The only blessing Gene could see in his situation was that, however much comfort food he crammed in to dry and dull the ache in his chest, he never seemed to get fatter. He had to run his own house, although that didn't take much, and police training to attend, but in his spare time- of which, admittedly, there wasn't a lot- he would slump in front of the telly and tune into whatever rubbish the BBC was broadcasting, stuffing himself with sweets and chocolate and pastries and bacon sandwiches until his stomach was groaning with the strain and the food was making an unwelcome re-appearance at the back of his throat. Several times he'd made himself sick with the sheer volume of food, but it was only when his mouth was full that he could somewhat blank his mind from the sheer pain of day to day existence.
He found himself lonely and isolated a lot of the time, shunned by the middle-class trainees in the police training college and whispered about by the working-class ones, flinching away from rumours about his father round every corner. Stephen Hunt might have died four years ago, and two hundred miles away, but his name was known by those who had come with him from Manchester, and seemed to have been reincarnated in London along with all his bitter, twisted spirit. Gene very quickly found he could only escape the mutterings and disapproving looks when he travelled to Oxford on the odd weekend to visit Alex.
Alex.
The one grain of hope in his life. Apart from his mam and Stu, and he was so busy in London he hardly saw them these days. The one friend- and, he hoped, soon more- who stood by him, who questioned him truthfully on his father, and didn't laugh at his scars in the changing rooms, miming punching them and then running away as he turned to deal the perpetrator a right hook himself. Of course, a few of the boys at the college regarded him with awe, his battle marks only serving to shock them, but for the majority he was taboo; he never felt that in Manchester, and especially not in the flat Alex was renting in Oxford in preparation for her psychology degree beginning this September. He slept on her lounge floor as often as was humanly possible, every second wishing he was in bed with her, loving her, worshipping her body, showing her how much she meant to him, but of course it never happened, his sense of chivalry keeping him at bay and permanently frustrated.
Gene's marks had been good enough to get him into university- straight Bs in the subjects his mother had coerced him into- but as far as he was concerned, university was for poshos and rank-skippers. He wanted to earn his stripes, work his way up the ladder, not spend ages poncing about in a university (probably on his own) and then finally get stuck behind a desk for the rest of his life. He wanted the rough edge of policing, to make a difference. And that was what he was determined to do.
Saturday night found him sinking beer after beer in the local boozer, celebrating on his own to mark the end of his exams. Tomorrow he was heading up to Oxford- one small thing to look forward to- and fairly soon, in only a few short weeks, he would be beginning his new job as a PC in the Greater Manchester Police A-Division. Until then, he just had to get himself as drunk as possible, to try and forget his rampant desire for Alex- and with the rate he was drinking, that wasn't going to take too long, he'd be as half-cut as was sensible by about eleven and then he would find himself a cab home.
Hopefully.
"Dere sometin' troublin' you, mon brav?"
The bartender, an elderly Jamaican with greying dreadlocks dangling around his head and orange-clad shoulders, had sidled up as he daydreamed, toying with his whisky chaser; Gene started, glancing round from under his fringe, blowing up through his pout as the bartender gave him a toothy smile, leaning on the bar in front of him.
"Nah. Not really. Just want ter get drunk."
"Must be a reason, mon brav. An' you all on your own. Makes me feel almost sorry for ya."
Gene's lip curled in contempt, but the moment the bartender slid another whisky chaser over it disappeared.
"On the house… so long as you tell me what's eatin' ya. Alcohol won't fix tings, my friend."
He stopped, and gave a short, sharp bark of laughter that made the gang of laughing middle-aged men sitting nearby swerve round to stare.
"What am I sayin'? I run a pub. Of course it'll fix tings!"
Gene rolled his eyes, picking the whisky up and taking a long swig, letting it burn its way down his throat and wiping his hands wearily over his face. Suddenly he felt so tired he could barely stay upright.
"Everythin', pal. Bloody everythin'. Exhaustin'."
He swayed, overcome by intoxication and fatigue; someone steadied him from behind, someone else muttering about calling a taxi, but when a multitude of hands did slide him off his stool and balance him in something of a standing position, it was a back room he was ushered into rather than a back seat. The bartender slid in after him, waiting until Gene was arranged on an elderly chintz sofa with a bucket by his head to perch next to him and plonk the whisky chaser on a nearby table, smiling indulgently as Gene swiped wearily at it and missed by a country mile.
"Ah ah, mon brav. Talk first, den whisky."
Gene scrunched up his eyes against the bright overhead light, regarding the bartender mistrustfully through an alcohol-fogged gaze; the toothy smile was the only thing he could make out clearly, and the grey-flecked dreadlocks swinging hypnotically around it. It was getting harder to hold onto his stomach contents.
"Just finished police trainin' college. Top marks, but it was a ruddy nightmare. No friends, nobody ter talk ter… just lonely. Didn't fit in. Too different down 'ere."
"Manchester?"
"Mm." Woozy as he was, he was too dopey to wonder how the bartender had known that. "Want ter be a copper… know everyone 'ates 'em, but I just want ter make a difference, make someone's life better."
The bartender cocked his head to one side, his eyes raking Gene's face; under normal circumstances Gene would have lashed out at him for that, but right now lifting his hand seemed too much of an effort and he just about managed a laser-beam glare instead. It only made the man's grin wider.
"You wouldn't be drinkin' like dis if dere wasn't a girl involved, mon brav. I seen too many coppers to be fooled by dem now."
"Alex." The name tumbled from his lips as though it had been lurking there for years, finally set free by the wisdom of the man now perched on the arm of the sofa, watching his young client with sympathetic brown eyes. "Alex Price… so want 'er ter be Alex Hunt… but I don't know 'ow… it's so 'ard."
