck and bask in the glory of being a bleedin' knight in shinin' armour – I don't ruddy think."

Of course, because he'd rather play the hard-done-by, downtrodden copper who never got a word of thanks for all of his work.

"I do the job and get on with it, move on to the next lot of scumbags who need sortin'. Don't need to make a song and dance and get given a gold star to feel like it's worth the while."

"You're not being fair. It's one night out of three hundred odd. Hardly something to complain about." She leaned a little against the doorframe, staring him down and being careful not to crease her dress. "Besides, I've never been to one before. I've been rather looking forward to it."

He frowned, shaking his head slightly. "You lead a pretty sad life if this is one of the 'ighlights, Bols. And I would 'ave thought you've scoffed enough canapés to last a lifetime at all the other fancy do's you've been to."

"Contrary to belief I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, Gene."

"You should 'ave 'ad somethin' in there. Then perhaps you wouldn't nag me quite so bleedin' much."

She smiled, thinking to herself that they made quite the cliché. Uptown girl, downtown man. Posh totty and a bit of rough. Lady and the Tramp.

The last one was unfair – she would hardly call him that, especially not when he looked as gorgeous as he did right now, although she'd want him just as much in one of his regular suits. The thought crossed her mind that it almost felt like they were going on a date, perhaps that one they'd missed several times due to their own faults and equally fiery tempers. As it turned out they'd rather put the cart before the horse and the moment was likely lost forever, now that he knew what he could get from her without very much asking.

Her gaze must have drooped while she pondered the lost opportunity, and she was soon roused by Gene clapping his hands together, the sound like a slap to her face.

"Cheer up, Lady B. I'm not goin' to stand you up on your big night." He stepped to the side, holding his arm out towards the staircase which led down from her little flat. "Your carriage awaits."

She slipped her arm into the crook of his as they made their way outside, the Quattro gleaming brightly against the street that was already hidden by darkness. It seemed like he had put the work in there as well, or otherwise took it for a spin through the nearest carwash.

"No sign of the others?" she enquired, dipping herself down to get a closer look.

"Told 'em to get a cab. Ray's payin'; by the look on 'is face you would 'ave thought United had lost the league."

He chuckled while she got comfortable in the passenger seat, resting her clutch bag in her lap. Soon enough Gene's hand joined it there, and she forgot to breathe for a moment or two while his steel-blue gaze settled upon her, changing their focus between her eyes and lips in the space of seconds.

"You and me, Bols," he uttered, patting his hand just above her knee. "No bastard's goin' to get in the way of us havin' a good time tonight. And neither is Skelton's incessant prattlin'."


She had to admit to being rather disappointed on arrival, her expectations markedly different to the somewhat dull reality. The function suite of the hotel was as tired-looking as anything she could accurately remember from her real experience of the '80s, a slowly revolving disco-ball sticking out like a sore thumb over the dancefloor which was set towards the back of the room. Further up an array of tables had been arranged, complete with garish gold and purple tablecloths and seat coverings, though at present they were sparsely populated. Perhaps half of the Met's finest hadn't got the memo or were being held up by traffic.

"Told you not to get yer 'opes up, Bolly," Gene scoffed as she cast her eyes about dejectedly, sounding pleased with himself. "Not quite Buck Palace, and it's costin' half our wages to 'ave it for the night."

It would be so easy to slip into his way of thinking. Not for the first time she found herself wondering exactly how long he had been here – not in 'London', but in this strange dimension that sometimes seemed so much more real to her senses. Was her sentence for a crime she hadn't been aware she had committed to stay for the same amount of time? Whatever, she was determined not to become as sour and jaded as he was, head set an angle that warned her not to argue and hands planted firmly in pockets, making the tux look vastly less elegant.

Before she could stare him out for too long Shaz came running up from the nearly empty dancefloor towards her, the ra-ra skirt from her blue velvet dress whirling out from above her knees. She gasped about how 'fab' Alex looked, and then was pulling her superior by the hand further along to whence she had came.

Alex grinned back at Shaz, promising she would be there in just a moment. She knew she was taking a rather stupendous leap and didn't for a second imagine that it would actually come off. All the same, she looked towards Gene with wide eyes.

"No," he barked out defiantly, hands rooting yet further down into his pockets, "Gene Hunt does not dance."

Her eyes flared, giving him a moment to reconsider, but he stayed fixed to the spot where he stood. Alex smirked as she leant into him, flexing her body so that it was a hair's breadth away from touching his.

"Spoilsport," she near-whispered, leaving him with nothing more to hold onto than the waft of her posh perfume as she floated away, joining the party – of two – on the dancefloor.

