I don't own this, but I will claim adoptive privileges for the smut bunnies.


Gene awoke to an empty bed, and the distant sound of a shower running. His arm, which had been reaching out for Alex's elusive body, stilled, resting against the warm imprint that her body had left upon the mattress; from the heat, he guessed that she had only just slipped out, was probably only just stepping beneath the sheets of water at that moment, allowing the warm liquid to slide over her body, running through her hair and in rivulets down her back as-

He grunted, shifting uncomfortably as the images in his head transmuted into arousal, and he was struck between the reluctant desire to leave the bed, and the somewhat insistent desire to bury himself in a wet, soapy, willing woman… It didn't take long to decide between the two, and he was out of the bed in seconds, rubbing his eyes briefly as he headed towards the bathroom. He tripped slightly, ankle caught in the handle of one of the many bags of shopping Alex had acquired yesterday afternoon, and he paused, eyes caught by the bulging bags from the underwear boutique, which she had been careful to keep from his view. He hesitated, glancing towards the bathroom door, where Alex was surely naked, and singing an ear-splittingly bad rendition of Spandau Ballets 'Gold', and then back to the bags… A split second later, his decision made, he had upturned the contents of the bags on the bed, and was met with a cacophony of colours, materials and barely-there scraps that apparently served as underwear to the not-so-reserved population of women. After thirty seconds of deliberation, he selected the most attractive - and conversely, the sluttiest - looking set available, shoved the rest back in the bag, and quietly slipped into the bathroom.

Alex's horrific singing drowned out the slight creek of the door hinge, and Gene chuckled smugly to himself as he scooped up the outfit Alex had carefully selected for herself, replacing it swiftly with his own wardrobe choice, and scooting back from the room with a grin.


The singing stopped suddenly, and Gene imagined the look of amused consternation on Alex's face, before lying comfortably back on the bed, stark naked except for the sheet he had half-heartedly pulled up over himself. After a few minutes of resting with his eyes closed, quietly imagining several of the scenarios he might bend her into if she wasn't too pissed off at him, he heard the door opening, and his eyes snapped open immediately, anticipation thrumming through him as she turned the corner, her eyebrows raised and hands on her hips as Gene wet his lips with his tongue, sitting up slightly straighter as he drank her in with his eyes.

She'd gone the whole hog, donning the stockings, suspenders and barely-there bra like some kind of porn star. The black silk bra – if you could call it that – consisted of two cups, slashed down the middle and reattached using vivid red ties, giving a welcome peek of her erect nipples, made more prominent by her posture. The knickers were more like string, attached to a simple and tiny triangle of black silk that barely covered anything, and set Gene's blood boiling with lust. He had to shake his head slightly, still surprised that she would have picked something quite so slutty without any of his input.

"You know, Gene, I was hoping to make it down to breakfast…" her voice was teasing, and he smirked, recovering just enough to respond.

"I've got room service, Bols," he answered, his voice slightly husky. "They do a great breakfast sausage, so I've heard."

Alex's eyes drifted down to his lap, to the tented sheet that abandoned all pretence of modesty, and the sight of which sent desire pooling into her non-existent knickers.

"So I see," she said softly, licking her lips suggestively. "Does it come with sauce, or do you think I'll need to bring my own?"

Gene chuckled, tugging the sheet off him and dropping it to the side of the bed. "More sauce the better, Alex, in my experience; and if you've got a nice bun to shove it in, I think we'll be set for the day…" He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively; a moment later she was crawling towards him, breasts swathed in silk and jiggling delightfully with her movements as she kissed and licked up his leg, starting at the hollow of his ankle, nipping her teeth at the flesh beneath his calf muscle, finding the soft, tender crook of his knee and causing him to groan softly, before moving swiftly upwards and taking him into her mouth. A slight whimper left Gene's throat, his hands on the back of her head as he guided her gently over him, eyes closed and breath coming short. Her tongue teased at his tip, flicking expertly against the spots she knew turned him on the most, and he was soon a trembling wreck, dragging her mouth away from him and tugging her up the bed and onto his lap so that she straddled him, the heat of her teasing against him as he struggled to control himself.