"Dat you? Hunt?"
"Gene Hunt. She's been my best friend since we were six, an' I want ter make 'er more, but I'm scared she'll reject me, throw me out on me arse…"
"Now you listen to me, mon brav." The bartender was at eye level now, crouched on the mauve carpet, one hand beside Gene's head as he waited until his watery blue eyes were fixed on his to speak.
"You love her very much, dis Alex. She may love you back, an' you just don't know it. You propose to her, you got a life togedder, maybe kids, heaven in a nutshell. But you don't… someone come along an' snatch her, an' bam! Dat it. Dat it over. You lost her forever. So just tell her, mon brav, because women more understandin' dan you tink. I know dis. You tink I never meet people hopelessly in love? You one of many, many, many people. So all I say is, grab de bull by de horns an' just give her de ring. Den she yours. Yours forever."
"Don't 'ave a ring," Gene whispered, tasting bile at the back of his throat as he spoke. "Couldn't."
Couldn't buy one or couldn't propose, he wasn't sure which.
"Den you wait 'ere."
The bartender disappeared as though by magic, vanishing away into the crowded pub in a flick of dreadlocks; Gene rolled onto his stomach, dragging the bucket closer with one clumsy hand, groaning as he mashed his face into the snot-coloured fabric and closed his eyes to try and block out the buzzing of the overhead light.
And then a hand on the back of his head made him look up, and Gene turned and opened his eyes to possibly the most beautiful ring he'd ever seen.
In the centre was a diamond, glittering furiously, luxuriating in its bed of white gold; the design that circled it was Celtic, strong lines weaving through each other to form two clasped hands above the diamond and two beneath it, the base of each hand marked by a small ruby. The band was slim and dainty, effortlessly elegant in contrast to the elaborate styling of the front. In a millisecond he knew it would never be perfect on anyone but Alex.
"You want it, mon brav? If so, it yours. I got no use for it, just found it one night an' it never got claimed. Runnin' a pub makes good money. You need a ring, I got one, it not rocket science."
Leaning down, he unzipped Gene's jacket and slid the ring and its black velvet box into his chest pocket, securing it and patting the fabric over it. Gene's bleary eyes found his, and through the alcohol and the tears of nausea the thankfulness was written loud and clear to be seen, sparkling just as brightly as the diamond now nestled safely in his coat, next to his heart.
Then he dropped his head and vomited noisily into the bucket at the bartender's feet.
"Ah, shit, sorry…" he whispered as he spat out the last of the bile, wiping his mouth shakily on his hand and making to stand up; the bartender eased him back down, smiling softly as Gene weakly submitted, too tired to do anything else.
"Yer alright. I'll call yer a taxi, get yer 'ome safely."
It took Gene until the bartender was at the door to realise that his accent had transformed to Mancunian.
"Wait!"
The bartender turned, grinning expectantly; a hundred questions were suddenly zooming round Gene's head, but in his groggy state only one took precedence, forcing itself out of his mouth almost painfully. "You never told me yer name."
The toothy grin widened, displaying one gold tooth, almost hidden at the back of his mouth. Glinting as he answered, all Gene could focus on.
"You can call me Nelson, pal. Like the freedom fighter."
And then he turned and disappeared into the bustling pub, his orange shirt blending into the masses as Gene let his head fall again and groaned under his breath, wondering abstractly if the bartender would mind him getting some kip here before his eyes slid closed and he passed out.
It was, therefore, a worse for wear but thoroughly upbeat Gene Hunt that arrived at Alex Price's doorstep the next day, dumping his suitcases by his sides in preparation for the huge hug he knew would be coming and ringing the doorbell with a flickering of trepidation in his sore stomach. Trepidation for the plans he'd laid out for this weekend, for his hopes for the future, and overall for the burning desire he had now admitted to: he loved Alex Price, with every inch of his heart, more than he could ever love anyone else. If something were to go wrong, it would destroy him, and he knew it.
The door banged open.
"GENE! You utter bastard! You're late!"
The name-calling seemed at odds with the massive cuddle he was promptly pulled into, Alex's head tucking itself under his chin as though it belonged there; he wrapped his arms round her, exhaling hard, dropping the faintest of kisses on the top of her head as she drew back to see him, eyes glittering with mirth.
"Who said they were going to tell me which train they were catching so I could be there at the station to help with their luggage?"
"Bolly, I couldn't 'ave asked fer yer ter be waitin' fer me, luggin' all this 'alfway across London. Just be a nuisance fer yer."
"Bullshit. You must be bloody exhausted, and I bet you were out boozing last night, weren't you? What time did you get home?"
"No idea," Gene muttered, dragging his suitcase into Alex's tiny lounge and dropping it in front of the sofa. "Passed out in the boozer, the landlord took pity an' rang me a taxi. Lifted me wallet too, cheeky bastard. Decent bloke, I s'pose, Manchester man."
"Oh, I bet you felt right at home."
Gene's face dropped. Alex's eyes narrowed, clocking the change instantly, both hands reaching out to gently push her companion towards the sofa and their owner descending silently onto the cushions by his side, lying down onto his lap as he started playing with her hair idly, the intimacy sparking in the air between them.
The comfort she felt from this, from being with him, cushioned by his warmth and security, surprised her; had she ever done this with anyone, laid herself so open to them, trusted them this much? Her previous boyfriend hadn't been allowed anywhere near her unless he used contraception, all her valuables locked away long in advance to him entering her flat. Certainly she'd never laid her head in his lap, never allowed him to wind her fringe round his fingers as Gene was doing now, his lips set in that adorable pout and his long eyelashes flickering round, their owner deliberately looking everywhere but her even as his fingertip brushed her forehead and she smiled softly.
