He couldn't tell exactly when the gaping chasm between them opened up. One day it wasn't there and then the next day it was. It was the size of the Grand Canyon at least. If not Hell's Canyon.
It wasn't the night of Viv's birthday party, that was for sure. When he'd seen the gold lamé number his eyes had nearly popped out of his head.
"You like it?" She tried to act innocent as she put on her black eyeliner.
"I love it, Bolls. You look bloody gorgeous."
She smiled, glad he approved.
"But you know," he began tentatively, not wanting to upset her or for her to get the wrong impression. "You don't have to dress that way all the time. Not for me, love. You could go in your 'Snoopy' pyjamas and you'd still be the hottest thing on two legs." Normally, he was the sort of man that thought the fewer clothes the better on a woman but Alex didn't have to try, she always looked stunning in his eyes.
She smiled again, appreciating his chivalry. "But you like it." It wasn't a question.
"Course I like it."
Gene had to pinch himself regularly to make sure this wasn't all some crazy dream. The last week had been blissful beyond belief. Hell, they hadn't even made it into work one day; they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Gene Hunt was even cooking. Getting Alex better was top of his priorities list ahead even of Man. City and catching the scum of Fenchurch. It was working. She was getting well again, she looked less pale and she didn't look so exhausted once five o'clock rolled around. Finishing time was strictly enforced. He loved taking care of her. Not that he wanted the team to find this out, of course, he may have gone soft and fallen totally in love with his DI but no-one needed to know this.
In fact, Gene Hunt had done something truly terrible by his former standards. He'd stolen one of her costume jewellery rings and sloped off down to the jewellers. She'd never say 'yes.' Not in a million years. Also, he wanted to ask the permission of her father first (assuming he was alive, she never talked about her parents,) or at least Molly first, however condescending she would find it, he was still old-fashioned that way. It was far *far* too soon. Maybe in six months. Maybe. Yes, Gene Hunt had bought an engagement ring. Just in case he couldn't help himself any longer and he came out with 'Marry me!' And on the off chance she agreed he'd be ready.
They felt closer than ever. He even (begrudgingly at first,) assented to cuddle at night on the sofa. The Gene-Genie discovered he liked to cuddle... only with his Bolly, of course. They hadn't spent a single night at 'Luigi's' in weeks, it was like they were in their own little world where no-one else mattered but each other.
By 10:00, Gene was getting restless. He hated sharing Alex, especially when the Fenchurch West lot were involved. He'd much rather be snuggled up, them, together on the sofa or in bed, warm and safe. He didn't like the looks one of the DS's was giving her or the way the DI was flirting with her, topping up her glass with champagne and occasionally touching her arm. Time for the Manc lion to mark his territory...
He went to her, stalking over and glaring at the other DI. Possessively, he curled a hand around Alex's waist, kissing her jaw and whispering in her ear, making it *very* plain they were together and she belonged to him. The other DI quickly scuttled away.
"What was that?" Alex asked, amused. She smirked. "Were you jealous?"
"Did I need to be?"
"He's not my type, Gene."
"Well, neither am I!"
"Clearly I haven't been with enough men to have a type." She closed her eyes, listening. "I love this song. Dance with me?"
Gene felt somewhat panicked, terrified even. Dance with her? Here? In front of everyone, including the idiots of Fenchurch West? Sure, he didn't mind if they were by themselves in her flat and it was late and they were both pleasantly tipsy and she'd ask him to dance with her to 'Spandau Ballet' or some equally sappy shit but... here?
Then he saw Ray making his way over, a little worse for wear. He didn't want Raymondo's paws all over his Bolly either. Really, he had no choice.
Feeling rather nervous, he downed the rest of the champagne in his glass. "You're on, Alex."
ABBA. 'Fernando.' How clichéd. He loved, however, that everyone was watching, that they knew she was his. He still wasn't thrilled about the dancing part but he could get used to this. Maybe he could test the water...
"How do you feel about getting a cat?" Oh, very suave, Genie! Not at all awkward. He almost rolled his eyes at himself.