"Blimey, Bols," he groaned, hands smoothing over her waist, hips, then up to her breasts, thumbing the hard peaks of her nipples and eliciting a soft moan from her lips. "Didn't realise we were going fer the full English spread…"

"I can spread a little wider if you like?" Alex's response was instant and witty as she –true to word- moved her legs further apart, and if Gene hadn't been fighting back an urge to release all over her delectably slutty ensemble, he might have considered the fact that his own filthy mind had rubbed off on her. As it was, he could only groan, grabbing her hips forcefully and grinding his hips against hers. She whimpered, enjoying the sensation of the silk underwear rubbing against her, but wishing simultaneously to remove it, to take him inside her… The look in Gene's eyes was pure lust and desire, and in a second she had lifted her hips, hooking her fingers in and pulling aside the scrap of material that covered her; his eyes blazed, mouth opened, and a moment later she had slid onto him, was riding him with abandon, was crashing into oblivion…


An hour later, Gene was spent, lying across Alex's back, still buried inside her, having twisted her around and bent her over in a lust-driven haze. She hadn't complained, spurring him on with moans and sighs, and shouts of pleasure, and now he could barely move, could barely bring himself to think…

"Gene…" her voice was soft, sultry, and filled with a delightful just-shagged huskiness, that caused him to twitch slightly in spite of himself.

"Yeah…?" The word was more of a grunt, and she laughed softly, shifting her hips slightly against his; with great reluctance, Gene rolled off her, lying flat on his back across the bed with a soft sigh.

"I think I need another shower…"


After a shower and a rushed breakfast, they sped across town towards the Police Station, Gene driving confidently and assuredly without direction. He pulled up sharply, parking in a reserved space in spite of Alex's protests to the contrary.

"Gene, this isn't your station, you can't just storm in like a bull in a china shop and expect to get your way! This space is reserved!"

Gene shrugged, removing the key from the ignition and opening the door resolutely. "S'ok Bols; be in an' out of 'ere quicker than a Paki at a Ku Klux Klan reunion!"

"You really need to stop saying-!" She was cut off, as Gene had already stepped out of the car and shut the door behind him. With a huff of indignation, she followed, closing the door with slightly more force than necessary. Gene's dark glower at her treatment of his car did nothing to dissuade her as she followed after him.

"You know, someday not far from now, people like me will be arresting people like you for racist slander, and it will serve you right! Do you know there's a whole segment of society that-?"

"You thinking of arresting me, Bols?" Gene stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her as he lit up a cigarette, his eyes travelling up the length of her body. The heat of his gaze turned her legs to jelly, reminding her immediately of the intensity of their love making that morning, and Alex shivered slightly, forgetting her argument as her cheeks tinged pink.

"Of course not, but-!"

"'cause I've got handcuffs if yer feelin' frisky?" His eyes were laughing, although there was a familiar glint in their depths, and Alex had to take a deep, calming breath. Taking advantage of her silence, Gene strode forward, his long legs eating up the space between them in two steps, and then he was behind her, not quite touching as his mouth descended to her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "You can truss me up an' fondle the truncheon later, Bollykecks," he said softly, his voice full of promise.

Alex whimpered slightly, knees trembling, and Gene's chuckle reverberated deep in his chest as he gripped her waist gently, mouth soft against the shell of her ear. "Later!" he repeated, grinning. "Come on Bols; work to do!" With a soft slap to her arse, he walked away.


Gene led the way into West Midlands CID, Alex close on his heels and noting the uniform layout of the office; the separate room, labelled DCI Eric Wilson, was shuttered off, the door closed uninvitingly. The rest of the office was almost identical to theirs back in Fenchurch East, each desk occupied by detectives of varying rank, all currently poring over case files or on the phone chasing up leads. Gene said nothing, ignoring the wary glance of the DI and making his way straight to Wilson's office; he banged on the door, hard, despite the indignant protests from the detectives who were now on their feet, demanding identification from them both.