"You didn't feel at home at Hendon. Oh, Gene, that's understandable. It takes time to be ready to live independently-"
"It wasn't that," Gene interrupted, lips thinning in annoyance and something that on a weaker man might have been vulnerability. "It was… I was… oh, sod it. I was lonely."
Lonely.
Alex, stunned into silence, let herself digest Gene's confession, leaning back into his hands as his fingers showed her what his words couldn't, showed her that he trusted her, would let the barriers around his heart down a crack for her. She didn't expect him to bear his soul- the very idea was ludicrous, Gene simply wasn't that kind of person- but these quiet statements were a plea for help in their own right, and she heard them just as loudly as sobbing and screaming would seem from someone else. He was flawed, and damaged, and she loved him all the more for it.
She knew that, had long since confessed that. The very first night she had let Johann clamber on top of her, not without her reservations, she had found herself closing her eyes and imagining it was Gene's long fingers stroking her, Gene's lips pressing against hers, Gene's sandy blond hair brushing her chin as her boyfriend pounded into her, not caring if he hurt her, laughing when she begged him to stop. The moment it hurt, Gene disappeared, sliding into the shadows of the room as reality took over once again; she knew without doubt that Gene would never hurt her.
"Lonely," she murmured, easing herself up to sit next to him, beckoning to her own lap as Gene shifted round, slowly lying back until his head was nestled comfortably on her thighs. "I can understand that. Big city, no friends- but why did you wait until you finished to tell me?"
"You've got enough problems, Bolly. I can't offload 'em all on you."
"My problems amount to how much toilet roll I have to buy and making sure I keep my appointments with my tutors. I still grieve for my parents, Gene, but I've moved on, and I'm not sure you've managed that yet, have you? You wouldn't be human if you didn't have some difficulty. It's only natural, love."
Love. The word just slipped out completely on its own, as though it had been waiting in the wings for him, ready to jump as soon as he was near; it astonished her how natural it felt, and even more when Gene opened his eyes and smiled up at her, his hair spread over her jeans and catching the weak morning light from the half-open curtains.
"It just… everyone there 'ad 'eard of 'im, enough people came from Manchester ter ensure that. The posh twats laughed at me, the idiots treated me like some kind o' leper, an' everyone else just kept away from me. Didn't 'ave anyone, Bolls. Didn't know 'alf of 'em, didn't care. 'S why I got so ruddy 'ammered last night, nobody there ter keep an eye on me."
Except Nelson, he added silently. Alex stroked his hair back, her fingers gentle on his scalp, and he closed his eyes, shifting gently to get more comfortable on the sofa.
"Just been lonely without any real friends. Bloke's got ter 'ave someone fightin' 'is corner, an'… I didn't 'ave anyone. Felt like it did when I was little, when Dad 'ad knocked Mam out an' was comin' fer me. Ruddy scary."
His voice was quiet, but all the more audible for it, a gentle rumble above the murmur of Oxford outside. Alex could feel her legs beginning to go to sleep, rueing not getting into a better position before he lay down, but she diligently ignored it as she opened her mouth to speak, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth as she traced a cut on his cheek.
"That's very brave to admit, Gene. You have to deal with these demons, but they're not invincible, you're a strong man and I'm sure you can do it. I want to help you, and I hope I can, I hope you'll let me be the someone fighting your corner with you."
The tiny smile on Gene's face was enough to confirm that he wasn't particularly averse to the idea of having Alex at his side. Alex beamed along with him, dipping her head to press her lips to the tip of his nose, giggling quietly to herself when a quiet snore told her Gene had fallen asleep using her as a pillow.
Shifting gently so as not to disturb him, Alex reached for the remote control to switch the telly on, one hand idly stroking Gene's hair as she daydreamed on the screen, the world outside almost muted, as though determined to afford them this sliver of peace before they had to return to the bustle and stress of life.
Alex's first experience of boyfriends- and breaking up with them- was not a pleasant one to say the least. She knew in the back of her head he wouldn't take it well, might even try to hurt her when she broke the news; she'd deliberately invited Gene over to be there when it happened, needing both moral and physical support to go through with the big move. Despite her age and her new-found maturity, there was still a bit of Alex that felt like the little girl Amelia Forester had taunted until she was reduced to tears, she could still sometimes hear the mocking voice in the back of her head calling her names, telling her she would never be pretty or popular or have any real friends. She admitted freely to herself now that she needed Gene.
Johann had been less than pleased with the request to keep away from Alex, blocking her way out of the dive bar they'd agreed to meet in, tearing at her jacket as she tried to barge past him; Gene had surged forwards to punch him squarely in the nose, kneeing him in the gonads as several punters watched with interest, laughing when Alex delivered her ex a stinging slap to the cheek.
Gene snapped when Johann punched Alex in the stomach.
His second punch dazed Johann, but the recovery was swift, one hand jerking up to get Gene squarely in the kidneys; Gene kicked out through the pain, not caring when Johann dragged the pair of them to the floor, slamming Johann's head back on the floor as someone yelled for the police and Johann whacked Gene's skull into a table leg, gasping and choking as his opponent managed to wedge his leg into his crotch once again.
"Stop it, stop it!" Alex yelled, pulling Gene up, horrified at the stream of blood flowing down from behind his ear; Johann was clearly in a worse state, bent double and gasping for breath, but she paid him no heed, spitting in his face and pulling Gene out of the bar and onto the street. His injuries looked even worse in the dim evening light, one eye blackened and swollen, cradling his wrist as she ushered him into a phone box to call Evan for a pick up.
