The world is softly sleeping while your fears are in their keeping.

Their eyes are open but they slumber, shifting limbs through the station tunnels, grey-faced every one. All but her. Hair alight with the celestial fire, bright eyes looking for something...

Another light-filled head following, pale eyes scanning, watching, passing right over...

Easy to be missed. Stinking copper thought he knew what he was looking for but it's not you.

Where is she? Down the tunnel, too far ahead to reach. Light as a white feather, she will float to heaven and carry you too. Some of them just half your age.

The copper leant on the rail, watching the world wash under him, his black shroud hiding all but his vigilant expression. Best to stay in the shadows and wait.

Fools like us are always dreaming. It's better if you try to stop remembering.


Holding a towel to his bleeding head, Gene banged through the incident room's doors with Alex is hot pursuit. The lights flicked on automatically, revealing the empty, stale room with its cluttered desks.

"I really think we should have gone to A&E," Alex said fretfully.

He only snorted with derision and stormed to his desk, then stabbed at the computer's keyboard, trying to wake up the device. He'd see Tabitha do this a dozen times, why wasn't it working for him?

He shot a quick look at Alex from under the towel. He'd come to with her cradling his bleeding head and stretching for her phone. He hadn't had time for her fussing. "We haven't found the fourth girl," he'd announced, struggling free, only to collapse again in a great crash of sprawling limbs. But he was still able to bat away her grasping hands and ignore her fretting. After collecting the towel for his head, he ordered her to call Tabitha and Dave Ritchie and tell them to meet up at the Yard.

The computer finally lit up. Triumphant, he dropped into his chair and tossed the towel in the bin. The bleeding had stopped.

Alex was still nattering behind him: "Gene, you're hurt—"

"Just an old wound opened up, that's all," he'd said, cutting her off. "I remembered there's another victim in 1985."

"You just remembered, after thirty years? That's why I'm worried, Gene—"

He only snorted in disgust and muttered something about not treating him like a poofter, but before she could start to nag Gene again, the other two detectives arrived.

"Tabby," he barked, "you missed one. There's another girl."

The constable looked to Alex for guidance. She gave a shake of her head in return. "Help him, DC James," she said softly.

Tabitha put on a smile and sat at her desk before the computer. "Let me see what I can find. What do we know?"

Gene closed his eyes. Falling, the train coming. Barely above a whisper, he said that.

When Alex touched him, he flinched.

"Please, Gene...DCI Hunt, I think we should take you to a doctor."

"I don't need a bloody doctor!" he bellowed. "I need to get this flaming bastard!"

Alex took the seat across from him and leant forward with her elbows propped on her knees. "You fell off a train when you arrived in London last week—"

"No. Yes." He pouted.

"But you've remembered something from 1985?"

"Yes. Before I left...London."

Accessing the database, Tabitha prompted him gently. "Date?"

"Around...June."

"Euston station, right?"

"Yes." Gene rubbed his head and flecks of dried blood fell to his shoulder. Alex reached over and carefully brushed them off, her brow still creased with anxiety.

"I'd been watching the stations. Had me snouts keeping an eye out too. One came and told me he'd seen a girl heading into a closed tunnel with a bloke wearing black. I followed. Found him...Girl out cold...Might o' been dead already, I 'pose."

Alex could see that Gene was back in that moment. She kept her voice low so not to startle him out of his memories. "Could you see what he looked like?"

"Too dark. I jumped him...We both went over..."

"I have something," Tabitha said with excitement. Gene rolled his chair across to her desk. Alex followed closely. Even Ritchie leant over.

Alex lost her breath when she saw the grainy photograph on the monitor. The sprawled body in a black uniform, pale hair haloed around a crushed skull. The fleeting images from her dreams...

"It's some poor transport constable who tumbled onto the tracks," sneered Ritchie. "Not a girl."

Gene launched out of his chair. "Son of a bitch," he roared. "A copper. A bleeding copper."

