I don't own Ashes to Ashes
This was something of a spontaneous plot movement... so I hope its ok!
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It was wrong; she knew it perfectly well, and there was no denying it at all, but the fact that it was wrong seemed to do nothing to dissuade her from the simple fact that it felt right.
She was all too aware of the fact he was older, frailer, less alive and wholly weaker than she could ever have imagined him, and that if he really was Gene, then it wasn't that Gene... because Gene didn't sit around in hospitals for years, waiting for a woman to wake up on the off chance that maybe – just maybe – she would give him the opportunity to love her; that wasn't who Gene was, that wasn't why he made her blood run hot with anger and lust, and hatred and love...
But it didn't stop her, because, somehow, it didn't seem to matter; she was inexplicably drawn to him, and though she was unsure sometimes whether she could truly tell the difference between this Gene and her Gene, she found that she didn't care – couldn't bring herself to care – because this Gene was real.
Old enough to be her father though he was, every time she saw his cragged face, her heart leapt – her heart leapt, and although she couldn't tell him, or show him, or express any of the true sentiment that lay behind her careful walls and barriers, she felt a desperate, inexorable need to be near him; so she kept coming despite herself.
She knew it was selfish.
The first time she'd come back, her heart had dragged in her chest and felt like a solid block of lead; she'd almost turned around, almost kicked the habit before it had even begun, almost ducked her head out of sight and watched him leave for good- and then he'd seen her. The look on his face had been one of confusion and hurt, but under it there was a sense of relief, as though some large question of life had been answered with untimely clarity.
"You're back," he'd said, voice hoarse, almost nervous, before he ran his hand through his thinning grey-blonde hair and gulped hesitantly. She'd simply nodded, biting her lip to fight against the tears that had threatened to spill from her eyes, before glancing hopelessly towards the door.
"How is she?" She asked vaguely, nodding towards the room Gene had just left, for no other reason than to quell the awkward silence that had settled over them.
Gene shrugged, nodding non-committally as he pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his well-worn overcoat. "Well, she ain't exactly jiggin' 'er socks off in there, Molly, I'll be honest." His tone wasn't angry, or bitter- he was almost attempting to be light-hearted, though the effort didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Of course," she whispered, turning her head away and nodding. "Would- would you like to get a coffee?"
If Gene looked surprised, it was nothing compared to the confusion that took hold of Alex as the words slipped from her lips. She almost took them back, fumbling with alternatives as she attempted to cover up her tracks and wave it off, but then, after only a moment of pained confusion, Gene nodded, glancing back towards the other Alex's room briefly as he did so.
"Sure," he murmured, gulping visibly, and Alex had to stop herself from blinking in surprise. "Though I apologise in advance for the dreary company – was a time I'd 'ave livened it up with a dash of the old liquor, but since not drinkin' an' drivin's suddenly more important than a condom dispenser in a brothel, I guess the coffee will just 'ave to do." He'd rolled his eyes, and motioned for her to lead the way, and that was that; she'd led him to the canteen, and they'd sat down together at a corner table with two steaming cups of coffee, and a large number of sugar sachets to settle Gene's unnaturally keen sweet tooth.
She had been more than a little surprised when the conversation had flowed easily. If she was honest with herself, she'd been expecting him to take on the uncomfortable persona he had often adopted whenever he was well out of his depth and searching for a handhold to gain control, but there'd been no sign of any such discomfort; he'd complained bitterly about laws and legislations that had been enforced in areas where he and Alex – her mother, for the intents and purposes of their conversation – had once revelled in their freedom, he'd snorted at the ridiculous price of the coffee, and he'd made several mocking turns of phrase at her profession.
If it hadn't been for the shadows under his eyes, the lines that were etched into his face and the laughter that failed to cause his eyes to twinkle, she would have said he was just the same – just her Gene...
But he wasn't; the knowledge hurt, and she'd been preparing to distance herself from him, to stop putting him through whatever confusion he was evidently experiencing, to simply walk out of his life as quickly as she had seemed to come into it and leave him be – she could have done it, she thought, she could have left and moved on with her life, even though it would have physically pained her to do so... But as she'd made to leave, he'd stood from the table, his expression pained and desperate as he had caught her wrist in his frail hand.
"I'll tell you about 'er sometime," he murmured, meeting her eyes. "Yer Mam... I'll tell you about 'er, if yer like?"