Evan, when he'd arrived, had taken one look at Gene's bloodstained shirt and insisted Gene go straight to hospital, barging through the queue of drunks in A&E to get them looked at first; Evan's reputation was well-known, and within ten minutes the three of them were in a cubicle, a doctor disinfecting and dabbing at the cut on Gene's head as Gene tried not to cry out with the pain, one hand clenched on the bars of the trolley as the other held some ice in place on his swollen eye. Only Alex firmly telling him he needed stitches and he could have concussion was keeping him on the bed, that and the throbbing behind his ear whenever he tried to move.
"I'm going to start stitching now, this is going to hurt," the doctor who had arrived the moment Evan's name was mentioned said quietly, clipping Gene's hair back and leaning his patient's head forward; Gene glanced round at the needle in the doctor's blue-gloved hands, flinching away instinctively, the little colour left in his face vanishing as it was threaded and disappeared round the back of his head. Alex moved forwards, wincing in sympathy as the first stitch was administered and Gene growled through his teeth at the sting, gripping the bed bar so hard his knuckles turned white.
Alex didn't even think about it, immediately reaching out and taking his hand in both of hers, squeezing hard.
The doctor simply smiled to himself, edging over to allow Alex to sit closer to the bed; Evan, watching from the sidelines, carefully kept his expression neutral, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands in his lap, fixing his eyes on his thumbs until the doctor was dressing Gene's head and turning his attention to his wrist.
Whenever Alex went near boys, he felt a certain unease, always had done, simply because he knew Alex. She was naïve sometimes, she might not pick up what a boy meant when he said certain things, and after her parents' deaths she was easily upset and even easier to lead on. Johann he had had his reservations about, which had certainly been confirmed now, even if Gene had given as good as he got; normally he would never condone violence, but if the victim was a woman, then in his opinion the bastard deserved all he got. But Gene…
He had asked himself many a time if he thought Gene and Alex's relationship might change, might one day become romantic. After all, Gene was handsome, witty, protective and a damn good friend, and Alex was beautiful, clever, kind and loyal to a fault, especially with him. Gene Hunt might not have been Caroline's idea of the perfect catch for her daughter, nor Tim's, but then they had never troubled to get to know him. Over the years, Evan had gradually built up a picture of him, from visits and tales Alex told: a picture of a damaged young man who valued his friend tremendously, who could be loose with his fists but never without justification, who was kind when nobody was looking and could sympathise with Alex's losses. He would always be there for Alex when he could, but she needed someone else to protect her too, and Gene he knew would do that.
He was certain she could have found worse.
And so instead of pulling their hands apart, or giving Gene a warning glare, he stood up and moved over to help the doctor with Gene's sling, smiling down at the young man as he first protested that his wrist was fine and then submitted to it. He'd even insisted Gene take the front seat on the way home, chatting idly with him as they trundled home, Alex in the back holding Gene's good hand beside the head-rest.
She was back in the bar again, perched awkwardly on a rickety stool, the electro-funk music whining away in the background; she knew Gene was there, sitting at her elbow as support, but when she turned to ask him to move closer she found herself looking into Johann's eyes instead, narrowed with anger and lust, his teeth half-bared in the threatening grin she had long since learnt meant trouble. At first she stood her ground, determined not to be weak, to make Gene proud of her; but as he advanced on her, it got harder and harder, and she cried out for Gene, swerving round as the music faded away and all she could hear was Johann laughing at her shrieking, insulting her, hissing lecherous jibes in her ear as his arms wrapped around her waist and tugged her away into a dark alleyway. She could feel the tears searing her cheeks now, her throat hoarse from screaming, concentrating on the wetness of her face rather than the roughness of Johann stroking her breasts, hands sliding down to between her legs as she broke, sobbing for him to leave her alone, go away, she didn't want this, please no, no, NO-
"GENE!"
"Bolly?"
He was at her side in an instant, holding her close in his embrace, the sling lying redundant against his chest; enveloped in his comfort, trembling from head to toe with the aftershocks of her nightmare, Alex pressed her head into his chest, sobbing so hard her head hurt, gulping in great lungfuls of his scent as he stroked her hair back and perched on the side of the bed, balancing her against himself.
"Shh, shh," he whispered, rocking her gently as he might a child, pulling the duvet off to let her sweaty body cool slightly. There was far too much leg on show for any red-blooded male to ignore, but he made himself look away, focusing on Alex's head as he wiped her tears away and leaned her back against the pillows, picking up the glass of water from her bedside table and tipping it into her lips until she gave up and drank, his thumb caressing her chin as she forced herself to swallow each mouthful.
"There now. You OK?"
"Yeah… yeah, I think so."
Alex's voice was steady, but her shaking hands still clung to him as though he were her life-ring; Gene eased into bed beside her, one arm round her shoulders to keep her in place beside him, the other tidying her up and swiping the duvet over her tear-soaked face one more time.
"Yer think yer'll be OK now?"
"No," she answered shakily, pulling him closer at the threat of losing him again. "I… I'm sorry for waking you up."
"Shh. 'S nothin'. D'yer… d'yer want me ter, um, ter- sleep in 'ere tonight?"
Shit. No. Wrong thing. Yer twonk, Hunt, she'll think yer just tryin' ter get in 'er knickers!
"No, no, ferget it, bad idea, yer know me, never know what ter do. I'll just, er, be, erm-"
He stumbled over his words so adorably that Alex felt the tears rising again, hurriedly interrupting to put him out of his misery.
"If you wouldn't mind, Gene… please?"
