Peter Fisherman walked along the path next to the canal, wincing as the mud closed over his highly polished shoes. Ice clod drizzle floated through the air, too wet to be snow. He paused under the arch of a bridge to light a cigarette, leaning against the crumbling brickwork as he let the warmth flare for a moment. Traffic rumbled overhead, the sodium glow of the street lights spilling down onto the water.

This wasn't his choice but his counterpart, Nicolas Callahan, had always had a flare for the dramatic; some might say an exaggerated sense of his own importance. A clandestine meeting in a forgotten part of the world … The appeal was obvious but Fisherman would rather have been at home with a good book and a nice cup of tea. He stepped back into the shadows as a crowd of teenagers approached and clattered up the steps and onto the road. The girls in skin tight jeans and stilettos. The boys in sharp suits with makeup on their faces.

Snatches of conversation floated back to him on the night air.

"Any pair of shoes you get are going to make your feet look big ..."

"'C'mon Julie ..."

"I'm such an Octopus ..."

"You would if you loved me…"

"Because you've got big feet so it don't really matter ..."

One couple lingered behind the others, the boy whispering into the girl's ear. At first she shook her head but the boy was persuasive. She would lose her virginity tonight, Fisherman thought sadly. In a back alley somewhere, to a boy she barely even knew.

The muffled tap of heels on old wet leaves interrupted his musings. A clock chimed midnight.

Fisherman straightened up, running his fingers through his damp, grey hair. Callahan was a smooth bastard; bright blonde hair, boyish charm and good looks.

"You're late," Fisherman said.

"I know."

There was no apology. It was almost as if he didn't care. Fisherman lit another cigarette.

"Filthy habit," Callahan said.

"Since when have you been so virtuous?"

Callahan shrugged, unwilling or unable to answer. The two men had known each other for longer than either of them cared to admit.

"Well?" Callahan asked.

"We need to talk about Alex Drake."

Callahan laughed.

"Face facts, Pete, your man made a mistake."

"Let her go."

"Not yet."

"She deserves to go home. What else do you want from her?"

Despite the flashing white teeth, the smile on Callahan's face didn't meet his eyes.

"She represents everything he hates," Callahan said. "She's a tart, a drug addict, a whore."

"She's the only thing he's ever loved."

"And that's why she'll destroy him."

But there was the slightest hesitation in the man's reply. To the untrained ear he would have sounded confident but Fisherman could sense the doubt. Callahan didn't understand, Fisherman thought sadly. He probably never would. Alex Drake had been forced back into this world and dragged down so low that she was barely able to function and yet … This was about Gene Hunt. It always had been.

"The memory loss was a nice touch," Fisherman conceded.

"I thought so."

They both watched as a tramp shuffled along the path, a large dog at his heels.

"Spare some change, mate?"

Fisherman and Callahan both looked the other way. The tramp shrugged and settled down beneath the arch of the bridge, his dog curling itself up at his feet. The animal was probably the only thing that stopped him freezing to death.

A girl approached. Head down, her hands tucked into the pockets of her anorak. A nurse's uniform peaked out below, a pair of sensible shoes on her feet. She was probably on her way home from work. Fisherman didn't know her but he could see that she was tired. Exhausted. And he found himself wondering exactly what she'd seen that night. Life? Death?

"Spare some change, love?"

The girl pushed a ten pound note into the homeless man's hand.

"Pub?" Callahan offered.

Fisherman looked at him.

"Don't be ridiculous."

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Alex didn't sleep. Despite the wine, despite the exhaustion, she couldn't force her body to relax. She lay there for what felt like hours, her eyes screwed shut against the darkness, hoping to see some vision from the outside world… but nothing came. In the end she got out of bed and crept down the stairs, hoping that Gene had gone to bed. Sure enough there were no lights on anywhere. Alex ended up in the living room, crouched in front of the television watching the static. She felt awkward about doing this in someone else's house and longed for the solitude of the flat above Luigi's. But Luigi had gone… even in this world nothing stayed the same forever.