She'd wanted to say no; it would do him no good, would only cause him pain if she sat there taunting him any more than she already had... but she'd seen the need in his eyes, and against her better judgement, she'd felt herself caving; she knew that look - it was the look that said inexplicably how desperately he needed to talk to someone, how implicit the desire to share his unforgiving burden was... It was a look she'd never seen in his eyes, and a there was a horribly large part of her that was desperate to see this foreign side of his personality; so she'd said yes, and she'd taken his phone number down, despite every shred of common sense which screamed at her to turn away from it.
Three weeks later, and there she was, sat in 'Allie's Cafe' with Gene seated directly opposite her.
----
It was the fifth time she'd visited him, and though every time she insisted she could stop, she had not yet managed to draw herself away. The feelings of friendship that had always been present burned afresh, and if Gene had any objections to her company, he had so far failed to voice them. If anything, he seemed relieved to talk to someone, the words tumbling awkwardly but freely from his mouth, as though they had forever been bottled up, and only now had someone popped the cork. The first time she had agreed to meet up with him, she'd barely spoken at all, listening intently as Gene spoke warmly, painfully, achingly...
If she'd doubted it at all beforehand, by the end of that visit, she was absolutely convinced of his genuine feelings for her; the knowledge caused her physical pain, and she'd had to excuse herself to the bathroom for ten minutes before feeling able to face him again.
He spoke both bitterly and beautifully, spinning the lines of a heartbroken man in amongst the achingly familiar jests and similes, sparing himself no blame whatsoever. When he spoke, it was with guilt-riddled longing and heart-breaking honesty, and though she knew he attempted to disguise his feelings as nothing more than friendship, Alex knew better; anybody would have done. He spoke with a romanticism that was untraditional of his character, and yet perfectly plausible all at once.
He mentioned her dress-sense, her taste in wine and her habit of folding the napkin neatly into triangles after she'd eaten; Alex could only gape as she realized how very well he knew her, and how oblivious she had always remained to it. Occasionally, he'd grin at her, point out an odd habit that he recognised and tease her warmly as she flushed in embarrassment.
And yet, she realized, despite all of the differences she could note, he was still as hopelessly infuriating as ever; on the one occasion they were not alone in the Cafe, but were in fact joined by - in Alex's opinion - a delightfully charming gay couple, Gene made a point of dropping several profanities and insults into the conversation, and despite the fact that Alex was eating chocolate fudge cake at the time, she didn't believe for one moment that the fudge-packing comment was intended for her ears. Comfortingly familiar as the characteristic itself was, she hadn't been able to resist scolding him, and had felt completely out of sorts when his face creased into a look of confused recognition, as it so often did, before slipping back into a look of nonchalance.
Now, she sat opposite him once again, smiling thankfully at the stout man who brought over their drinks, and blinking in surprise when Gene addressed him familiarly. "Cheers Al," he muttered absently, taking his hip-flask from within his jacket and splashing a considerable amount into his cup. The upshot, he had explained on her first visit, of having a cafe beneath the place he lived, was that he could spruce up his drinks as much as he liked without worry for the consequences.
"He's Allie?" Alex asked, glancing at the large man as he pottered back behind the counter, her voice soft so that he wouldn't hear her. "I thought Allie was a woman?"
Gene smirked, in the same infuriating manner that he always did when he felt he had outsmarted someone. "He's got some French name – Allycan, or Allie-mare or somethin'..."
"Alistair?" Alex supplied, grinning herself.
He shrugged. "Dunno... to be perfectly honest I haven't bothered to get up close an' personal with the bloke, so 'is first name holds about as much interest to me as a carrot stick to a cannibal." He took a sip of his coffee, allowing silence to descend for a few moments.
"So, is he French?" Alex asked, glancing at the man and wondering how she could possibly have missed a French accent in the middle of London; she was almost relieved when Gene shook his head, chuckling lightly as he did so.
"Nah, English, born an' bred – says 'is old man named 'im after some bloke 'e met on holiday once..." he rolled his eyes, taking a large sip of coffee. "Poof in disguise if you ask me, Bols, but-"
"Mols," Alex corrected him, her voice soft, averting her eyes as she swallowed hard. She could feel his immediate embarrassment, his sudden realization that she wasn't the same person, his eyes boring into her head... She expected him to suddenly stand up and excuse himself, as had become habit whenever he strayed too far into the familiarity that had once existed between he and her 'mother'... She was more than a little surprised when, instead of leaving, he leaned forwards, his wrinkled hands wrapped around his cup as he spoke, voice soft.
