Alex didn't sleep for long. Her body, still stuck in overdose hell, wouldn't let her rest without drenching her in sweat. She glanced at the clock, realising that barely an hour had passed. Gene was sleeping like the dead, but despite his comforting presence her brief slumber hadn't been free of nightmares. The images were fading with the dawn but she could still feel the intensity. Helplessness. Trapped in nothingness, wanting to move, to scream.

She had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Seeing that damned file had knocked the fight out of her. History seemed to be repeating itself. Martin Summers, Jim Keats … both men had tried their damnedest to isolate her from her colleagues … from Gene. Alex was certain that someone here was playing the same games, manipulating her.

Instinctively, she moved closer to the warm body sharing the bed. The movement disturbed him and Gene opened his eyes.

"What's the matter with you?" he mumbled.

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

"You're lying to me again Bolls."

She sighed.

"I was just… just wondering where that file came from."

"The plonk. O'Neill."

"Detective Constable O'Neill," Alex corrected. "No, I meant who gave it to her?"

"Dunno… do we have to talk about this now?"

"No, no… sorry."

Alex tried to concentrate on the steady beat of his heart, willing it to lull her back to sleep.

"Funny though," he said after a moment.

"What is?"

"It turned up when it did. I searched for months and never found a bloody thing."

"And on the same day that someone tried to kill me."

For some reason he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was an absent gesture, almost as if it were something he'd done a hundred times before. He started to stroke her hair.

"That an' all," he said. "Someone's got it in for you Bolly."

"I survived so they try something else? Why not just put a bullet in my head? It doesn't make sense. None of it does. Why bring me back?" she demanded, her voice rising. "God why am I here, Gene?"

"You're here because I need you to be. End of."

She looked at him. Sleepy, blonde hair messed over his forehead, handsome in a way that Alex didn't want to admit. This was his world. She knew that, so there was a distinct possibility that he was right.

"Maybe that's it," she said.

"What?"

"They're using me to get to you. I'm a distraction. You're so busy looking after me that…"

"No."

"No?"

"You are not using me as an excuse to bugger off again."

"I wasn't thinking…"

"Yes you were."

The bed shifted as he clambered out of it.

"Then what are we supposed to do Gene?"

He paused at the bedroom door, looking back at her.

"We find another way."

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

Marie knew that something was wrong as soon as Gene Hunt burst through the doors. Alone. He was alone again. She felt her guts twist with guilt. Without meaning to, she found herself going through the routine of making his tea; two teabags, five sugars, Manchester City mug. She carried it through.

"Mr. Rogers … the hotel man … we had to let him go," she said as she placed the mug on the desk.

Hunt raised his head and Marie was suddenly struck by how blue his eyes were. She hadn't noticed before. Why was that?

"Why?" he asked.

"Not enough evidence. No evidence actually…"

He nodded. She had expected anger, frustration, violence. His calm acceptance frightened her.

"Where's Alex?" she ventured.

"Buggared off. You might want to tell your little friend."

"What?"

He dragged his hand across his eyes.

"Don't play games with me, sweetheart. I don't know where you got that file and I don't give a shit why you did it. The fact is you betrayed me and you betrayed my team."

"I didn't, I…"

Hunt slammed his whiskey glass down on his desk with enough force to scatter crystals of glass in all directions. The liquid pooled on the desk.

"You got what you wanted, O'Neill. I hope you're fucking happy about it."

Marie had just about had enough of this shit. Why was it her fault? She had tried to do the right thing but that meant nothing to her boss. But she couldn't … she wouldn't weep in front of the bastard.

"Is that all, sir?" she said.

"Piss off then. Go and have a cry in the bogs and when you're done you can clear your desk."

She hated to prove Hunt right but Marie walked straight from his office to the ladies toilets but even there, in privacy, she couldn't make herself give in to tears. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She considered going to see the Super, well within her rights to make an official complaint. But everyone knew that Fisherman was a daft old bugger with a tea fixation and little appreciation of what actually happened in his station. Her word against Hunt's? She would get no sympathy there. It was still a male dominated world.

Then something flashed through her mind.

A picture.

She was driving along a road, other cars speeding past as she struggled to stay within the seventy limit. Ahead of her was a city she only barely recognised, dominated by a shard of glass that spun itself into the sky. Her breath hissed in her throat as a lorry got a little bit too close…

Marie doused her face with cold water. She didn't need this. Not now.

Straightening, she wiped the traces of mascara and eye liner from her eyes. There was a phone number on her desk; the one Michaels had given her with the file. It was time to give James Keats a call.

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

"Another way. Easier said than done, Gene."

Alex let herself into the hotel room, noting as she did so that someone had repaired the door. The place was even more depressing than she remembered. Just being here made her feel dirty. She sat down on the bed, wondering if she dare lie down. There was no telling how long she might have to wait. Alex wrapped her coat a little more tightly about her body, attempting to ward off the damp chill that was seeping into her bones. It had another purpose, of course. The thick black wool also served to hide the wire she was wearing and disguise the bulge of the weapon holstered at the small of her back.

Gene hadn't wanted this. It had taken Alex the most of the night and three bacon sandwiches to convince him that he needed to let her go. She couldn't blame him really. The last time he had left her alone someone had tried to kill her. Except they hadn't. And that was the key. They didn't want her dead and she had to hope that whoever found her here still felt the same way.

An hour passed, then another. Her head was starting to hurt again so Alex lay down on her side, her face turned towards the door. She didn't say anything, even though the temptation was strong. Gene might not have been able to reply but it would have been good to speak a few words. Just in case. The bed was bare; nothing more than a mattress stained with God only knew what. Instinctively, Alex's hand slipped beneath it, working its way into a hole in the material. Her fingers made contact with a small plastic bag. She pulled it free. It was the one place that Gene had never thought to look.

How much would it take to send her home she wondered? Alex liked to think that the question was hypothetical, but it wasn't. The nearest she had been was when the overdose had flowed through her veins. She had been so close… so close.

The door opened.

"I've been expecting you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her head hurt so much.

He sat down beside her.

"Alex," he said.

Hot fingers rested on her cheek.

"Look at me, Alex."

She did as he requested. She couldn't help herself. At his touch her will crumbled, faded away. He filled her awareness. There was nothing else.

"I was right, wasn't I? You've seen her."

"Molly," Alex whispered.

"You didn't die, Alex."

"I know ..."

"He lied to you."

"No …"

"He's been here too long. We both know that."

"He loves me," she said, even though Gene could hear every word. He'd hate her for saying it; deny the words with his dying breath.

"Surely you can't be that naïve? The love of Gene Hunt's life? I don't think so. There have been others, Alex, so many others."

His voice was hypnotic as he stroked her cheek. So much so that Alex almost believed him. Almost.

"I'm going to help you, Alex."

Jim Keats kissed her just once, softly, on the mouth. And then she believed him.