"We almost lost her…"

"But she's safe?"

"For now."

Alex's eyes snapped open. Despite everything she had fallen asleep curled up on the floor. The television was still showing static but she had definitely heard voices. She crawled towards the dim light.

"I'm here. I'm still here," she called out. It was a futile gesture. No one could hear her.

"I don't want Molly to know. I don't want to get her hopes up."

"Tell her… tell her I'm going to be okay. Tell her I'm coming home…"

"She's got a long way to go yet. Even if she does wake up we can't guarantee…"

"Brain damage?"

"We won't be able to asses the extent of the damage until Alex wakes up. She may have to spend a considerable amount of time in physical therapy… she may have difficulties communicating."

"No… No… I'm fine. I'm fine!"

"Alex is a fighter…"

"Yes she is Mr. White… but even so…"

But the doctor didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. The room was suddenly flooded with light and Alex looked up to see Gene standing in the doorway, clad in nothing more than his pyjama bottoms and a gold chain…

"What the bloody hell are you doing Alex?" he demanded, his voice heavy with sleep.

He looked dead on his feet.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"Then why were you shouting at the sodding TV?"

"I'm sorry."

There was no explanation she could give. Telling him the truth would get her precisely nowhere. In fact he'd probably take her straight to the hospital and leave her there with a straight jacket.

"I couldn't sleep and I was trying to get the video to work."

It was a lame excuse, and judging by the expression on his face, Gene didn't believe her. Even so, he walked across the room and switched on the VCR.

"Just keep the noise down," he said as he shuffled away, dragging a hand through his dirty blonde hair. "Drink?" he offered, pausing by the door.

"You don't have to stay."

"'m awake now."

"A drink would be nice."

Gene had two glasses of whiskey in his hands when he returned and he'd put on his dressing gown.

"What are we watching?" he asked.

"Oklahoma!"

"Bloody hell!"

"A skeleton in the closet, Gene?"

"A present from me Mum... she thought it was a western."

Laughing, Alex joined him on the sofa, curling up at one end whilst he sat at the other. He switched off the light, leaving the room bathed in the Technicolor glow of the film.

"I saw this at the National Theatre once… Hugh Jackman."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

She sipped her whiskey, smiling to herself as Gordon McCrae started to sing. Next to her Gene sniffed his disapproval.

"Come over here then," he said, extending his arm and letting Alex slide into his embrace. "If we're going to watch this girly nonsense might as well do it properly."

He looked down at her, hesitating for a second before placing a delicate kiss on her lips.

"Why Mr. Hunt, people will say we're in…"

"Shut it."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/

She was asleep. Leaning against him, drooling on his dressing gown. Reaching out for the remote controls, Gene stopped the film and then switched off the television. He looked down at the woman in his arms, wondering how they had ever managed to get to this point. Unable to help himself, Gene brushed a kiss on her hair. She gave a little sigh and a little smile. He had always thought of Alex as a posh bird… too posh for the likes of him. Champagne. Expensive restaurants. Diamond rings. Opera. All the things he could never hope to give her. Yet here she was cuddled up to him after nothing more than a plate of chips and a soppy musical. All those years she'd been within his reach and he'd got it so fucking wrong. Apart from his one pathetic attempt to take her 'somewhere posh' he had failed in fairly spectacular fashion.

A curious sense of peace washed over him. Gene really had no idea why he was doing this. After the shit she had put him through he really should have chucked her out on her arse. The reasons why he hadn't were too much for his sleep deprived brain to cope with right now. Even the thought of carrying her back upstairs was too much for him.

As gently as he could, Gene eased her into a more comfortable position. He placed a cushion under her head and a covered her with a blanket. She mumbled something in her sleep. For a moment he wondered if she was asking him to stay, knowing that he didn't have the strength to deny her a second time. But then she smiled, and turned her face into the cushions. Whatever dreams she was having, they were sweet and he wanted to cuddle up next to her and share them.

Refusing to give into temptation, and the decidedly girly thoughts, Gene snapped off the light and made his way to his own bed.