"Why don't you ask about her?" He asked, and his voice was more angered than she could recall him ever having been since meeting him in the present day; her eyes flew round to meet his without a seconds hesitation, and she gulped immediately, unable to find a suitable answer and hoping he would allow the question to slide; when a few moments later his eyes remained just as intense upon her own, she looked away.
"She's yer mother," Gene murmured softly, his eyes narrowing. "Yer don't talk about 'er, yer don't ask me anythin', you 'aven't been to see 'er..." he trailed off, a shadow passing over his face, just as Alex felt a familiar, ice-cold knife plunge into her chest at his words, feeling them strike an all-too recognized chord, despite being differently phrased and posed. She swallowed hard, shaking her head and searching for a plausible explanation.
"I don't- I don't want to upset you... I mean- she obviously meant a lot to you, and- and I'm not sure I'm the person you should talk to about it... It must be confusing for you- I mean, it's obviously confusing..." she bit her lip, meeting his eyes and seeing them narrow slightly in accusation.
"You think I'm cracked?" He asked bluntly.
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I just think that I'm- I'm similar to her in many ways, and it must be... odd."
Gene fiddled awkwardly with the spoon in front of him, his gaze hard as he waited a few moments. When he spoke, his voice was dry. "You're like her," he admitted, nodding slowly, more to himself than to her. "But- but you're not her. An' I know that..."
"Do you?" Alex whispered, her voice almost desperate as she looked at him imploringly, willing him to look back at her.
When he did, he froze, hazel eyes meeting blue for several seconds, both pairs filling with recognition and hurt that was both terrifying and wonderful to the other.... It seemed to take Gene a few moments to answer, his mouth opening and closing several times before he turned his head away and nodded. "Yes," he muttered abruptly. "You ain't her." He clenched his fingers reflexively, as though desperate for a cigarette, before glancing back at her with one furtive look.
"You aren't her," he repeated softly, and for a moment, Alex didn't know whether it was for his benefit or hers; a moment later it didn't matter, since he'd stood up and downed his coffee in one. A plunging, sickening grief swept through her, and Alex had to bite back tears as she nodded, simply for the sake of having a purpose.
"You know the problem with you psychologists?" Gene murmured, picking up his coat and tucking it over his arm gingerly, as though the action pained him. Alex looked at him in confusion, and he half-smiled as he replied. "You can analyse everythin' till the cows come home, but you won't listen to anyone's advice but yer own..." he trailed off, and then sighed to himself, almost sadly, Alex thought. "She's yer mother, Molly; you're allowed to miss 'er."
"Like you do?" Alex asked, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop them. Gene looked at her with sad eyes, and she wondered if he was about to leave, to tell her she shouldn't visit him again...
"Yeah," he answered eventually, not tearing his eyes away from her as he gave a small, jerking nod of the head. "Like I do."
"I'm- I'm sure that she misses you, too," Alex answered, her voice gentle, soft and hesitant, lips stretching into a sad smile. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she moved her hand to cover his as it rested gingerly on the tablecloth; he withdrew it sharply, pushing both hands immediately into his pocket as though he were burned. Alex thought briefly that she felt her heart splinter, and the tears slid slowly free, tracking down her face unchecked; Gene's eyes were pained as they met her own, and she saw him swallow hard, as though to rid himself of an acrid, bitter taste.
"Maybe," Gene murmured in response to her previous statement, nodding non-committally. "But I doubt it..."
"Don't," Alex said instantly, her voice soft and imploring as she stood up. "She thought a great deal of you... more than you know..."
He met her eyes, his gaze searching and confused; she lost herself in the blue depths, hoping against hope that he could recognise her, that he'd finally believe her... His mouth was opening, he was about to speak, he was looking at her like he finally understood, and-
"Alex!" Evan's voice broke through the haze and her head shot round to see him walking into the cafe, his grey coat billowing slightly behind him as he approached the pair of them, relief evident on his face. "Thank goodness we've found you! I was worried about you, you shouldn't-!" He broke off, looking at Gene with confusion, but Gene's gaze was briefly directed elsewhere, at the twelve year old girl walking two steps behind her Godfather – the twelve year old girl who, two seconds later, skipped towards Alex to throw her arms around her back – before he glanced back at Alex.