The small, pleading voice cut straight through his babbling, the teary hazel-flecked eyes that focused on his more than enough to break his resolve.
He didn't need any further encouragement.
Gene nodded once, wriggling around to settle in beside her and drawing the covers over them both, the model of gentlemanly behaviour as he kept his lower body as far away from hers as possible; she had very different ideas, pulling him in as close as possible, cuddling into him as she closed her eyes once again and slid into a dreamless sleep, kept anchored by his warmth, his presence.
Coming in in the morning to see Alex, Evan found them both in her bed, curled round each other like cats, fully clothed but holding hands once again; the bandage on Gene's head was bloodstained round the back, the bruising around his arm now a nasty shade of blackish-yellow, but he had allowed himself to be crammed into the smaller half of the bed, shivering in the cool morning air to afford Alex the majority of the duvet. Pulling the curtains open and dragging the duvet off Gene's bed to drape over him, Evan left them to it, humming jauntily to himself as he headed downstairs to get them both a cup of tea.
That was the night when both Gene Hunt and Alex Drake realised they were more than just friends.
"Did yer want ter go out fer a meal tonight, Bolls? My treat, obviously. Saves us 'avin' ter cook."
Gene, the master of keeping hidden, made sure he addressed Alex from behind the kitchen door, busying himself with arranging the apples in the fruit bowl red side out just as Alex liked them; Alex, sprawled over the sofa scribbling a letter to Evan, raised her head at the sound of his voice, a smile blooming on her face as she caught a glimpse of the back of his head around the door.
"Gene Hunt, you know I don't let men treat me. I go halfsies on everything. It's only fair."
"Alex Price, you know I don't let women go 'alfsies on me. My mam would murder me in my sleep."
"Good thing you don't live with her anymore, then," Alex countered swiftly, grinning cheekily at him as he poked his head round the door, pouting petulantly. "I'll only let you treat me if I get to treat you too, Gene. You've been having a shit time of it recently, you need to unwind."
If only you bloody knew, Gene thought, smiling ironically to himself as he ducked away again, pulling the fridge door open and scouting through pots of yoghurt and cheeses to find the Mars bars Alex always got for him right at the back. Every time he so much as brushed against the little velvet box tucked away in his pocket, his heart rate went up tenfold, battering against his chest as the scenario of Alex kicking him in the gonads and spitting in his face ran repeatedly through his head like the Public Information films his mam had always firmly sat him and Stu down to watch.
"The moral of the tale?" she'd always ask, standing there with her hands on her hips as they mumbled "always look both ways before crossin' the road" or "don't play with farm equipment". How they would get the chance to play with farm equipment deep in the Mancunian suburbs, where the closest they got to rural life was the dirt-flecked spuds Mam picked up in the greengrocer's, he'd never known, but she'd made them watch regardless, eyes boring into the backs of their heads as they kept their own glued obediently on the screen, never daring to face her wrath for looking away. He felt exactly like that now, could almost picture Eileen Hunt stood in the doorway glaring at him, daring him to ignore the film and its grim warning.
The moral of the tale: never aim above yer station, Genie boy. Not unless yer sure she won't refuse.
Only one way ter find out.
"What d'yer say then, seven at the Bronze Lion?"
"The Bronze Lion'll be fully booked- oh!"
Gene, living up to his name, had hunted out the best restaurant in this area of Oxford, ringing them as soon as they opened that morning; almost as though it were fate, another customer had literally just rung off cancelling a slot that evening, and Gene had swooped straight in to book it, determined to give Alex the best. He knew it would be expensive, but since he'd agreed to move back in with his mother until his new job started he had a good month's rent to spare- what better way to spend it than treating Alex?
"Sorry, 's why I was late, detoured ter pick up our slip so you could 'ave time fer a bath before we left…" His voice trailed away as he saw the tears in her eyes, a second before she flung herself at him, kissing him full on the mouth.
The kiss lasted for a second, but the impact it had could have topped the Richter Scale.
Gene, shell-shocked, remained frozen in the same position, mouth slightly open, the taste of Alex's lip-gloss still dancing on his tongue; Alex slowly drew back, ducking her head shyly, looking up through her eyelashes to watch him as one tooth nibbled at her lip, a blush rising on her cheeks.
Bloody hell, they thought simultaneously.
"I… erm…" Alex whispered, making to step back; Gene blinked, snapping back to himself, his eyes focusing on hers just as a slow smile curved his face, giving his face a glow that made Alex's heart melt.
Before she could do anything more than draw breath in, Gene had darted forwards to kiss her gently on the lips, gone before she could do anything more than inhale his scent and bask for the briefest of seconds in the tender warmth on her mouth.
"Better tart yerself up. Put yer face on," he teased just as he reached the door to the kitchen, hurriedly ducking round it as a cushion sailed towards him, his laughter echoing round the flat as Alex rolled her eyes, heading for the bathroom with a fond smile on her face.
"Erm… Bolls."
"Yes, Gene?"
"What's lasag- lasag- lasagner?"
"Lasagne, Gene. It's that. See that table over there? That's lasagne."
"Looks like uncooked pie with its arse 'angin' out," Gene observed languidly as he toyed with the tassel on the edge of his menu, deliberately burying his head back in it to avoid the death glare Alex promptly shot him. Safe in the knowledge that he was utterly inexperienced in the art of fine dining, she'd given him a ten-minute lecture before they left, outlining exactly how she needed him to behave to prevent them both being kicked out; he seemed to be doing alright, managing 'please' and 'thank you' most of the time and keeping his voice too low to be heard by the surrounding tables, but the Gene Genie would not be suppressed even for one night, and she'd been on the receiving end of his sarcastic or derogatory remarks ever since they'd entered.