Alex tried to stop him from pacing. "Is that the man who you tried to apprehend?"

Still raving, he ignored her. "A plod would have been the perfect cover to get these girls. They'd trust him, go with him." He thumped his fist on the desk, causing all three to jump. "If 'is head wasn't already cracked open, I'd stomp on it like a brat's toys."

Trying to refocus his fury, Alex said soothingly, "But it was an accident."

"We went over together," he insisted.

"The report doesn't say anything about another policeman," Tabitha pointed out.

"Keep looking," muttered Gene, flopping back into his chair. "There was a girl."

Alex squeezed his shoulder and this time he didn't move away. "Look on the same day, James," she said quietly. Gene gave her one of his quick smiles.

Two minutes later, Tabitha discovered what she was looking for. "Julie Ware, eighteen, three arrests for prostitution. Found in an alley to the west of Euston Station. Stabbed to death. Signs of struggle and she'd probably marked her killer."

Keeping Gene in his chair with a warning look, Alex paced for both of them. "Body wasn't mutilated?"

"No."

Leaning down to speak in his ear, Alex said softly: "It could be nothing, Gene."

"It's 'im, Alex." He tipped his head up to look at her. Her heartbeat hitched at his intense gaze. "It's him," he repeated.

"Alright," she murmured. To the other two detectives, she said, "Find out everything you can about this BTP constable. Any living relatives, wife, coworkers."

"But if he's dead," drawled Ritchie, "it's unlikely that he's our killer."

Gene's eyes drifted shut again, exhaustion overwhelming him. Not a sleepiness but as though he were losing consciousness once more. Someone...something...was watching him from the shadows. The man who he'd knocked off the girl wasn't the real danger. That toerag was just a tool—

"Gene?" Alex's fingers were brushing at the cut on his head. "Are you still with us?"

"I'm not goin' anywhere," but he knew that he didn't sound convincing.

"Dave's right, though," she pointed out.

"There was someone else there," he said, his voice distance. "He didn't work alone."

Alex started to protest but instead, tugged Gene's arm. "Come on. I'm getting you home and to bed." She shot Ritchie a warning look over Gene's shoulder before he could make a smart remark.

"We've got work to do," protested Gene, struggling to his feet.

Looking at the clock, Alex said, "It's the middle of the night. Even if we find witnesses, we can't contact them now." Laying her hands on his chest, she made him look her in the eyes. "Sleep. Rest. And we start again in a few hours."

His head fell forwards and she was afraid that he would collapse again but instead, he leant into her for the briefest of moments. "Alright, Bo—Alex," he said in a sleepy bear voice and it took all her willpower not to wrap her arms around him and squeeze him tightly.

oOo

Four hours of sleep, a hot shower, eggs, toast and strong tea for Gene, coffee and yoghurt for Alex, and they were out the door. When they arrived at the incident room, they found Tabitha gulping down the dregs out of a paper cup herself. Still wearing the same clothes as when they left her, it was obvious she'd remained at work. Her eyes were glassy with no sleep and too much caffeine.

"I have some information," she told them.

Alex brought the rest of the team around and gave them a quick rundown of last night's events as Gene waited impatiently.

"What've you got, Tabs?" he barked finally, cutting Alex off.

"The first victim was police constable Harold Potts, aged thirty-one, eight year veteran of the BTP. Struck by a train which had been diverted into the disused track to clear the way for another train."

"Get on with it," Gene growled. Alex gave him a withering look as Tabitha wilted a bit under his glare.

"I think this is important," Alex said. "Go on, James."

"What was noted in the internal report was that his shift had ended two hours previous. There was no reason for him to still be in the station; his flat was within walking distance."

Gene nodded, more pleased with this background detail. "Got a missus? Kiddies?"

"His wife had died a year before—"

"Just before the killings started," mused Gene. Alex hid a small smile. He couldn't help but profile the killer.

"There was one son, Nigel Potts."