"Mum!" Molly proclaimed, smiling up at her. "Evan's taking us out for dinner!"
Alex barely noted the words at all, looking across at Gene, who was staring dumbfounded at her, with anger and confusion in his eyes. "Your names Alex?" He asked, gulping hard. "You said your name was-?"
"I know," Alex whispered, shaking her head and blinking back tears without giving Molly a reply. "I know; I know you can't possibly understand why I did it, but-!"
"Hunt?" Evan asked, interrupting with confusion in his voice. "It- it is DCI Hunt, isn't it?" He stepped forward with a hand outstretched, a hand that Gene briefly eyed with suspicion and disdain before glancing back at Alex, his blue eyes pleading for answers. She didn't have time to speak before Evan was talking again, and Gene visibly rippled with anger as he turned his head back towards the other man. "It's Evan White," he smiled, stretching out a hand. "Good to-"
"I know who you are," Gene growled angrily, barely glancing at him before looking back at Alex. "I'm just not bloody listenin'!"
Evan withdrew his hand, looking bemused for a total of two seconds, before motioning for Molly to come to him. "Come on Scrap," he said, glancing from Gene to Alex with a frown. "Let's leave your Mum alone for a moment." Looking back to Alex as Molly walked over to him, Evan added, "we'll be in the car – we're parked on the corner."
She vaguely registered the comment and nodded in acknowledgement, before meeting Gene's eyes again, her lip trembling as she tried and failed to find the words to explain herself. There was burning accusation and confusion in Gene's gaze, and the only thought in her mind was that perhaps he might forgive her - if he understood why she'd done it, maybe he'd believe her, and maybe he'd realize that she wasn't just some crazy woman from the hospital... His next words cast her wishes aside like dust in a tornado.
"Y'know love," he said coolly, "I don't take kindly to bein' lied to." His voice was level, angry and yet calm all at once, and Alex felt the tears brimming as she shook her head helplessly. "An' when you pretend to be related to a friend of mine, I tend to behave a little irrationally... so you better start explainin' yerself, 'cause from where I'm sittin' you must be warped in the head to make up somethin' like that." His eyes were narrow, bitter and angry, and she recognised the same look that he had given her when he thought her corrupt, all those twenty-six years ago now, though to her it was nothing but a few weeks.
Alex gulped hard, swiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands before stepping closer, hand outstretched to touch his sleeve; he jerked away from her, and the sob she had been holding back arose unchecked, tears streaming freely down her face as she shook her head hopelessly from side to side.
"I'm not warped," she whispered, jaw trembling. "I'm not- I didn't want to hurt you... I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't want to- I wanted to tell you! You couldn't- you can't possibly understand, Gene! I tried- I tried so hard! I told you! I told you, and I know you couldn't believe me- why would you believe me? It's insane, Gene, but I'm not mad! I promise you, I'm not-"
"What the bloody hell are you rabbitting on about woman?" Gene's voice was terse and frustrated, but she didn't miss the undercurrent of concern at her presumed ramblings, or the slightly gentler touch than was strictly necessary as he pushed her down into the chair she had recently vacated. He settled tenuously on the chair opposite, and although he didn't move forward to comfort her, she was relieved to note that he didn't push his chair away. He sat with his arms crossed, the lines of his face creased in an intense frown as he watched her from across the table. Alex sniffed, once again swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before biting her lip.
"It's me, Gene," she whispered helplessly, her hand edging hesitantly across the table until it rested as near to him as possible. "It's me- it's Alex- your Alex... I'm your Bolly..." Her fingers clenched against the table cloth, her eyes imploring, fixed upon Gene's as she bit back violent sobs. His gaze never left hers, but the look in his eyes was thunderous, even if his voice was level.
"You know, you seem to have me down as some naive little schoolboy who'll believe any yarn you spin my way," his tone was slow and deliberate, as if he were assessing her reaction; she could only stare hopelessly at him as he went on. "Well I'm tellin' you now, I didn't get to DCI by listenin' to tarts with their knicker elastic so far up their arse it's cutting off oxygen to their brain; so I suggest you drop this quicker than a hot-baked turd an' tell me the truth!" His eyes flashed slightly, and Alex shook her head helplessly, covering her mouth and crying against her will.