"Bloody 'ell, someone should seriously think about gettin' 'im some scissors fer Christmas," he'd commented the moment the maître d'hôtel had arrived to seat them, trotting along snootily in front of them as though he were ashamed to be seen with a Northerner. "'Is nose's got more stray hairs than a Russian gymnast."
Alex's elbow in his stomach had dissuaded him from making any further remarks until the maître d' had moved back to his post in front of the door, but he'd kept it up throughout being given the menu and ordering drinks, leaving just long enough between each comment to make Alex think he might have stopped before another one snuck out and brought her hopes crashing down.
In reality, Gene was terrified. Whenever Alex looked away his hand would dart up to check his breast pocket, making sure the ring was still in there; he had no idea what he'd managed to order to drink, just blurting out the first thing he had laid eyes on on the menu and hurriedly adding a 'please' to avoid Alex's eternal wrath. The rigidity of his tense muscles was giving him a headache, as was the stuffy and smoky air in the restaurant; he was dying for a fag, but Alex kicked him every time he slid them out of his pocket, and he desperately wanted her in a good mood for- for what he was planning later this evening.
Yer can't even admit ter yerself yer proposin'. Christ's sake, Hunt, get a grip.
He sighed to himself, forcing himself to focus back onto the menu and the indecipherable choice of foods, the words swimming in front of his eyes. Must be somethin' in English on 'ere. He reached out to grasp the stem of his wine glass in one hand, trying to derive some comfort from the cool smoothness beneath his fingertips, squeezing hard to stop himself doing something stupid, like leaving.
You aimin' too 'igh again, Eugene? Yer know she'll refuse. Laugh in yer face an' tell yer ter get out before she kicks yer in the gonads fer everyone else ter chuckle at. You know it'll 'appen, because yer 'opeless, always 'ave been, couldn't even stand up ter yer ol' Dad when 'e was old an' frail, could yer? Useless sod… pathetic bum-chum… whining little gay-boy…
"Gene… Gene, open your hand. Open your hand."
It took a second for Gene to look up, his gaze blank; but then she laid her hand over his, and he realised that the warm liquid soaking into his shirt cuff was blood. He'd grasped it so tightly the stem had broken in two, slicing his palm.
"Excuse me, could we have a bandage, please?" Alex signalled to the maître d', wrapping a napkin round Gene's hand; it arrived promptly, the man watching with what could have passed as concern on the face of someone less haughty as Gene submitted to the first-aid, stumbling over a thank-you and receiving a cool smile in return.
"Do say if you need any more help, our cook's very handy with a cleaver…"
"Eh?" Gene gasped, swerving up as Alex convulsed with tinkling laughter, shaking her head indulgently.
"It's just a joke, Gene. Please excuse my companion, he's from the North."
Gene ground his teeth silently, glaring round at both of them as they chuckled together; for a second, he was back at Hendon, silently seething at his desk as the poshos laughed at him in their gang, ridiculing him behind their hands, not even bothering to wait until his back was turned. Alex, catching a glimpse of his face, hurriedly schooled her expression back to normal, nodding her thanks to the maître d' and picking the menu back up again as he headed back off to his station by the door.
"Thanks fer makin' me feel at 'ome," Gene muttered, balancing his own menu on the table one-handed; Alex reached out to lay her hand over his injured one, her face softening at the defensiveness on his.
"I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome, Gene. But you need to lighten up! Why so serious tonight? You're doing everything right, if that's what you're worried about."
I'm bloody brickin' it because I'm about ter possibly do the stupidest thing in my entire life.
"I don't know what 'alf the menu is."
"Oh… you never learned French at school?"
"Trust me, Bolls, not much use fer ruddy French in Manchester. Apart from voulez-vous couchez avec moi, guaranteed ter get the girls in bed with yer. They loved a bit of sophistication."
"Trust you. Well, that one is basically steak in a wine sauce…"
It took ten minutes for Alex to translate the menu, by which time Gene was fidgeting, trying to ignore his father's voice cackling at him every time he tried and failed to decipher the names of the dishes; just when he was beginning to think this had been an awful idea and he should try to get out while he still could, the waitress arrived and he found himself ordering the steak, simply because it was the only thing he'd ever eaten before. The beam of pride on Alex's face was enough to convince him that he'd managed to make it through the ordeal, ordering herself Dover sole and ignoring Gene's look as the waitress bustled off to place their orders with the kitchen.
"What?"
"You 'ad every posh, all-frills-included, French poofter dish you could've ever wanted, an' yer went fer Dover sole?"
"Just goes to show, Gene…" Alex picked her wine glass up and took a sip, leaning forwards conspiratorially as her hand travelled up from Gene's bandaged palm to rest on his arm. "French and posh is alright sometimes, but a bit of refined English wildlife beats the socks off it most of the time."
She squeezed his arm gently, her open smile making Gene's heart rate almost treble.
Suddenly something inside him snapped. He wasn't poncing about listening to his father and stumbling over French any more, he was the Manc Lion, and he was about to claim his lioness. A well of possessiveness surged up inside him, and he found himself struggling for breath, gritting his teeth as he looked straight into Alex's eyes, hoping that she would be able to strip away the hard exterior and see the- love- within.
Alex's eyes, the moment they met his, filled with tears.
"Gene- what are you…?"
Her voice tailed away as Gene slid his hand out from under hers and descended to the floor on one fell swoop, the sophisticated murmur of the restaurant dying down to silence as diner after diner turned to see the young man kneeling on the dark red carpet and Alex pressing her hand to her mouth, a single tear dropping onto the tablecloth as Gene pulled the box from his pocket.