Gene sulked into the shadows coming from the multi-coloured lights as he watched the select members of his team making prats of themselves in front of an audience who couldn't care less.

In the centre of the floor was Skelton, looking like a right poof. What was with those bleeding highlights in his hair? Looked no better than a flock of birds having shat on his head from a great height. He was bending his knees and gyrating his hips to the sounds of Michael Jackson, and it was enough to put Gene off his chips. An absolute prize tosser, that's what he is. Yet he obviously didn't give two hoots about what anyone else thought of him, and though he had no aspirations whatsoever to do as Skelton was doing Gene couldn't help but feel a certain sense of admiration for his younger colleague. He'd come a long way in the space of ten years or more; Gene recalled when they'd picked him up like a little boy lost on the streets, hardly stringing two words together and full of the fear of doing something that put him firmly out of place. To look at him now, nobody would think he was the same person. Probably Tyler's influence. He knew that Chris looked up to the soft sod, held him with the regard of an idol.

If only you could see 'im now, Sammy boy. You'd barely recognise 'im. And it 'asn't even been that long...

Whatever poncey dance move he was pulling, he certainly had the attention of Granger – that dizzy little Essex bird was dazzled by 'im, didn't say much for the other blokes there – and Bolly, who were twirling either side of him. Bolly. For a passing moment or two Gene was filled with jealousy towards DC Skelton, which was utterly ridiculous. His hand was resting rather gingerly above her waist, and while it wasn't anywhere as near as bad as her wiggling all over Carling at that boat party, Gene found that he still wasn't very happy about it.

But she was smiling and laughing, her head thrown back as she swayed her body to the beat of the music. That delicious body of hers, with curves in all the right places and a few more thrown in for good measure. He'd never in his wildest dreams imagined that he'd ever have the privilege of running his hands all over them, feeling her fall to pieces beneath his fingertips, only for him to put them back into place again the next time around.

The dress she had on was scandalous in itself; if it was any other bird walking the streets he would have had them charged for indecent exposure. A slit on one side up to the base of her thigh, showing off one of her shapely legs to the full degree. Her cleavage always looked amazing but it was framed perfectly in this get-up, and his cheeks were still burning from when she informed him in the car that she'd had to go commando to stop herself from getting a VPL. All bloody double Dutch to him, but when she explained herself he'd nearly blown a gasket. He swore it was her express mission in life to give him a heart attack at least twenty years before it was due. It took all the willpower he possessed – which was running low given their current predicament – not to pull the Quattro into a side street and order her to drape herself in the back, if the bonnet didn't take her fancy.

No, he wouldn't allow himself to get carried away again, not after the episode with his desk. She's a better class of bird than you're used to, Hunt – a far better class than you'll ever deserve – and you'll drag yourself up to treat 'er how she should be treated.

He continued to watch wistfully from the sidelines, not tempted to join in even with all of Bolly's writhing and wriggling. The only way he'd ever dance was with the aid of several pints down him; the only time he'd feel comfortable enough to shrug off most of his insecurities, and the only time he'd admit to having any.

That was what usually got him to go to these bloody things; the promise of a well-stocked free bar which he'd have a good bash at draining dry while there were still a few hours left to go of the whole debacle. He turned his gaze away from the dancefloor, which was starting to fill up more thanks to the ongoing efforts of the three Musketeers, and looked with equal longing towards the bar, full of just as much temptation. Ray looked like a bit of a lemon standing there on his own – god knows where Terry, Poirot and the others had got to – so Gene went over to join him, his mouth dryer than Gandhi's flip-flop.

"Enjoyin' yerself, Raymondo?"

"Oh yeah, havin' a ball," Ray scoffed, pint in hand. Some of the precious ale threatened to spill as he thrust it in the direction of the aforementioned dancefloor. "What does 'e look like? And those trousers are way too tight for 'im. Bloody poofter."

Gene managed a hint of a smile looking towards Chris, feeling in much more comfortable territory with his back propped against the bar.

"Well it's not my cup of tea, but let's not knock the lad for lettin' 'is hair down."

"Er, whatever you say, Guv." Ray was clearly caught off guard, frowning in confusion at Gene's reluctance to join in with the baiting.

As the bartender lined up several drinks for waiting punters, DS Carling grinned, beholding the beautiful sight of a line of perfectly poured pints.

"Why don't you 'ave the night off, Guv? Or just 'ave the one?" Ray nudged his head towards the array of ale just down the way from them. "What Drake doesn't know can't hurt 'er. And you know I won't breathe a word."

By God, it was tempting. Gene watched as another man picked up a golden pint, cool condensation running down the side of the glass, his mouth both watering and going dry as the pleased customer took a first gratifying sip. Lucky sod.