"Age?" Gene asked quickly.

"Just ten years old," Tabitha said after scanning the records.

Welton sipped his tea. "He's out then. Perhaps a mate?"

Gene made eye contact with everyone, drawing them into a circle around him. "The real work begins today. This Harry Potts was my killer. Somehow, he's connected to the killer working today. Another copper friend, a mate from down to the boozer, a creepy brother—someone."

Alex tried to interrupt, but he held up his hand. "Start going through the rolls and find his work mates. Find his kid and talk to him. This girl, Julie Ware—we need to find anything that we can about her death."

"Yes, Guv," everyone muttered except Alex. She was watching him, arms crossed.

"How's your head?" she asked when the others went off to the desks.

"Better, now that I know who the scumbag is," he said, going to the tea cart.

"All that caffeine won't help your head," she pointed out, lacking for anything else to berate him about at the moment.

He only gave her an outraged look as he dumped sugar into the cup.

"I'll go call Molly before her classes start," Alex said.

He surprised her by saying, "Give 'er my regards."

Smiling at Gene's use of such an old-fashioned term, she made her way into her office. Although...she snapped her head around, and sure enough, he'd been watching her arse. Last night returned with an embarrassing flash, and she quickly shut her door before he could see her red face.

Caught ogling, Gene feigned interest in the evidence board. Confusion washing over him, he excused himself to go up on the roof for a smoke with his tea, managing to duck out before Donna could offer to join him. He needed time to think without some bird yapping at him.

It was raining lightly, so he sheltered under the lee of a large air duct and sucked deeply on his fag. Draining his paper cup, he balled it up and tossed it aside while looking out over the city. Low, grey clouds, the scene a glistening monochrome. This was the London he remembered. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed his head. It was still sore. Like when his Dad would cuff him proper for taking the last Garibaldi. Alex Drake's cherry mouth had been just as tempting.

But the Chief Super wouldn't be ringing up anymore, demanding that Gene keep his mind on his job and not that posh tart's scrawny hind end. If Gene wanted to finally have some fun, he should. Squaring his shoulders, he mentally gave himself a sharp slap, just as hard as his Dad's.

This Alex had surprised him, that's all, causing him to have a spell. Back in the 1980's, his Alex had just come onto him as a lark, not thinking he was real. Only to want him at the end when she knew he wasn't real...That woman truly was a fruitcake.

He lit a cigarillo off his smoke and tossed its butt away. This Alex had been after information, but he didn't take her for a slapper. She wouldn't have given him a kiss and a cuddle just to find out if Sam Tyler was a complete nutter.

So...perhaps she was interested. Yes, he was fairly certain that she might give him a flyer with a bit of encouragement.

Somewhere in the dim recesses of his scrambling thoughts, he knew that he'd need to make the next move. She'd been shooting him uncertain looks ever since he'd come to. A move...a move...what sort of move should he make?

That damn mobile in his pocket rang. He dug it out, cursing as he fumbled to press the correct button to answer the thing. "Wot?" he growled.

"DI Drake wants you," said Donna, not the least bit put off by his grumpiness.

Well, if he were looking for a sign, that was it. He ground his cigar under his heel, and headed back to the incident room.

Pacing in front of the evidence boards, Alex had her fists clenched in her pockets. Just when she thought that she'd gotten past it, another wave of mortification washed over her. Although she'd been absolutely terrified when Gene had lost consciousness, she was also grateful that they'd been deterred from doing anything that she'd regret. What in the world had she been thinking? Gene Hunt wasn't her type at all, and if they'd gone through with it, then she would have had this great lump in her daughter's bed, expecting another round—she'd need to check with Mr Nettles as to the progress on the garden flat's repairs.

The only logical explanation was that she was horny. How long had it been since she had sex? If she had to ask, too long. Well, she might as well take care of that problem, and not with a visiting detective while they were embroiled in a serious case. Someone less complicated was in order...