"Alex… yer know I'm not one fer 'earts an' flowers, never 'ave been, but it doesn't mean I don't feel that way… just because I might not say it often enough, or I might sometimes 'ave ter remind myself that it's nothin' ter be ashamed of, doesn't make me l-love yer any less. Yer amazin', yer always 'ave been, an' I know I'll never find anyone else I'll want ter share my life with as much as you… so… Alex Price, will you marry me?"
One finger, trembling so hard it slipped on its first try, slowly tipped the lid of the box up to display the ring.
Alex removed a shaking hand from her face, slowly revealing her mouth; Gene swallowed hard, praying that it wasn't twisted into a snarl of scorn, but when her pale pink lips gradually appeared they were curved into a smile so wide it seemed too big for her face.
The relief caused such a rush of blood to his head that his vision went red for a moment before her whispered reply.
"You amazing man. You stubborn, awkward, egotistic, belligerent, wonderful, amazing, brilliant man. Gene… YES!"
The last word was a delighted shriek as she flung her arms round him, the diners around them simultaneously bursting into applause and whooping as Gene's lips found Alex's and pulled her in for a kiss that, like them, was not perfect, but was filled with such happiness that it simply didn't have to be.
Their lips were still caressing each others' as Gene gently slipped the ring onto her finger, his hand holding onto hers beside their heads as though he could never bear to let go.
"Congratulations!" rang from every corner of the restaurant as one of the waiters hurried off for some champagne and Gene balanced himself back up onto the seat, Alex reluctantly perching back on her own and reaching out to re-establish contact as soon as she was balanced. Her hand firmly in his, thumb gently stroking the back of her palm, she giggled as Gene's feet found hers beneath the table, twining them round hers in a show of simple affection she would never have thought Gene Hunt capable of.
But then, she hadn't been expecting this, had she?
She lifted the ring to view it on her hand, her cheeks already sore from smiling; the design shone in the soft lighting, the flickering candle on the table giving the diamond an almost ethereal shimmer, framed by the four twinkling rubies and the intricate engraving. The band was a little big, but she didn't care; if anything, it made her adore it even more, that this ring would be altered to fit her exactly, placed utterly in her possession.
And as she shifted over to hold Gene in her arms again, moving the chair right round the table so that he could put his arm round her shoulders and trace a gentle pattern on her shoulder, she knew that she, too, would never love anyone quite as much as she loved the man beside her, the flawed, damaged, perfect man she had shared much of her life with and was determined to share the rest with too.
The waiter, clearly an expert, poured their champagne as quietly as he could to avoid breaking the moment, a grin still on his face; Alex slowly reached out to pick up one of the gently fizzing flutes, lifting it to Gene's lips and pouring a sip in as his eyes met hers, the smile in them still written loud and clear. Watching him, she found herself fascinated by his mouth, his cheeks as he rolled the liquid around his mouth, appreciating its tartness and soft, playful tang, a grin transforming his face as he swallowed and gently took the champagne flute from her fingers, pressing it to her own lips as she opened them to receive the mouthful of smooth liquid.
The moment it hit her taste buds, her eyes widened in surprise and she had to fight not to burst into giggles as Gene picked the champagne bottle up and turned it round to read the label, one finger tracing the name as Alex finally managed to swallow and laughed out loud, unable to keep her mirth inside.
"Bollinger. How utterly, utterly appropriate!"
Gene was so happy by the end of the evening, he didn't even have the heart to argue about Alex going halfsies on the bill. Nor did he argue about the Bollinger not being charged to them, simply thanking the hairy-nosed maître d' and keeping his arm firmly around Alex as he sent one of his assistants to fetch their coats.
"Erm, thanks again fer the bandage," he muttered as the assistant began rummaging through the menagerie of fur coats and designer bags for Alex's things, his injured hand shoved awkwardly in his pocket; the maître d' simply winked at him, leaning over as Alex reluctantly eased Gene's arm off her shoulders to shrug into her coat.
"She's a keeper, laddie, ye make sure te hald onto her," he murmured in a broad Geordie accent, grinning at Gene's look of surprise as the assistant returned with his beloved Crombie boat and held it out for Gene to back into. "Mind how ye go now."
Gene, utterly star-struck by the whole night, could only manage a nod and a smile back before Alex was whisking him out into the night and the whirlwind of kisses and adoration yet to come.
August 2005
"I wish they'd let me put you in your pyjamas, at least. That hospital robe looks awfully uncomfortable, all plasticky and cheap… not sure what else I expected from the NHS, really, but I'd love to dress you in something better."
Alex's ring gleamed in the dim hospital lighting as she reached up to stroke her husband's forehead above the oxygen mask, bending to press a feather-light kiss to his warm skin as Molly shifted slightly on her chair and Sam muttered something in his sleep, the hand not clutching his father's reaching out into thin air before dropping back onto the bed with a dull thud. His mother watched with tears in her eyes, refusing to believe that Gene might never see his son again, might not be there to comfort him after his first break-up or congratulate him on his GCSE results; it just couldn't be, she couldn't even consider it without her eyes welling up and her throat feeling as though it was closing in on itself.
With a heroic effort, she swallowed hard, forcing herself to carry on talking. If it would help, she would do it, no questions asked. She would do anything to help Gene.
"They made Sam- adult Sam, not our son- go home, he was practically asleep on his feet and there's not enough room for someone else to sleep in here. You're taking up all the space, you selfish bastard. You and your machines. Honestly, I've never known anything like it. Completely ignoring the kids too… and me. And me, darling. Don't forget me."
Her hand travelled down to his chest, the sprinkling of golden hair on display beyond the collar of the hospital gown; caressing his skin, she sighed, her eyes fixed on the cannula in his elbow.