"Nah, you're alright," He straightened himself up, his armour tightening around his chest. "I'll get your next one in for you, though."

DS Carling wore the starry-eyed and stunned look of someone who had just won big on the pools as his Guv handed the money over to the waiter on the other side. He was made of stern stuff, he'd give him that.

No sooner had he put the change into his back pocket than a booming voice called him down to the opposite end of the bar.

"Gene! Come and join us, why don't you?"

His gut twisted; it was the last thing he bloody needed, to spend half the night in that company, painting on a forced grimace. But he had to keep up appearances, and that included bowing to Supermac for a bit.

"Sir."

Mac clapped a hand on his shoulder. "How are you, Gene? Blimey, you look different. Mistook you for a waiter for a moment."

A low chorus of laughter rose up from the cronies gathered around them.

"One night of the year, doesn't 'urt to put the effort in." He wore a tight smile as he looked round, Mac cemented in the middle of the crowd. " 'ave to show the rest of 'em what we're made of in Fenchurch East."

"Quite right. Only the best will do," Mac returned the smile, stretching his arm out. "Speaking of which, I see that your hand is empty. You'll crack open this bottle, won't you? Been saving it especially."

If only he wasn't holding a bleeding twelve-year-old malt in his hand. Christ's sake.

Gene shook his head, taking a step back. "Not tonight. There's a big case on, don't want to cloud me vision."

"Now I know that you're an imposter," Mac laughed. "Tell me, who are you and what have you done with DCI Hunt?"

As the rest of them laughed, Gene sniggered along as well, pretending that the joke was a funny one.

"I know what this is down to," Mac said, inching closer to Gene, "or rather, who. I said it from day one, letting female Detective Inspectors in was a bad idea. They're good in the lower ranks, doing the filing and typing, but that's about it. Keep them there before they get ideas above their station. She's a bad influence, that one. Some might even say poison."

Gene's expression hardened despite his better reasoning. God help him; Mac might be his superior, but he'd end up having a necking session with the floor if he dared to say anything out of line about Bolly.

Both of their gazes went to the dancefloor, Alex at the centre of it, winding her body up and down.

He felt Mac's hot and boozy breath down the back of his collar.

"Hmm, I suppose she does have some uses though. Lock me in a room with her, and I'd soon show her who's boss."

He didn't dare turn around to come face to face with Mac, because he knew within the second that his fist would end up coming into swift contact with that smug face. His boots were too bloody good to kick that excuse for a Super in the bollocks.

He muttered his excuses about needing to be elsewhere but he didn't expect that he was heard, all of Mac's cronies roaring with laughter around him. Creepy, weirdy bunch of bloody Masons got up his nose at the best of times. At his side, his knuckles were turning white with the force at which he was keeping his fist clenched, the rage burning in his chest worse than indigestion.

Alex hobbled slightly as she made her way off the dancefloor; it hadn't been the wisest decision to go straight into dancing, not with the heels she had on, and now her feet were crippling her. She wanted to keep the night lively, however; hadn't wanted to be dragged down by Gene being a moody bastard. He was storming across the room and she noticed the hardness of his expression; apparently something had gone on to sour matters further.

She huffed, moving as fast as she could to catch up with him.

"Gene," her voice called out to him, "what's happened?"

"Not now, Bols," he replied without turning to look at her.

Her frustration as well as her concern began to rise; even with their new level of intimacy he was apparently determined not to let her in. Serves you right, Alex, for thinking that this was something more than the scratching of a mutual itch.

She reached her hand out regardless, her fingers barely brushing his palm.

He turned round abruptly at her touch, his face like thunder.

"I said, not now."

He wrenched his arm away from her grasp, leaving her feeling stung and rejected. She watched him as he went out of the door, supposing it was best that he cooled off. She just hoped there were no unsuspecting staff or other hotel guests who might get in his way. With a sigh, she hopped across to take a seat at one of the tables.

He slunk back in time for the dinner, plonking himself down in the seat next to hers. The tension tightened her whole body as she watched him, gnawing at his steak. She was so anxious, waiting for something to erupt, that she barely touched her own plate. The music around drowned out, her eyes focused on nothing else but Gene, his six foot plus frame hunched over in the chair, keeping the ball of anger locked tight in his chest.

The lights went up, a man with white hair taking the makeshift stage, his voice echoing around the room as he spoke into the microphone.

"Every one of us is here because we have a vital part to play in ensuring the safety of this great city, but there are some who have given over many years of their lives with great honour and sacrifice, and it's our duty each year to recognise such brave efforts."

Spikes ran along Alex's skin; she watched Gene's jaw clench, his hand shuddering upon the table.