Welton had been speaking to her. She hadn't heard a world that he said. "Sorry, Rob, but I've got to make a call," she said vaguely, leaving him looking after her, puzzled.

She closed the door to her office. Sitting at her desk, she punched a number on her mobile while watching for Gene to appear from her summonses.

The call connected. She got right to the point. "Hi, it's Alex. Are you free tonight?"

Gene returned, shaking off his wet overcoat and hanging it to dry. He looked around for Alex, an automatic gesture, but she was in her office, talking on her mobile. Catching her eye, he gave a quick smile but she turned in her chair as though she hadn't seen him.

He went back to checking the murder scenes photographs on the evidence boards until he heard her office door open. She was caught by Ritchie before she could come to him, and he waited impatiently.

When Alex was finally free, Gene sidled up to her. "Right. It's my turn to pick up the takeaway tonight." His heart thundered in his chest.

She glanced to him. "Um...Actually, I have plans. You'll be on your own." She tried to sound casual.

He gaped. "Plans?"

"Yes." She had to clear her throat. "I'll be in late. No need to wait up." There. That wasn't difficult. She scurried off to her office before he could say anything more.

Gene stormed back to his desk and tossed himself into the chair. Glaring at Alex through the windows, he got no satisfaction. She seemed to have found something utterly fascinating in the folders on her desk and was studying it closely.

Taking her lead, he flipped through files, blind to anything on the page. When Tabitha passed, he called her over.

"Listen Tabs, we've got a situation."

She was instantly alert. "Guv?"

"DI Drake is in danger."

The young constable looked concerned.

"She's going somewhere after work, but doesn't think that she needs protection. She's given me the flick when I try to get it out of her."

"Well, if she think that she's fine—"

"She doesn't understand how serious this is." Gene leant close, his gaze holding the young woman's. "Spends all her time riding a desk chair; she doesn't get it. How some scumbag is going to plug her right in the head like putting down a dog."

"Sir—"

"Go in there. Say we're expecting a call back on 'arry Potts's kid or some other bollocks, and we need to know where to find her."

Tabitha looked unsure, but did as he said. Gene watched with satisfaction as she entered her DI's office.

Alex was picking a staple loose from a sheaf of papers, so intent on her task that she didn't notice the detective constable until Tabitha said her name. She jumped.

"Yes, James? What can I help you with?" she said breathlessly, pushing aside the folder.

"Uh...so we're still awaiting the location of the Potts son, if he's still alive."

Alex nodded.

"I'm hopeful we'll have something in the next few hours. You'll want to know immediately?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Alex said slowly. Time was of the essence on this case.

"I'll need contact info for you then."

"You have my mobile number."

"Mobiles don't always work," Tabitha said quickly. "Like if you're at the opera, or such."

"I shan't be at the opera..." Alex thought about it. The younger woman was right, and it wasn't as though she was saying I'm getting shagged tonight just by giving out a number.

She scribbled the number of the pub and Adrian's number on a notepad. "If it's very late, or early tomorrow, I'm sure I'll be home," she said lamely, tearing the piece of paper off. Okay, that did sound like she was getting shagged.

Tabitha just gave her a bland smile. "Great. Enjoy your evening and don't worry about a thing."

Gene watched the constable leave Alex's office. Tabitha made her way to her desk and started checking something on that bloody computer. Frustrated, he stormed to the evidence board and looked over the photographs once again. He could have sworn that Lola Burns had been wearing a white jumper when he found her body, but in the photograph, she wore a white leather jacket like Bolly's...

"Sir," hissed Tabitha. She'd appeared at his side.

"Wot."

"The Brass Farthing."

He pouted. "Wot about it."

"It's the pub where DI Drake will be after work. Posh place in Soho."

He narrowed his eyes in the direction of Alex's office. Now she was pounding on her own computer keyboard and not looking his way.

"How about the squad go there for a couple of rounds after the shift?" he suggested.