"With you?"
He swore he felt her hand tighten its grip on his. Maybe he wasn't the only one who was tense and that calmed him to some extent. "Yes with me. How do you feel about it?"
"Well... I don't really like cats..."
"Oh. Stupid then, forget it. I just fancied getting something, together. That was just for you and me. Ours."
Thinking for a moment and wondering why she was so afraid, this was Gene after all, her rock and her constant, she said, "... But I think perhaps if it was our cat and it was really nice I might love it."
He grinned at her. "Really?"
"Really. But maybe we should start smaller."
"Smaller? Like a hamster?" Gene wasn't much keen on them.
"I hate rodents too." A brief memory of a little girl, Molly possibly, and an evil, golden hamster with red eyes they grew to call 'Satan.' His real name had been Fluffy. "Smaller. A goldfish."
"Yeah, we can get a goldfish together." He hugged her tight. A goldfish. That was a start...
888888
Maybe the chasm started the night he came home to find her furiously scrubbing something out of her leather jacket at the kitchen sink. It was late, after midnight and she was distressed and close to tears, claiming it was coffee when he asked. It clearly wasn't coffee; in fact, it looked like blood to him. Blood and not quite set concrete, nothing fooled Gene Hunt, after all.
"Bolly?"
She ignored him, continuing to scour at the concrete with a nail brush rather uselessly. She'd at least need a scrubbing brush to get the worst of it out, that was if the jacket could be saved at all.
"Bolly?"
"What?" she snapped. Her hands were red raw under the freezing water but she hadn't noticed.
"Come on, love, you'll hurt yourself." His voice was calm and quiet, like he was talking to a spooked, runaway racehorse. Slowly, he reached out to turn off the tap.
Not missing a beat, she turned the tap right back on again. No man told her what to do, even if she was in love with him. Not anymore.
"Bolly... are you in trouble?"
"Ha!" she barked and then choked back a sob. She would not cry. Satisfied her jacket was as clean as it could be, she shook it out, startling Gene and covering them both in water droplets.
His nails dug into his palms, willing himself to keep calm and not react. Normally he wouldn't make so much effort not to lose his temper but this was his Bolly and he was going to try extra hard for her sake.
"I really need some space tonight, Gene," she said quietly and sadly. "I need some time on my own to think."
"And where the bloody hell am I supposed to go?" he finally snapped, causing her to flinch. "I rented my house out to the Kapoor's from the corner shop, Alex!" His hand clutched the little velveteen box in his coat pocket like a life raft.
"Stay on the sofa." Her voice sounded unnaturally serene, dead almost.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You promised you wouldn't leave me."
Her heart broke for Molly; that was the problem. What would Molly think if she knew her mum had helped cover up a murder? Alex could picture the disappointment in her daughter's eyes, Molly's face suddenly clear as a bell in her memory. "I can't leave, Gene... and that's the problem."
888888
She stood by him. All day and all night, the entire time with Chris.
After it was all over, she went home and he eventually followed, not sure if he should. Whatever he'd done, hell, whatever she'd done, he needed to make this right with her. He decided that tonight he would propose. At least it would show her how serious he was about them. He even bought her flowers, Bollinger champagne (unsurprisingly,) and her favourite chocolates.
He knocked, not knowing if she'd appreciate him just waltzing in there. After all, she'd never officially asked him to move in, maybe that's what had upset her. When she answered the door she was wearing a silk robe he'd never seen before. She looked shell-shocked, shaky and her eyes were rimmed with scarlet.
"Right, you need a drink."
He let himself in without being invited. Shit, he was nervous. He'd been drunk when he'd proposed to his first wife; he was stone cold sober now.
He passed her a glass of champagne. "You and me, Bolly. You and me." He chinked the flutes together and drained his in one. He looked at her. Something was wrong, her eyes looked dead. Afraid, he asked, "We're okay, aren't we?"
She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "Not especially, no." Staring hard into her champagne, she told him, "I think I might be pregnant, Gene."