"Bugger off, I'm sleeping!" Came the response from inside the office; Gene smirked, and let himself in without another word.


"Frank, what the bloody hell have I told you about-?" The man in the chair stopped as his eyes fell upon Gene, clearly realising that he was not Frank, and puzzling for a moment as to what this stranger was doing in his office. The thought seemed to halt him for a few seconds, before his eyes fell upon Alex, and the protective way in which she cradled her stomach, and a moment later Wilson was on his feet, a slight grimace on his features as he nodded in greeting.

"DCI Hunt, I presume?" He asked, holding out his hand for Gene to shake; he did so willingly, feeling an immediate liking for the other man, whose carefully measured gaze was assessing Gene silently, in the exact same manner that Gene was now assessing him.

DCI Wilson was perhaps a few years older than Gene; several inches shorter, and with thinner, greyer hair, he looked a little worse for it, but there was a spark in his eyes and a sharpness to his demeanour that commanded immediate respect. He might have been good looking, once upon a time, but years on the beat appeared to have moulded his face into a serious, slightly threatening mask. His nose was slightly crooked, bent in the wrong places, and looking for all the world as though it had probably been broken and, on more than one occasion, left to heal without being properly set. If anything, it suited him all the more, and his thin lips, set in a hard line, said more in silence than words ever could; here was a man who gave as good as he got, who broke the rules in order to uphold the law - Gene liked him on sight.

"DCI Wilson," he nodded, meeting the other man's green eyes without a smile, knowing full well that smiles had no place here. "This is DI Alex Drake," he introduced Alex with a jerk of the head, stepping aside to allow the two of them to shake hands. He watched with interest to see how the other DCI responded to Alex, and was appeased. Wilson shook Alex's hand firmly, evidently calculating her on the strength of her handshake and the hold of her gaze, and nodding respectfully when Alex introduced herself with the same ballsy confidence that had knocked Gene's socks off.

"Thank you for agreeing to see us," Alex said firmly, dropping the DCI's hand but remaining confidently in place. Gene felt a proud smirk tugging at his lips, then nodded his agreement.

"Sorry to change the plans at short notice; needed to 'ave a word with old soppy-bollocks Jones before 'e chucked 'imself out of a window." Gene's voice was gruff, but to the point, and DCI Wilson smirked.

"Did you find him to be as much of a useless twat as I did, or were there unplumbed depths hidden beneath his misery?"

Gene smirked at the sarcasm in the other man's voice. "Bit of a wet-blanket," he answered, "an' about as useful as a shit-flavoured lollipop, but we got what we came for… Eventually."

"Well he was grieving the death of his child and the breakdown of his marriage," Alex cut in, her voice the same smart, sassy tone she always used, "both of which are fairly extreme situations to be in, so I suppose he could be forgiven for displaying some signs of emotional trauma!" Gene saw Wilson's eyebrows fly up his forehead by an inch or so, and he suppressed a laugh.

"You get used to her," he promised the other DCI, smirking slightly. "Believe it or not, she can actually tell her arse from 'er elbow most of the time." Without waiting for Alex's cocky response – which he knew was on the tip of her tongue, even without her turning her face towards him in indignation – he nodded to the desk, on top of which was a relatively new looking file, set aside from the other paperwork and placed in a position of importance. "That the porker?"

Wilson nodded, moving around his desk to pick up the file, and setting it in front of him before indicating the chairs opposite. "Have a seat, why don't you, and I'll go through it with you." He drew a bottle of whiskey from his bottom drawer, along with two glasses. "Care for a drink?" He was evidently obeying the laws of chivalry, aiming his question at Alex first of all, who declined.

"It's a little early in the day for me," she said politely, not bothering to add that, even if it weren't only ten in the morning, she would not be drinking in her current condition.

"That's a shame," Wilson said, pouring a generous measure and offering it to Gene, who took it gratefully. "I find a scotch before breakfast is just the ticket to getting the engine running smoothly."