"I don't know, sir—"

"That's an order, Tabs."

"Yes, sir," she said, but her voice was filled with dread.

oOo

Despite all their efforts, the day had proved fruitless. There were a few pensioners who'd worked with Harry Potts, but were scattered around the country in retirement villages and spare rooms with their daughters. A list was compiled and assigned to detectives, but nothing had come in yet. And still no sign of Nigel Potts. Alex gave everyone release promptly at five.

As they straggled out, she slipped into the ladies with a few items tucked in a bag. She'd prefer that her team and particularly Gene Hunt, not see her transformation. She wasn't exactly tarting herself up, but she didn't need any embarrassing questions. Her trousers were swapped out for a black pencil skirt, and a button or two more than work-appropriate were left open on her blouse after changing her bra from a sensible white spandex to pale blue satin. Her sturdy boots were exchanged for leather pumps.

Brushing and twisting her hair into a chignon, a splash of red lipstick, and her entire effort was complete. It wasn't as though it was a real date, after all.

An hour later, as she sat across from Adrian in the Brass Farthing, she was reminded again that this wasn't a real date. He was making no effort to charm her...Not that Gene Hunt had done anything the least bit charming either—not that this was about Gene Hunt!

Adrian chatted blandly about his upcoming business trip to India, how much he disliked that heat—she gave him a quick sympathetic smile and returned to her train of thought. No, Gene Hunt was no witty conversationalist...Although, the very fact that she'd have no idea what he'd say next kept her constantly intrigued. The image of his former wife knitting tiny woolly jumpers for a shivering little dog came to her, and she had to stifle laughter just as Adrian was saying something about his tummy distress during his previous trip to India. Then there was how Gene said things as flip comments, but they were actually filled with pathos, making her want to know more.

Had he and the missus wanted children? Did she displace her need with the Chihuahua? What had Gene wanted? He was surprisingly comfortable with Molly, avoiding that fatal tendency to try to be the child's friend. Adrian had done that the one time he'd met Molly. He'd offered to get her tickets for the Spice Girls reunion tour, much to the girl's horror.

"I say, that chap is burning a hole right into the back of your head."

Alex jerked herself back to the table and Adrian. "Pardon?" she asked foggily.

He nodded to behind her. "He's by the poker machines. He's been staring at you the entire time."

A chill went through her body. Gene had been right. She shouldn't have come out alone with a threat over her head.

"Don't look at him," she ordered Adrian. She noticed there were mirrors on the wall behind him. "This man, what side of me is he on?" She had to snatch Adrian's hand before he could point.

"Your...left," he told her.

She focused in the mirror. Two bankers, intent in their discussion while drinking white wine...a gaggle of secretaries, gossiping over G&T's...a mixed table, men and women...One of the men was glaring at her...Gene Hunt.

She whirled in her chair and glared back.

"It's nobody," she said tightly to Adrian. "Just ignore him."

Tabitha brought a round to the table, her face worried. "I really don't think this is a good idea," she said, stating the obvious.

Dave Ritchie craned his neck to see Alex's table. "Oh, I see who it is," he sneered.

"She's got a bloke," Gene said flatly. He drained half his pint glass. This had never occurred to him. She'd not mentioned a man while in his world, there was no photo on her desk, no prattling phone calls every evening—

"I don't know if I'd call him that," Ritchie said slyly.

Rob Welton sipped his pint delicately and avidly watched the team but didn't cast his gaze toward his boss.

"Hush, now, Dave," chided Donna. "She's your DI. Show some respect."

He ignored her. "That's her fuck buddy, that's what 'e is."

Gene thumped his empty pint glass down. "Wot?"

Ritchie tried again. "Friend with benefits. She calls 'im up when she needs 'er plumbing flushed." He gave an ugly laugh.

Gene glared at him. "That bloke is 'er fancy man?"

This caught Ritchie off guard. "Er..."