The white-haired man continued with his speech. "This man has so often gone above and beyond the call of duty; the number of lives he has protected immeasurable, the operations he has headed truly significant in weeding out some of the worst criminals in London. But he's nothing if not modest, so without further ado it's my pleasure to award this year's Metropolitan Police Special Achievement award to...Detective Superintendent Charles Mackintosh."

Applause rang out around the room as Supermac rose from his table on the other side of the room, some in attendance getting to their feet to offer an ovation.

"Sod this for a game of soldiers."

Alex was the only one to hear Gene's muttering, and she stayed watching as he stood, clapping his hands harshly a few times before turning and exiting the room. She took off less than a minute after, feeling that she couldn't remain amongst the party. Mac had begun giving his acceptance speech but she caught no more than the first few words before leaving, her overriding concern for Gene. If nothing more, she wanted to be on hand to prevent him from making a scene and curb any of the collateral damage.

There was no sign of him in the reception and a cold wave of panic washed over her, until she found him not too far away down a quiet corridor, leaning heavily against the wall. She approached him carefully, treating him like an animal not long hit by a tranquiliser.

He rose his head slowly, acknowledging her presence with a silent nod. The fury and fire had dissipated from his eyes, which she took to be a good sign.

So often he left her confused and full of questions, and his methods were deeply unorthodox – yet not that out of place here – but as time went on, she had little doubt that he was one of the good guys.

"I think they made the wrong choice," she started softly, drawing closer to where he stood.

He shook his head, scoffing at her words. "Stuff Mac and 'is soddin' award. He can polish it with 'is knackers for all I care." He paused, then a slow smirk began to twist his lips. It scared her ever so slightly. "Soon enough 'e won't have much else to 'old on to."

Her stomach started to plummet towards her aching feet. Had her growing feeling clouded her judgement?

"I don't understand," she began, becoming aware that there might be something much bigger than she had ever realised at stake. She looked deep into his eyes and felt strangely reassured. "What's going on, Gene?"

"Mac's as bent as a whole bunch of ten-bob notes," he explained, and it didn't come as a great shock. She hadn't had that many encounters with Supermac, but there was something off about him. He wasn't like Gene, in more ways than one. "I've known for a while now, and it makes me bloody sick, being under a corrupt bastard like 'im. But it's not the first time and I'd bet me boots it won't be the last."

She nodded her head in a kind of understanding, feeling her own sense of rage at the injustice of it all starting to gather greater. She felt enough at ease now that she reached out her hand and touched his arm. He flinched, but didn't pull away.

"Been bidin' my time, Bolly. I've got a plan." Her stomach flipped over again. "Gonna involve me doin' a lot of things I don't want to. But that's the way it goes." He straightened his shoulders, his gaze searching hers. "Gonna need me team around me. Gonna need their trust."

Alex did her best to swallow away the lump lodged in her throat, looking back at him with wide eyes.

"I'll help you," she offered without hesitation. "Let me help you."

Yes, this was it. Something in her told her that it all made sense. Getting closer to Gene; the two of them, together. Standing side by side, working with one another to remove the disease from inside. Like dislodging the bullet from her brain.

And then she could go home. It would all be over.

A weary sigh escaped him as he ran a hand over his face. "Almost told you on a couple of occasions, but it's risky stuff. I didn't want you gettin' involved."

She stared him out, not relenting for a second, and the beginnings of a smile started to shift his expression.

"That said, I didn't take into account just what a determined pair of stockings you actually are."

Alex returned the smile, taking it as acceptance and feeling slightly delirious that she'd finally cracked it; held the key to her return in her hands.

" 'm sorry that the ball's been such a pile of shit, Cinders."

She giggled inwardly at the thought of Gene being her Prince Charming, finding it slightly incomprehensible even with how dashing he looked this evening.

"You did try to warn me," she replied with a smirk, "and I'm not even wearing stockings tonight."

He sniggered, his gaze dropping instinctively to the lower half of her body and the leg that was on show, exposed by the cut of her dress.

"I forgot to ask," her tone took on a sultry note, her hips flexing to highlight the outfit to full effect, "is it slutty enough for you?"

Gene's eyes went back to meet hers, an unreadable look covering his features as she waited eagerly for his verdict.

"No," he said plainly, and as silly as it was, she couldn't help but feel a smidgen of disappointment. His eyes softened, clearer to a lighter shade of blue; the colour was striking, and she remained mesmerised by them as he stepped in closer to her, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. "You look beautiful, Bols."

A delightful shiver snaked up her spine, the fluttering of a thousand butterflies' wings coming to life inside of her. She smiled as the colour rushed to her cheeks, needing to look away from the power of his gaze for a moment or two, before she composed herself, her feet standing firm on the ground.