Wilson talked them through the file with confidence and a thoroughness that even Alex couldn't fault; he seemed to know the case back to front, had read through each statement, knew all of the evidence, and appeared to have calculated everything in the investigation accordingly. Alex was both impressed and disheartened; she had been blindly hoping that they would pick up on a clue that Wilson had deemed insignificant and be able to solve the mystery by dinnertime.

"So what's the verdict on Alice Jones?" Gene asked, casting his eyes over her statements and glancing at Wilson thoughtfully. "She came across like a daft floozy with Tourette's in the Chronicle, and soppy-balls was about as complimentary as a prozzie at a white wedding."

Wilson nodded, sipping his whiskey and indicating the paper in Gene's hands. "She's got the brains of a scarecrow and the tits of a porn star; easy on the eye, good with the kids, from what I gather, but about as thick as pig-shit when it comes to anything more than times tables."

"She upset?"

"Initially; tears, mood swings, shouting… Punched me in the gob a few times… Jones always managed to calm her down - back then they seemed a well matched couple." Wilson shrugged his shoulders, and then lit up a cigarette. "Then that article came out – she was all acceptance and understanding, started booking holidays left right and centre, and called me to tell me that while the Police had let her down, she didn't blame me personally… He just disappeared into his office and got pissed."

Gene nodded, "Can't really blame the bastard. Especially not when he's married to a schizophrenic tart…"

Wilsons chuckle was soft, and then he ruffled through the papers in front of him, carefully finding a particularly dense selection and passing it over. "This is what you'll really be interested in," he said, allowing Gene to take the papers from his hand. "Forensic reports on the letter, the card, and on Baby Jones' – fairly inconclusive, but you'll see for yourself, it's clearly not your average punk engaging in a spot of kidnapping."

Gene nodded, flicking through the papers swiftly. "The blood on the notes- any hits?"

"None at all, though that doesn't mean anything – there's always baby-napping going on these days, trouble is that most of the time, there's no record of their DNA when they're taken; Baby Jones was a unique case on that front."

"Spoken to any of the other parents?" Gene asked, grimacing slightly.

"All of the local ones from the last 6 months, but none of them had threats like this – didn't fit the motif." Wilson's face was grim, and Gene was certain the other man had spent many a night drowning his sorrows for these particular cases in a bottle not dissimilar to the one currently on his desk.

"Not worth chasing up?" Gene continued, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "They might have started without any threats at all."

"No, Gene," Alex shook her head, speaking up for the first time in several minutes as she nodded at the piece of paper that she was holding. "I've been thinking about this – about why someone would bother to tell you that they wanted your child, without making some sort of ransom demand or such like…"

"And?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Alex asked, glancing at the two men in surprise. Both of them returned her look with one of befuddlement, and she sighed before carrying on. "The 'threats'-" Gene grimaced as she wiggled her fingers. "- that the Jones' received, aren't threats; they're more like notifications! The second one – well, the second one even says how much they're looking forward to meeting the baby."

"They're written in blood, DI Drake," Wilson drawled, his eyebrow cocked. "I don't know about you but I find a certain menace in birthday cards written in blood!"

"Well of course there's menace involved!" Alex snapped. "And I can assure you I take receiving blood in the mail very seriously -!" Gene saw Wilson flinch almost guiltily at this, apparently reminded of the situation as he watched Alex. "- but what I mean is, there are plenty of babies around that could be plucked and stolen without too much hassle; unwanted pregnancy rates are sky-high, children's homes are fit to bursting… you could steal a baby in the street if you planned it carefully enough… So why would you bother to sit around and wait for another child to be born, rather than take the easy route?" She was looking at them expectantly again, but neither of them seemed to react, other than to frown a little deeper.

"Oh please!" She said, glancing at Gene with her hands on her belly, her eyebrows raised. "You must have some kind of idea?"

Gene looked at her blankly, and she sighed her frustration.