Donna leant over and put her hand on Gene's sleeve. "Listen, Guv—"

"I need another," Gene said abruptly, pushing back from the table. He went to the bar and demanded a lager, now.

"Pardon me for a moment," Alex said, standing abruptly. She didn't give Adrian a chance to say anything and stormed over to Gene.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed at him. He slowly turned his head as though he had had no idea that she was there.

"'aving a drink with the lads," he said, self-righteous. "Just what you should be doing, instead of..." He tilted his head toward Adrian.

"Well, I'm having a drink with a friend," she said haughtily.

"You should be buying the first round for your team," he repeated, sticking out his lower lip. "Not out swanning around with some wanker!"

"He is not some wanker—"

Gene wasn't listening. Turning around, he leant against bar, propped on his elbows. "I thought you were different, but no, just the same old Alex. Knickers flapping in the wind like me auntie's tea towels out in the line!"

She stepped close to poke him in the chest. "How dare you—"

"Alex?"

She snapped her head around. "What?!"

It was Adrian. "Sorry," she said, taking a breath. "I'm discussing our case with DCI Hunt. I'll just be another moment." She turned back, ready to make battle again.

"Alex," Adrian said quietly.

"What?" She didn't disguise her irritation.

Adrian nodded. She looked down. She was standing between Gene's sprawled open legs, just inches away from his body. She stepped back quickly and Gene pushed off the bar, keeping close. His gaze lazily proprietary, he looked Adrian up and down.

From his curled lip, Gene didn't think much of the shorter man in his black silk turtleneck and Calvin Klein jeans. "Adrian Meadows," Alex's escort said with a smile, ever the salesman. He offered his hand to be shaken.

Gene looked outraged at Adrian's name and his manicured hand. "You can get on back and finish your Shandy," he sneered. "Alex and I have something to sort out."

"No, I believe we're done," she growled. "Come along Adrian." Grasping his arm, she dragged him back to the table.

Gene's face was no longer angry but thoughtful. He pulled out his cigarettes.

From behind the bar, the publican said, "I'm sorry, sir, but there's no smoking."

"Bugger," Gene grumbled, heading for the back entrance.

Alex watched him go.

"Alex, darling, what on earth is that creature?"

"I told you. We work together."

"Surely I would remember if you had mentioned some modern day Andy Capp," Adrian said with a laugh.

She rose. "I'll only be a minute."

Gene leant against the brick wall, inhaling deeply. Unable to smoke regularly only made these fags taste better. At least this alley felt like the Soho he knew. Dank and musty, mournful love song drifting from the bar, neon light reflecting blue off the wet surfaces—he couldn't have done a better job himself at setting the scene for feeling like shit about a bird.

As if on cue, Alex banged through the door. "I'm not finished with you—"

He tossed away the cigarette. "Wot."

"Don't you 'wot' me," she said, using air quotes.

"And don't you wiggle your fingers at me," he demanded, stepping close.

She raised her chin and used her most posh accent. "Where were we? Oh yes, I believe you were calling me a slut—"

"If the loose elastic on yer knickers fits—"

"You know nothing about me—"

"I know you don't have any use for a man but as a lapdog or to ride 'is pole," he ranted, "You're a cold, stuck-up bitch—"

Balling her fist, she hit him hard in the nose, causing him to stagger backwards. Instantly contrite, she rushed to help. "I'm so sorry! No matter what you said, there's no reason for violence—"

He fished out a large white handkerchief and dabbed at his nose. When he saw no blood, he tucked it away. "No problem. Just was expecting a knock to the gob instead."

"I don't get you," she said, suddenly exhausted and weak. She leant against the wall, revelling in the stench of urine and stale cigarettes. She deserved this. Striking a superior officer...Bryan Ferry was coming out of the pub's jukebox, she realised vaguely. Why did he always seem to be singing when Gene Hunt made her feel like this?