"Next time, then."

"Yeah," he said, his breath upon her face, "next time."

The moment grew about them and she let it linger, feeling like a teenager sneaking away from her house again. Doing something she shouldn't. That notion seemed to be lessening further into the distance with each day that passed.

She took a deep breath, looked him in the eyes. Unspoken words. We'd better get back.

Before she could step past him, his hand had closed around her wrist.

"Alex..."

She could only take another singular breath before his lips were on hers, his hands holding onto her waist. The kiss deepened within the space of mere seconds, both of them making mutual sounds of satisfaction and encouragement, the back of her heel trailing up his calf. All she was aware of was his mouth, warm and soft and meshing with her own, and the heat and growing rigidity at the front of his trousers, rubbing against her.

There was a wicked flash in her eyes, the tip of her tongue darting between her lips.

"Fancy getting lucky in the backseat of the Quattro?" she questioned, ready to run even as the soles of her feet sizzled with pain. It was incredibly hot all of a sudden, and she would have welcomed the chill of the night air cooling her skin.

Gene shook his head, hands still clamped to her hips.

"Mac's payin' to put us up 'ere for the night," he said with a glint in his eyes, "let's make the most of it while he's still goin' on about what a big knob 'e is."

"Oh, I'm pretty certain he could never match up," Alex retorted, grinding herself with purpose against Gene's confined erection.

"You naughty tart," he growled, lacing his fingers with hers and pulling her off the wall. "Get to my room, sharpish."

They took little time in delaying, taking the stairs rather than the lift to the third floor. Alex's body fizzed with excitement, the sensation intensifying more each time. She scrunched a hand into her hair as Gene fumbled getting the key into the lock, cursing under his breath. Her hand rested on his back; she was about to suggest they head to her room down the corridor instead, and then there was success, the door swinging back on its hinges as Gene bundled her inside.

The room was neat and barely touched, the only evidence that anyone had been inside was Ray's jacket draped over the single bed nearest the wall. She'd frozen for a moment on the way up, thinking of the risk of interruption, but Gene had reassured her that Ray was well preoccupied at the bar, drinking for the both of them. If anything they'd be in more trouble if they had gone to her room, as Shaz was more likely to pop in to retrieve something and her shriek of surprise would have called the entire Met and their mothers up to wait outside.

Alex kicked off her shoes in a fashion, relieved to feel the soft carpet beneath her toes.

"Should 'ave come up 'ere from the off," Gene quipped, throwing the jacket of his tux to the floor.

"Mmm," Alex mumbled, her thoughts rapidly taking her somewhere else, "would have looked a bit strange if we hadn't turned up at the start."

"Couldn't give a monkey's 'ow it looked. I know it would 'ave made me feel a damn sight better to enjoy a bit of Bolly for starters."

He smirked, waggling his eyebrows towards her, but she was crouching down, her eyes level with his crotch. As her hands slid up to the waistband of his trousers, he was left in little doubt of what she was planning.

"Bloody 'ell, Bols," he exclaimed, taken by surprise at the speed at which she'd got him out of his boxers, "now I know why you didn't finish yer dinner."

Hungry for a different kind of meat and two veg altogether, apparently. It crossed his mind that he was being selfish again, letting her get on with pleasuring him. He was about to protest and pull her hand away – as fantastic as it felt to have her working his length in her silky palm – but then her warm mouth took the place of her fingers, and he could have exploded right there and then.

"Alex!" he choked out her name in a helpless, strangled cry. "Bloody fuck..."

Her tongue teased the tip of his straining cock, running circles around it before she took him in more fully, sucking gently. He let out a series of groans, one hand threading through her hair and stroking her scalp while the other steadied himself against the wall, stopping him from buckling completely. Christ, hardly anything felt better than this; not an ice-cold pint or a glass of the finest scotch that could be had. He brought his head forward and gazed down at her, his mouth going dry at what he saw. Those doe eyes looking up at him and raven hair framing her face, gorgeous lips wrapped around him, her hand rolling and massaging his balls. Shit, he wasn't going to last if she carried on much longer and there was no sign of her stopping, as she sucked harder.

"Bolly, stop," he murmured with some effort, "you're too good...Jesus, love, you 'ave to stop."

She reluctantly released him, her hand straying back to caress his hardness instead of her lips and tongue doing so.

"One of these days you'll let me finish," she huffed as she got back to her feet. She had wanted to do something for him, seeing as he hadn't wanted to attend tonight in the first place.

"Too flamin' right I will," he replied, turning them so that she was the one with her back pressed to the wall. "Right now, I want you, Alex Drake."