"Come on, Gene. You've had your rest, now you're just being lazy. The surgeon wants you to wake up, and I want you to wake up, so you open your eyes now and I promise you can get some sleep straight afterwards, if that's what you're worried about."
Nothing. Not even a flicker.
"They've caught him, you know. Watertight case, the idiot. But then… anyone stupid enough to attack the Gene Genie wouldn't be able to comprehend how to not leave clues behind, would they? My Gene Genie, my Manc Lion. I was the one who started that, you remember? I called you that in the playground, the day before you went home from Manchester, and the name stuck forever. It's a part of you now. An intrinsic part of you."
Bolly…
"Mum?" Molly yawned, easing herself upright in her sleeping bag, perched precariously on three cushioned chairs; Alex pulled her daughter into a hug, stroking her hair, a single tear sliding down her cheek as Molly reached out to clasp her father's hand in both of hers, gently transferring it onto her lap so as not to jog the cannula. Gene breathed slowly on, still and sedate, not a flicker of movement as Molly bent to rest her head on the mattress beside him, closing her eyes so her mother couldn't see the pain in them.
"He's stable, look, Molls. Everything as it should be."
Alex gestured shakily to the machines clustered around the bed, each bleeping away reassuringly, a menagerie of neon-green graphs and digits. Molly nodded her agreement, not knowing and not caring what the machines were, simply determined to be positive for her family, to be strong, just as her father always urged her to be.
"Yeah, Mum. He's doing well, aren't you, Dad? Be up and about in no time. If he stops messing around in la-la land or wherever he is. Say hi to the Sandman for me, eh? Remember that story you used to tell me about the Sandman, when I was really little, something about him coming and sprinkling sand in my eyes so I'd have good dreams. And then you made up all his adventures too. You could've been an author if you weren't so allergic to using your brain."
Molls?
"Don't be too hard on him, he's clever enough when he wants to be," Alex said gently, lifting Gene's arm to drape it over Molly's stomach. "He used to sleep with you like this on the sofa, and I'd come in at about ten o'clock and order the pair of you up to bed. You always used to tease him about falling asleep, and he'd start swaying on the spot saying he was about to fall asleep standing up, and you'd shriek your head off telling him he had to stay awake because only horses slept standing up. Right pair, you were, always waking Sam up."
"Yeah, I remember. All my friends were so jealous my dad was a police officer when theirs were accountants or builders or postmen."
Molly yawned widely, both hands rubbing Gene's arm; Sam, on the other side of the bed, turned over and fell off his makeshift mattress onto the floor with a resounding 'oof', picking himself up and sticking his tongue out as Molly giggled.
"You shouldn't be on Dad's bed, Molly, you might be hurting him!"
"I'm not hurting him. Dad sleeps in Mum's bed with her, doesn't he? I bet he's lonely, all on his own in a bed. He probably likes having some company."
"Just make sure you don't hurt him. Yer don't want ter be 'urt any more, do yer, Dad?" Sam murmured, his accent slipping from London to Manchester as he addressed his father. Molly couldn't help a little smile, turning her head to press her lips to Gene's forearm.
Sam?
"Come on, let's all have a cuddle. Dad included," Alex said gently, shifting her chair closer and holding her arms out to her children, a tearful smile on her face. Sam carefully shifted over, perching on the very edge of the bed; Molly reached down to tuck Gene in more securely, putting one arm round Sam's shoulders and the other round her mother's waist as Alex extended one arm to her son, leaning them both down so that they were close enough to Gene to feel his warmth, his comforting presence, hear the hiss of the oxygen mask as his chest rose and fell reassuringly.
"If we close our eyes, it'll be just as though Dad was awake," Alex said softly, her chin wobbling; the two children exchanged glances, obediently closing their eyes to please their mother, the very corner of Molly's lips twitching as Sam eased slightly closer to his father and Alex began humming under her breath, a song she knew Molly would dismiss as 'ancient' but remained forever close to her heart, the perfect description of her love.
"Uptown girl, she's been livin' in her uptown world, I bet she never had a backstreet guy, I bet her mama never told her why…"
"I'm gonna try fer an uptown girl…"
For a moment Alex thought she was imagining his gruff whisper, his fingers brushing her arm, the shifting of weight on the bed; but when she opened her eyes, all she could see was the hauntingly familiar pair shining back at her from the hospital bed, the brilliant blue that had entranced her at six years old and would never again fail to do so.
"You've won her," she gasped, falling upon her husband, holding him as close as possible as Molly smashed her fist into the button for the doctor again and again, shrieking wordlessly with joy; Sam's grin seemed too big for his face, his eyes mere slits as a medical team ran in and gently disentangled husband and wife, dabbing and checking and testing as Gene held onto Alex's hand as tightly as he could, wiping away each tear as they fell onto her cheeks.
Slowly, softly, he began to sing.
"Uptown girl, she's my uptown girl…"
A/N: And that actually, really, honestly, truthfully IS the end of Youngsters! I got so many people shouting at me last time that I couldn't bear to leave it there, so I wrote this for you. This was the deleted scenes, but I re-wrote, edited and re-configured my heart out just for you lucky lot, so be grateful I didn't leave it as I did before.
I hope very much you have enjoyed it, and may I just say- the audience response to this has been brilliant! I was swept off my feet by the reviews for chapter one and have been clinging to the banisters ever since. You have been wonderful readers, and I am just glad that I could provide some meagre entertainment for you so that my sore fingers were worth it. Goodbye Youngsters, perhaps see you again for the odd one-shot? Maybe? Hmm… Jazzola :D