"Nothing to get," Gene assured her. "I'm a simple man—"

Her temper flared again. "You're a man alright! A bloody man who gets to shag whomever you want—Sam told me about you and women!"

Harsh blue light from the pub's blinking sign fell across his features, hiding his eyes from her. "That wasn't me. It was Sam's imagination, remember?"

She started to protest but stopped.

He eased a step closer. "If you were to create me, you'd make a different sort of man, right?"

She suddenly wanted to run but stayed rooted to the spot. He was so near that her vision lost focus and it was all just the now achingly familiar smell of him, the pulse of the neon in his scarred cheeks, the movement of his lips as they pursed.

"What sort of man would that be?" he murmured.

"A very nice man..."

"I don't think so."

Her breath caught. He was going to slam her against the brick wall and fuck her hard—she stepped back, leading him into the shadows.

His hands came up to her face. But instead of gripping her skull to the point of pain, his fingertips barely touched her jaw as though balancing a soap bubble, delicate and fragile. His thumb brushed on her lower lip, making her gasp. His mouth lowered slowly only to pass her lips and press against her cheekbone in a chaste kiss. Then another at the corner of her mouth, her chin...His fingers stroked at her face, turning her head so his lips could touch at her jumping pulse.

She wanted to demand more, to berate his teasing, just to get on with it, but she was immobilised by his tenderness. Strength drained from her limbs and she sagged against him, only able to remain upright by clinging to his lapels.

"Alex," he breathed on her lips. His voice rasped like the shifting pebbles on a shore, turned by waves.

She tried to catch his mouth and only managed to nip at his lower lip with a whine. It seemed she'd have to be the one to throw him against the skip and tear open his shirt, yank down his trousers—

"Alex," he whispered again and through the fog of arousal, she heard pain-filled sweetness and yearning. Her eyes snapped open. His gaze was gentle, warm deep blue in the dim light.

Imagine her own version of Gene Hunt... those eyes behind half-closed lids on a Sunday morning cuddle under the duvet, lightly travelling fingers burrowing under her sleep shirt, that whispering of her name, Alex biting her lower lip to keep quiet as his fingertips skimmed from the undersides of her breasts down her stomach, to dance at the elastic of her knickers, before sliding under... Knocking elbows at the sink, doing dishes, that voice growling out criticisms of her drying and stacking until she snapped his arse with the towel and he has to give retribution, pushing her against the worktop, soapy hands tangled in her hair... Her and Molly, singing along to an Adele concert on the telly while Gene watched from the couch, sprawled across the cushions, his bottle of lager nestled on his chest, his expression deeply satisfied at their silliness... a baby's cry rattling through the darkness, her nudging Gene. "It's your turn," which to him meant stumbling out of bed and returning to tuck the snuffling body between them. He'd helpfully flick her top open to release her breast and then promptly fall back to sleep...

It was like peering between curtains into someone else's life. Alex struggled free, terrified. She daren't be tempted because she was certain as to how it would end—she'd be hurt and alone.

"I better go," she whispered, staring at her feet. "We've a lot of work to do tomorrow."

"Yeah." Gene was wiping mouth as though trying to get a taste off it. She felt a bit ill at the sight.

She hurried to the ladies first, and the mirror told her what she feared. Her mascara was smeared—when had she cried? Her cheeks were flushed and her hair dishevelled. She tried to tidy up, but it was hopeless without her handbag. She was looking around helplessly when Tabitha popped her head in. "Ma'am?"

"I'll be just a minute," Alex said, trying to sound bright.

"Donna thought I should check and see if you needed a bit of help." Tabitha rummaged in her bag and offered a makeup wipe. "I'm afraid I have no comb," she said, pushing at her braids. Her face brightened as she continued to poke deeper in the bag. "Here's a band though. You can put it back."

"Thank you," Alex said, her voice wavering. She splashed cold water on her still flaming cheeks.

"Donna's going to take DCI Hunt home," the younger woman said helpfully, offering Alex a paper towel to dry her face.