The want in his eyes was so intense that she found herself gasping for air before anything had begun, her legs quickly turning to jelly.

"Want to be balls-deep in you when you come. Want to 'ear you scream my name, no matter who might be outside." His fingers caressed the skin of her thighs, hitching her dress up over her waist. "You gunna do that for me, Bols?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, nodding eagerly. "Yes."

He smiled wryly as his thumb ran circles over her hip-bone.

"This commando lark makes things a lot easier," he remarked with approval, "might hide all your knickers next time I'm at yours so that I can 'ave you whenever."

He pushed into her, feeling her body respond to him immediately and revelling in the sensation. As she hitched her leg up to his middle he placed a hand on her arse, welcoming the opportunity to drive even deeper into her. Their mutual sounds of relief and escalating pleasure reverberated off the walls, sounding loudest most of all in one another's ears, their bodies pressed together as close as it was possible to be.

"Gene," she breathed, clutching onto him as she sought to wrap her other leg around his waist, letting the wall hold her up, "Need you so much...oh my god, don't stop."

Not a bloody chance that he would, both of her gorgeous legs around him, keeping him right where he wished he could stay buried forever.

"Christ, Bolly...never felt so good...fuckin' hell."

Her hips rocked upwards as he powered into her, the pace he was going at close to tipping off the scales. He tried to slow himself down but her pants and moans of pleasure only served to spur him on. She was just too bloody irresistible, especially all dressed up to the nines.

Alex found it increasingly difficult to hold onto her breath, her vision blurring as she held onto Gene for support. He was so big, so hard, so deep within her and somehow she was still greedy for more. She loved the way he looked, staring into her eyes while he kept working inside her tirelessly. There was a glimpse of vulnerability she caught and cherished through the flashes of ecstasy upon his expression, and it only added to the electric tingles racing through her body.

He clung onto control with the very tips of his fingers, reaching a hand down to stroke her just above where his aching cock moved in and out of her, his hips fast becoming a blur.

"Oh, Gene...I'm going to..." His fingers rubbing her clit firmly was what toppled her over the edge. "Oh, yesssss!"

"Fuck, Alex...my god..." The rapid movement of his fingers against her had caused him to thrust with increased fervour. "Jesus Christ...Alex!"

It took them both some time to come down from their shared high, clasping onto one another and breathing hard, struck almost stunned by the fact that they had achieved climax together at almost the very same second.

One of his hands grasped onto hers, twining their fingers tight, his other still holding her dress up from trailing on the floor as she regained enough feeling to bring her legs back to the floor.

He pressed a kiss against her neck before he straightened up, tucking himself away.

"Better freshen up before we rejoin the party, ey, Bolly?"

The music was still blaring when they arrived back downstairs, Alex smoothing her dress and fixing her hair self-consciously. Everyone was gathered into their little clusters, the Fenchurch East team split into their usual fractions and Supermac holding onto his award proudly at the centre of the bar as though he was the first recipient of such an accolade. Aside from dancing and drinking there wasn't much else to do, and the former wasn't much of a viable option.

Gene held onto her arm, escorting her into a quiet corner of the room, lust still burning in his eyes. She was aware the same could also be found in her gaze; while their encounter in his room had been mind-blowing it was a quickie all the same, and her body was yearning for more of him.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Bols? I don't fancy babysittin' this lot whilst half of them chuck their guts up outside at gone two in the mornin'."

She smiled wryly. "And say what? Shaz will be worried if she wakes up and I'm not in the room."

"I dunno," he returned, "feed them a little white lie. Say that somethin' urgent's come up."

She couldn't stop herself from stifling a giggle, as childish as it was. "Well, I suppose that's true enough."

He looked less impressed, though she noticed the start of his smirk from the corner of her eye. "You laugh while you can, Lady B. I'd better go and tell 'is Lordship over there that we'll be gone for the rest of the night, not that he'll give a toss."

Gene gave the word to Mac, who really didn't seem that fussed, and worked round the others before making his way out to the reception, where Alex was waiting for him.

They stepped out into the night with his arm around her waist, resting there naturally and also protectively as they moved through the shadowy streets towards the beacon of the Quattro. She smiled at him pulling her closer as they walked, enjoying the feeling of being looked after and shivering slightly at the cold, the plummeted temperature coming as something of a shock.

"Come 'ere," Gene uttered, taking the jacket from his shoulders and draping it round hers instead, "don't want you catchin' pneumonia on my watch, dozy mare."

She gazed up at him, a warmth spreading out from the pit of her stomach to infuse her limbs at his touch.

The Quattro speeded them towards her flat, and she supposed that she didn't have any further need for it but she kept the jacket on anyway, enjoying the scent of Paco Rabanne that was surrounding her from every angle.