"Gene, please... please... I know you can't possibly comprehend it, but I told you the truth, I told you everything, I promise I-"
"Leave," Gene said softly, his eyes darkening as he spoke. Alex froze, staring at him and sobbing continuously.
"No, no- no, Gene, please! Please, you have to believe me! You-!"
"If you were Alex," Gene growled, his eyes narrowed once more. "If you were my Alex, you'd prove it. And you can't; she's in a hospital bed with tubes in 'er arms and grey in her hair – you're sat 'ere spouting more shit than a regurgitating toilet, lookin' barely a day past thirty!"
"I can prove it, Gene!" She implored, keeping her eyes locked with his. "Ask me anything, Gene; please! Anything..." She trailed off at the look of utter disdain in his eyes, and once again her hand scrabbled at the tablecloth, her eyes pleading and desperate. "Please?" She repeated softly.
"No," Gene said bluntly, grabbing his coat and getting quickly- if with a little difficulty- to his feet. He was almost out of the door which led up to the flat when Alex spoke, her voice cracking and etched with pain, but sincere and honest.
"You listened to my tape," she told him softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "And you- you thought I was corrupt... You thought I didn't trust you, Gene, but I did! I told you the truth! I promise that I told you the truth!"
Gene had frozen in the doorway, his shoulders rigid, but his face was turned away, and it was impossible for Alex to tell if he was angry or in shock. She stood up slowly as she carried on, her voice only for him; the waiter had found somewhere else to be, and Alex was more than grateful.
"You told me I was cold; you said that I never tried to contact my daughter, and that I never phoned her... and I punched you- just like I punched you after you didn't believe a prostitute for claiming rape. You took my warrant card, and you told me to stay away... And I didn't listen; you shot a bent copper, and you held him as he died – just like you held Mac, and like you held Sally... And when Jenette ran out and grabbed me, you shot me by accident..." Her voice cracked with pain as she found herself repeating the words, tears stinging her eyes like acid. "You shot me, Gene... It was me... please..."
At some point in her speech, he'd turned around, and his eyes were fixed upon hers with a combination of bewilderment, pain and anger. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were unbelieving, and her heart splintered into several million pieces.
"Gene, please... I need you to-"
"Evan White," Gene growled suddenly, eyes narrow. "How do you know 'im?"
She stared, wondering briefly if he was, in his roundabout way, admitting that he believed her, before she answered him honestly, her voice soft. "He's my godfather," she answered. "Before I got married, I was Alex Price- I was the little girl who-" She didn't get to finish, since Gene had already turned on his heel, leaving the room without a word and hurrying up the stairs to the flat. Alex watched sorrowfully for a moment as he moved gingerly up the stairs, before following him as speedily as she could, drawing level with him on the landing and stepping in front of the all-too-familiar door.
"Move!" He growled, clenching his fist briefly, before reaching for a cigarette and lighting up without regard for the 'No Smoking' sign behind his head. "Whoever you are," he hissed, "move!"
"I know it's impossible, Gene!" She whispered. "It's mad, but – but it's true! I told you it before, Gene, remember? I told you in your office! I was telling the truth Gene, you know I was! Deep down, you know I wouldn't lie, you know I-!"
"I don't know you from Adam," Gene growled, pushing her angrily against the door. "You fanny about pretendin' to be my DI's daughter, an' now I find out you think you're actually her?" He pushed her harder, hands gripping her shoulder as he spoke, the cigarette smoking away on its own in his fingers, spittle flecking her face as his anger seemed to drip from each word. "You've got more sides than a dice, love; but you better pick a face an' stick with it, sharpish, else you'll get banged up with the men in the white coats quicker than you can say 'cuckoo'!"
Alex's hand reached out, grasping a fistful of his shirt in desperation as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "It's me!" She whispered, hand tightening on the fabric. "It's Bolly... you know it is!" Her other hand reached to touch his cheek, the palm caressing the roughly stubbled skin tenderly; his own hand came out of nowhere, closing around her wrist and jerking it away from his face as though branded with a hot iron.
"Y'know," he said softly, his voice cold, stubbing out his cigarette on the door frame with his other hand, avoiding her eyes. "I've dealt with weirdo's, and psychos, and freaks for all my life, but you just topped 'em all." He pushed her hand away, and then moved to her other wrist, tugging at it in an attempt to wrestle her hand from his shirt; she held tighter, pulling herself against him in a painfully desperate, uncharacteristic movement.