Alex remembered that 'home' was her flat and her shoulders slumped.

Sure enough, when she returned to the pub, her work group was gone and Adrian was watching for her.

He stood as she approached the table. "Darling, what has been going on?"

She considered taking the coward's way out and claim a work emergency but didn't think that was fair. The whole point of a friend with benefits was honesty. "I hate that I dragged you out tonight, Adrian, but I really just want to go home."

"Of course," he said, pulling his coat off the back of his chair.

She put a hand on his chest. "I mean alone."

He looked in the direction of the table where Gene had been sitting. "Are you sure about that?"

She wasn't going to be that honest and share that Gene would actually be sleeping down the hall. "Yes, Adrian."

They walked out together. "I'm sorry that I wasted your time—"

"It was an interesting evening," Adrian said with the flash of humour Alex had found attractive about him when they'd first met. He waited for her to unlock her car, ever chivalrous. "Shall I lose your phone number from my mobile?"

"It's not like that," she assured him.

"How about this. If I don't hear from you in a month, I'll delete your number, no questions asked."

"I'm certain that I'll be calling," she said but even she could hear that she sounded unsure.

He gave her a kiss on her cheek and naturally she couldn't help but compare his dry caress to Gene's tenderness.

She sat in her car for a long time before starting the engine.

oOo

After Donna stopped her Mini in front of Alex's building, Gene pulled himself free from the low seat and lit a cigarette before going inside. Donna lit her own.

"Thanks for the lift," he said gruffly. He glanced down at her. Supposed that he should offer her some tea or something, but if he took her inside, she'd expect more, he assumed. He shifted on his feet.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Would you like to hear a bit of truth telling, Guv?"

"No."

"You're making a spectacle of yourself."

He gave a warning harrumph and dragged savagely on his fag.

She went on. "DI Drake keeps things in neat little compartments. Those boxes are locked tight too."

"Since there's no hope there, you're offering?" he asked rudely.

"God no! You're daft!" she said with a snort, but appeared unoffended.

Unrepentant, he grubbed out his cigarette.

"At least look like you're disappointed," she teased.

He pouted.

"I don't eat where I shit, thank you very much. And I certainly don't steal off the boss's plate," she said crisply. "You may not believe it, but I take my job seriously. We can't have this case fucked up because of you two with your calf eyes at each other, you got it?" She flicked her butt into the gutter.

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled.

"Night," she tossed over her shoulder and he reflected sourly that he couldn't even pull an Essex slapper these days. He stomped up the stairs, slamming into Molly's room.

Down to his vest and underpants, Gene paced the small bedroom, ranting into the mobile phone's voice memo feature. "Bloody hell, now I've got to be watching out for gits sticking their peckers in. Need to show her that I'm the only bloke who can take care of her...What a load of bollocks about that Evan White and his concern for her...This murdering bastard, bringing disgrace on the force, offing tarts..." He tossed the mobile down. If anything, his thoughts were getting more scattered than cleared. Stupid idea—

God, he'd kissed her like some Jessie nancy boy; what the hell was wrong with him? He could see she was as revved up as the Quattro with a plate of meat pressing the accelerator to the floor.

Before his self-incriminations could get any further, he heard the building's outer door open below. He went to the door and listened...Not enough time to nip back to that woofter's flat for even a quick shag, so would there to be two sets of footfall?

Alex opened the front door with a rattle of the knob and jangled her keys before tossing them with a crash on the hall console. Was Donna flat on her back in Molly's bed? If Gene was shagging that tart in her daughter's bed...The light was on under the door, but there was silence from the room. She considered knocking to make sure that he was well after his head injury and her punch to his nose but instead, simply passed by and slammed the door to her room with a resounding thump.

Once he heard her door, Gene stuck his head out and listened for a bit. No sound of anyone besides Alex. Satisfied, he closed his door quietly.

~ end Chapter Nine