Thank you, thank you, thank you. I blush at the praise - no, really I do! Thanks so much for all the lovely feedback and comments on the story so far.
Now, if you've just stumbled across me with this fic, I fear you need to leave this right now, and go and read my previous effort - called 'Stay the Night?'. Without it, I fear this chapter will make little or no sense.
In fact, even if you have read 'Stay the Night?' before, go on, off you go and read it again. I did and boy, did it make this next bit more enjoyable!
Back now? Great - once again, thank you kindly, I curtsy in a wobbly stylee, and draw back the curtains for…

Chapter 4

Gene scrubbed at his face. And that's where he had ended up on Friday night. Pleasantly drunk and, forbidden to drive by Alex, crashed out on her sofa.

He remembered catching her hand as she walked past him, thinking him asleep.

She had laid a thin cover over his dozing form, unaware that he had felt every touch of her fingers as she has pressed the cotton material round him.

He'd heard the blush in her voice when he had asked for a goodnight kiss, and confirmed it by sneaking a look at her face when she bent down to switch the table light off at the end of the sofa.

He laid there, listening to her moving around in the kitchen, putting plates in the sink, then hearing the click of the bathroom door, the running water and her movement into her bedroom.

It was strangely comforting. Having someone else about in his space.

Well, he corrected himself, his borrowed space.

He'd slept well that night, aided only partly by the alcohol consumption.

Waking at just before eight on Saturday morning, he'd effected a swift egress, not wishing to have her see him dishevelled from sleep and unshaven.

He'd pulled his boots on, and struggled into his jacket, folding the sheet he'd been under neatly and placing back on the rearranged sofa.

Just before he left, he'd meant to write a short note, but as he found a pen, he'd heard unmistakeable sounds of Alex rising.

He'd shot out of her flat, down the stairs, into his car and driven home before he could think twice.

Which is why it had taken him till tonight to realise that he'd forgotten something.

His tie.

His favourite tie.

The tie from Sam Tyler.

It was at Alex's flat. Probably down the back of the sofa. Or underneath it.

Well, at least he knew where it was now.

All he had to do was get it back.

Without an audience of CID.

Well, that wasn't going to be awkward, now was it?

Across town, Alex sat on her sofa, glass of wine in one hand, 'Songs Of Praise' on the television.

Not that she was watching it.

She was staring at a tie, neatly folded on her coffee table.

When she had got up on Saturday morning, she had found herself alone in her flat.

Gene had gone.

The sofa was tidy, and the sheet she had tucked around him was neatly folded on the arm.

No note, no message. Not even a phone call later that day, or this.

She had been hoovering that afternoon, when she had seen the edge of the tie poking out from beneath the sofa, and she had retrieved it, wondering initially what it was.

As she held the strip of material in her hands, the Hoover droning away to itself, time had ceased to pass for her.

Eventually she had placed the tie on her coffee table and made herself finish her set chores.

Now she sat, feet tucked up under her on the sofa, watching the folded tie like it would turn into a poisonous snake and leap for her jugular.

She reached forward and picked it up, placing her wine glass carefully on the floor.

Despite herself, she lifted the tie to her face and breathed in. Blushing she placed it in her lap and closed her eyes.

It smelt of tobacco smoke, and, well, him.

Alex had never really appreciated her sense of smell until she had arrived in 1981. Perfumes seemed stronger, cigarette fumes more choking, the carbon monoxide in the air more cloying.

God knows what aftershave Gene Hunt wore, but despite a lifelong aberration of men's fragrances, Alex was drawn to it.

Like a large glass of wine after a hard day.

Like an episode of 'Dynasty' for light relief.

Like, God Help Her, she realised, she was drawn to DCI Gene Hunt.

Construct or not, she couldn't help herself. And it was time she stopped trying to fool herself about it all.

Alex took a deep breath and held the tie to her.

'Well, my twisted subconscious, Lord alone knows what I'm processing here, but I seem to have developed a strong emotional tie to Gene Hunt.' she told herself out loud.

Silence echoed around her.

Alex felt herself blushing at her declaration.

She had no control over her feelings at all.

And she had no control over him either, construct or not.

He drove her mad, and not always in a good way.

Damn it, she was an intelligent woman! She could deal with this! In 2008 she was a well respected profiler, a credit to her department and the Metropolitan Police Force.

But here, with Gene, she had to prove every damn theory, every comment, every idea. It was like having breasts made her incapable of dealing with the realities of life outside a glossy magazine!

'Oh stop that!' she told herself, 'Don't avoid the subject - you bought it up!'

She wasn't sure when the tension had shifted from the usual workplace scenario to a more delicate unspoken sexual one.

And she was pretty sure no one else had noticed. Well, other than Gene that is, and she was never quite sure sometimes if he meant anything when they were bantering.

Until recently that is.

Alex smiled knowingly to herself. 2008 might be the time of the so called new man, but here in 1981, the old Neanderthal man was still swinging his club about. She giggled at the image she painted.

'Oh well,' she sighed, 'At least with Gene there's no subtext - its mostly all text!'

She gently picked up the tie and took it to her bedside table.

In the morning she would take it into work and return it to him. She would thank him for dinner and maybe, just maybe, see if he would let her take him out for a meal.

Later that night, sinking gratefully beneath her duvet, Alex snapped off the bedside light.

She turned over and breathed slowly out.

And then turning back, she reached out and pulled the tie to her, breathing in the scent upon it.

Sleep came very easily to her that night.

And the Clown stayed away.