"If someone wants a child, they can't just click their fingers and make one appear!" Alex explained. "It takes 9 months – 9 months of waiting, preparing, planning, choosing names, bonding with the foetus!"

Wilson's eyes glinted understanding, and he nodded. "The pregnancy's important to them…"

"Not just important," Alex went on, on a roll now as she stood up and began pacing. "It's paramount; they need to feel as though they're involved in the pregnancy, in order to stand a chance of bonding with the child. And that's important, because- because-!"

"Bolly," Gene's voice was level, slightly gruff, and pained. "Bolly, they killed 'im; no bonding involved, they just killed 'im – they didn't-!"

"Give me the file!" Alex snapped, shaking her head adamantly. "Baby Jones' post mortem, Gene, give it to me!"

"Alex, I -!"

"Gene!" Her eyes flashed angrily, and Gene grimaced, passing the papers over reluctantly, whilst Wilson watched on uncomfortably. There were several long, painful moments, where Alex scanned through the file swiftly and efficiently. Gene waited for her to crumple, for her to suddenly be reminded of the brutality they were being faced with; instead, her face lit up triumphantly, and both Gene and Wilson exchanged a look of confusion as she slapped her hand down on the paper, smiling to herself.

"He was healthy!" She said, pointing at a particular segment of the report. "He was a healthy size and weight, he wasn't malnourished or emaciated, or showing any signs of mistreatment!"

"Hate to be a stickler, Bollykecks, but you don't get much more unhealthy than 'dead'!" Gene's drawl was sarcastic, but it was laced with sincerity, a genuine plea for her to understand.

"No, Gene, you're missing the point!" Alex said, shaking her head and turning to Wilson, who appeared reluctant to involve himself in the discussion, but listened to Alex's questions patiently. "Baby Jones went missing on the day he was born, yes?" She looked at the paper in her hands and nodded, "so that was on the fifteenth January… But he wasn't found by his parents until the second of February, and from the post mortem, he'd died literally within a few hours of being found!"

"So?" Wilson's voice was interested, and he sat forward slightly, his eyes approving as he watched Alex.

"So, he was missing and alive for two weeks; he'd been being fed and looked after!"

"I don't think being looked after involves getting bled dry and chucked into a dumpster," Gene replied, face grim.

"No, Gene, but don't you see – something must have happened, something must have-!" She paused for a moment, reading, and then nodded. "Croup!"

"What?" Wilson and Gene responded as one, and Alex rolled her eyes, pointing to something in the file.

"Croup!" Alex repeated. "Here, look – the stomach contents was normal, nothing untoward, but there was some inflammation of the larynx!" She looked at them both with a relief and excitement in her gaze, glancing from one face to the other, before adding, "Infection in the throat; it's quite common among children of a few weeks old, and it's treatable, if you seek medical attention, but of course, if you've kidnapped a child you can't very well waltz into A&E with him..."

"So you're saying he died of an infection?" Wilson frowned. "But the post mortem-!"

"No, he didn't die from it!" Alex said, shaking her head. "But if it came across as a shortness of breath, or difficulty breathing, they may have assumed that he was heading that way and-!"

"Put him out of his misery?" Gene asked, voice sardonic. "What a bloody great blessing!"

"Gene, I'm not saying that it makes it any better!" Alex insisted, shaking her head. "But it does mean that there was more to this than just violence – there was a genuine parental instinct, at least initially! It means that they didn't just steal him to kill him – they wanted to look after him!"

Gene was about to respond, but he stopped himself, noting in that moment the desperate relief on Alex's face, and knowing immediately what she was really trying to tell him, what she might have said if Wilson were not sat opposite them, observing every exchange and absorbing every detail…

"Alex," he murmured, his face softening, "I know what yer thinkin', but-!"

"But Gene, don't you see? It makes sense!"

"I know, Bols," he said, voice pained. "But it's not-!"