Half of her could have collapsed on the spot where she stood, while the other half was bursting with so much adrenaline that she could barely keep still. She had dashed into the bedroom, hastily tidying away all that she'd left scattered about from hours ago, and changed into something more comfortable while doing so – namely a strappy nightdress and her silk dressing gown.

She'd left Gene in the front room, loafing on the sofa. He seemed to have become part of the furniture now, such a fixture was he here after their regular hours – though his usual resting place was bollock-naked between her bedsheets. Alex smiled hazily as she rested against the doorframe, drinking the sight of him in, feeling the fire rise up through her body while she did nothing more than watch him.

He caught sight of the glimmer in her eyes, his own fixed to the sweep of her legs as she moved across the floor in stockinged feet.

"What?" he said accusingly as she threw a look over her shoulder.

She found it harder to bite back a mischievous grin. "I know you were embarrassed back there, but now that it's just the two of us...well, I hoped you would save a dance for me."

His brows wrinkled, lips curling defensively.

"I wasn't bloody embarrassed," he countered, puffing out his chest as he got to his feet, squaring up to her. "I told yer, I don't dance. End of."

"Hmm, why don't I believe you?" she teased, padding closer to him.

She could have gone into great detail about the couple of dreams she'd had where he'd been the star of a one-man-show, dancing, singing; all for her delectation. However she refrained, expecting that it might give him some kind of complex and put a stop to the passion they'd had planned.

"Can't we just get to the horizontal kind of dancin' instead?"

"It's a compulsory bit of foreplay tonight, I'm afraid." She smiled at the pout that lay firm upon his face, resisting the urge to kiss it away – for the time being, at least. "Anyway, I've always found it something of a turn-on. It works for Chris."

"Don't tell me you've got the bleedin' hots for Skelton! You really will get a reputation for yerself, Bols."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm fairly sure that he only has eyes for Shaz. Besides, he's a bit too...sweet for me."

Gene's expression moved into a knowing smirk. "You mean you're too filthy for 'im. Christ, the poor lad wouldn't know where to look when it came to you, cavorting about with no knickers on."

"I'm a terrible influence, I know." One hand snaked its way up his chest, her eyelashes fluttering. "You ought to keep your distance, DCI Hunt."

He chuckled, a hand moving down from the small of her back to rest on her bum. "You got there way too late, Bolly. I was a lost cause years ago."

She beamed up at him before she leant her head close to his shoulder, her other hand locking with his in a clasp that came instinctively.

"But not irretrievable," she whispered into his chest, nestling against him as they started to sway in time to the music.

"Right, well," he murmured to the top of her head, "just watch you don't tread on me toes."

She'd started up the cassette from the point where she'd left it, and now Bryan was singing about the party being over, being so tired. She shared the sentiment somewhat but felt as though she was floating more than anything else, ensconced in Gene's embrace. He'd started off a bit hesitant, and they were barely moving, but she believed that he wasn't taking part only to please her. Maybe it was because her body was fitting snugly against his, the only other times they'd been this close when they were intimately connected as one. In some respects, this felt even more euphoric.

She would have been content to stay with her head upon him for quite some time, but she also found that she was missing not looking at him. His eyes appeared even more striking, almost unbelievably blue.

"I do trust you, you know."

The beginnings of a slow smile drifted onto his lips, making him easier to read.

"Got a funny way of showin' it, Bols."

She grimaced slightly. She knew what it meant to him; the weight of the confession was more than if she had professed undying love.

"I know I'm not easy to put up with. I go on too much, fight you with every breath."

His gaze was unwavering, held her in place as firmly as the hand that was upon her waist.

"But I don't think it would mean as much," she continued, breath starting to stutter slightly, "if it was anyone else...I'm with you for a reason, Gene. And now...now I think I understand why..."

She unlaced her fingers from his, sliding her palm to his cheek. He inhaled sharply as she did so, exhaling in time to the beat of her heart.

"You do go on somethin' stupid," he uttered, her gaze fixed to the movement of his lips. "But I can't say I mind the fightin'. Gives me the right 'orn."

Alex giggled, everything seeming rather surreal for a moment.

"You and me," she said, recovering her senses, stroking his skin beneath her fingertips. "Unbreakable."

His smile deepened for a matter of seconds before it was chased away again. "Told you that months ago, Bols."

Closing the tiny gap between them, she smiled.

"But it does take a while for me to listen."

Before he could think to reply her mouth pressed to his, opening enough to let his tongue slide in. She heard and felt him rasp into her throat, the expression of his pure hunger for her making her knees weak.