"Keep your head in the game, DI Drake," it was Wilson who cut in, his voice sharp and authoritative. Alex looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows lifted, and he shook his head. "They might not have wanted to kill Baby Jones initially, but they did. And then they sent you a box full of his blood; whoever's threatening you and your child, and whatever motive they have for doing so, they aren't your friend." He held her eyes for just a moment, sincere sympathy in his gaze, and then stood up, moving around his desk and towards the door. "I'll give you two a minute."

Without another word, he stepped out into CID.


Gene, overcome with gratitude to Wilson, and yet unable to find any words to follow, could only stand up, gathering Alex into his arms in silence and pressing his lips gently to her forehead as she shook her head gently.

"Gene, I really don't think they're trying to hurt our baby… They're trying to adopt it, to steal it, but-!"

"Bols," Gene murmured, "you need to listen ter what you're sayin'. You got sent a doll covered in slashes and blood; that isn't a polite request to borrow yer baby, Alex – that's a threat."

"But maybe it's not! Maybe it's more of a warning, maybe they don't want our baby to end up like him, maybe it's-!"

"Listen to me, Alex!" Gene's voice was gruff, serious, and raw, and he forced her to look him in the eye as he went on. "Whatever game this is, we ain't playin'; understand?"

"But-!"

"No buts!" He growled back, fingers tightening slightly on her chin. "I need you in this investigation as my DI, an' if you can't do that, I'll take you off it. It's a bastard thing to say, and I'm an even bigger bastard fer sayin' it to yer, but it's the truth. Got that?"

"Yes, but-!"

"I mean it, Alex!" He growled, his eyes blazing. "If it wasn't your baby, an' it wasn't you gettin' the threats, would you really be sittin' 'ere tellin' me you thought the baby wasn't in any bloody danger?"

Alex opened her mouth to retort, and then closed it, her eyes glistening as she suddenly averted her gaze and bit her lip.

"Alex…" Gene's voice was softer now, imploring, and his hand stroked gently through her hair as he shook his head slowly. "Alex, I need you in this with me…" He tilted her head towards his once more, his forehead pressed against hers and his breath warm on her face as he closed his eyes. "I need you."


After their meeting with DCI Wilson, they had headed back to London, and Gene had sensed Alex's uncertainty, her discomfort and her fear. He had attempted to displace it, talking to her, joking with her, tuning the radio to Nancy-Sodding-FM in an effort to elicit a smile from her… Nothing had worked.

Now, several hours later, after a gentle lovemaking that had made Gene's head spin, he lay stroking her hair, feeling her finally relax into his arms and inhaling the scent of her greedily. Her hands danced lazily over his spine, and his own hand splayed protectively against her stomach, covering it as best he could. He thought back over the last three days, considered the arrival of the threat, the devastation it had caused, and all of the emotions that he had witnessed on Alex's face in the meantime, and he was struck with fear, for her and for their unborn child. His imagination – vivid and stark after a lifetime witnessing some of the most horrific crimes possible – played images before his eyes, pictures of dead children, murdered women and horrendous headlines, and try as he might he could not block them out, could not detach them from the gentle warmth of Alex's stomach. Where before Alex's due date had been something to look forward to, a nerve-wracking rite of passage that he would simply have to get through, it now loomed before him like a gravestone, a menacing shadow on the horizon that chilled him to his very core. He pulled her slightly closer, pressing his lips to her forehead, and then gently tightening his embrace upon her as he nuzzled gently at her ear.

"D'you think you can just stay pregnant forever, Bols?" he asked quietly, his voice pained and gruff as his hand gently caressed her stomach. Alex turned into his chest, wrapped her arms tighter around him and pressed her lips to the base of his throat.

Gene pretended not to feel the hot tears that splashed onto his shoulder, just as Alex pretended not to notice his ragged breaths and pounding heart.


I am so grateful to my faithful reviewers; it really means a lot to know that there are some people still reading, because it really does encourage me to continue. So if there are other people out there still enjoying this, please feel free to review! I would be endlessly grateful! And who knows, I might even be persuaded to crack out the smut-bunnies again!

Mage of the Heart