Through blistering kisses, stopping only to gasp in more air and let hands wander over one another, she managed to pull him to the bedroom. He stripped her of her robe and nightdress easily, assisting her in the greater task of getting him out of his tux. When they were both naked Alex smiled seductively, pushing him back onto the bed and rising onto her knees. She threw the duvet off without care, thinking of nothing other than the pursuit of bliss as she sunk down onto him, more than ready for the night ahead of them to stretch out gloriously.


The light in the bathroom was too bright for her eyes; she found herself squinting to shut it out, even though she'd been awake for the past half-hour or more. Restlessness and frustration had drove her up, legs still feeling wobbly as she had padded cautiously to the previously shadowy room, being mindful not to wake the sleeping lion in her bed.

She adjusted gradually, a hand scrunched into her flattened hair as she stared herself out in the mirror. What she was looking for, she wasn't precisely sure.

The physical signs? They never really told much. If anything the longer you looked expecting to see something there, the greater you became deceived.

Her skin had since lost its post-orgasmic glow; now she looked pale with the effects of deadening sleep. A few red marks left on her chest, easy enough to be covered up come the full dawning of day. She'd been shagging Gene for a couple of weeks now and there was no surface evidence; as far as anyone would be able to tell, they were in the clear, nothing to convict them.

You know where you need to look, Alex. It's no use fooling yourself any longer.

She exhaled heavily, knowing that she needed to face up to the truth in her heart but not wanting to admit as much. From behind her hazy reflection she half expected to see not quite the same Molly who had joined her earlier in the evening, a less forgiving version of her daughter emerging from the harsh and unreal light to judge her.

I know, Molls. I shouldn't have done it; I shouldn't have given in. Why hadn't I thought of you instead? The love of my life. The life that I had, and that I've lost now. Just temporarily. I'll never lose you, Molls. I'm fighting every day to get back to you again. Even with the stupid decision I've made...

You made your bed and now you're lying in it, quite literally. Think, Alex; don't be so naive. Sex without emotional complications rarely exists. Well, it's too late for that now. Something had shifted tonight, the two times they had made love. That term was profoundly accurate for what had taken place in the past hours; the slow and sensual kisses, the touches that went past the moment and became closer to eternity. She almost hadn't been able to bear letting him leave her body, the tears welling in her eyes as she clung on tight.

But it had happened before then. The hours and days blurred in her mind; she found it hard to concentrate, pinpoint the particular moment.

Perhaps this was some kind of parallel universe. Her life starting over, going back.

And if Molly wasn't here, then there had to be another love...

She almost burst out into hysterics as the realisation dawned upon her. It was entirely absurd. She didn't belong here, and she had no intention of staying. She couldn't, even if she admitted that she felt things for Gene. Emotions that ran deeper than the quenching of a physical ache. What was worse was that she couldn't even say that he had forced her hand; it wasn't an obligation or an order (she didn't obey the ones he put to her most of the time anyway), it was entirely of her own doing.

He had said the word once, in reference to their working relationship, or so she had thought. Connection.

That's what the brain does. Treads paths, clutches onto threads, lights up synapses.

She'd been using her brain less and less lately, letting other factors take over.

What is it that really connects everything, your body to your soul, your life to that of others?

The thing she was thinking of shuddered harder on the left side of her chest, raced faster when she thought of what was waiting for her in her best resting place.

All was pitch once more; she had to feel her way back to the bed, and was aided more through the sound of Gene's snoring than her own failing sight. She held her breath as he stirred for a moment after one of her legs had slipped back in but exhaled easily when he turned onto his side, slumber undisturbed. The warmth emanating from him enveloped her bare skin immediately, her dressing gown having been discarded on the floor again.

Even in the darkness she was able to trace his features; long eyelashes resting upon cheekbones, his usually molten gold mane of hair relaxed against the pillow. Her heart contracted as she leant herself down towards him, a light hand sweeping a lock of hair from the centre of his forehead. A breath of a kiss touching the crown and another moment to ponder his peaceful form before she moved to lay back down, the keeper of a thousand secrets.

Alex stared at her lover, then the ceiling for a while before succumbing to sleep once more, doing what she usually did. Thinking, thinking.

Just what kind of a mess have I got myself into?


A/N: Lyrics are from More Than This by Roxy Music and written by Bryan Ferry. For the purpose of this fic (and those as yet unwritten) I had to rework the 3.7 scene, because it makes my heart melt.

I confess to making a teeny anachronism - Avalon the album wasn't actually released until May 1982, but I just couldn't resist using it as Alex's new favourite LP. I'd recommend taking a listen if you haven't; it's very fitting for Galex, especially While My Heart Is Still Beating and Take A Chance With Me. But I'm sure A2A/'80s aficionados already have it on repeat!