"Believe me!" She pleaded, her other hand trembling as she reached up and grasped his shoulder. "I need you to believe me, Gene; I need you to understand – I thought I'd made you up! I thought it was just a dream, and it wasn't! I would never have lied to you, you know that! Never, Gene; please believe me!"
"Why should I?" He asked softly, grabbing both wrists and holding them firmly together, close enough to his chest that Alex could feel his thundering heartbeat. "Tell me that, Alex; why? The Alex I knows been in a coma for twenty-six years!"
"Because- because you know she's not mad... you know that; I'm not mad..." she twisted her hands slightly, trying to link her fingers through his, but his grip was surprisingly firm, holding her wrists in place and stopping her from moving as he pressed her against the wall, body angled away from hers, though he applied enough strength with his hands to hold her firmly in place. For a few moments, there was nothing but the sound of her tears, the pounding of his heart, and the look of hurt and betrayal that burned violently in his eyes.
"You know, you might look like her," he said eventually, his voice soft as he stepped slightly closer, his eyes dark as they met hers. "You might talk like her; you might even act like her sometimes – but you're not her. Y'know how I know that?" He pressed slightly closer, swallowing hard as his hands tightened on her wrists briefly, before suddenly and unexpectedly twining their fingers together, squeezing almost painfully against her hand as he went on. "I've held her hand every day," he growled, pulling his right hand free to turn her left one over with a jerk. "Every day for twenty-six years... I know every single grubby little scar in her skin," he continued in a soft growl, his long fingers tracing her palm both roughly and tenderly at once. They tracked the slight ridge in her skin where a door had scratched her in her youth, opening a thin slice across her hand; she briefly saw recognition flare in his wide eyes, felt his heart rate quicken as he held her hand to his chest... Then he'd passed over it, almost desperately, scouring her hand like a man possessed; he pushed firmly against the tiny freckle between her wedding finger and the little one; he practically scratched the barely visible white burn on the flat of her palm, all the while his eyes almost fearful, erratic, panicked...
And then he stopped. The tip of his index finger traced the very base of her palm almost reverently and Alex watched his face for any sign of recognition; a hint of a smile, a light in his eyes, a quirk of the lips followed by some smutty comment... There was nothing.
His eyes met hers again, and he tugged her hand slightly harder against his chest, twisting it for her to see and pointing with his other hand. "That's how," he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly around her wrist. Alex blinked, glancing at her hand in confusion. She'd cut herself only a few weeks after arriving in 1981, having broken a glass up in her flat – if she recalled correctly, she'd loosed a torrent of swearwords that even Gene had been impressed by as the whiskey had stung in the fresh cut. It had never healed properly, leaving a slight white line slightly to the left of the base of her palm... She stared dumbly for a few seconds, her face crumpling with confusion as her eyes scanned the unblemished skin repeatedly; it should have been there.
"No," Alex whispered, shaking her head and lifting her other hand to touch her palm. "No, no, it should be there- it should be there!" She frantically grasped Gene's shirt to stop from falling, her head spinning. It didn't make sense; the scar on her stomach still existed – the nurse had seen it, too. Helpless, she jerked her hand from Gene's, scrabbling at her loose t-shirt in panic and yanking it upwards without thought, ignoring the look on Gene's face which was flabbergasted and embarrassed in equal measure.
"Bloody hell, woman!" He snapped, pulling back and glancing away. "What the-?"
"Look!" Alex whispered desperately, her voice pleading and cracked as one hand held the shirt up, and the other darted out to grab his hand, tugging it against her stomach and pressing his index finger to the ridged skin. His eyes widened at her obvious intention, but they froze as his gaze was drawn to the flat of her stomach, to the small wound that was, to her utter relief, still etched into her skin.
"I- it's-" he gulped, his hand trembling as he pressed at the scar firmly with chilled fingertips, as though to ascertain whether it were real or not. He met her eyes carefully, edging slightly closer before pulling her hand back to his chest, pressing a finger to the blank expanse of skin with scrutiny in his eyes. "The cut that should be here," he murmured, "how did it happen?" His question was quiet, and he lifted his eyes slowly to meet her own. "If you're Alex, then you can tell me... right?"
Alex nodded, closing her hand around his as her jaw trembled. "I was drunk; we were- we were in the flat, and-"
"Show me where," Gene said, voice low. His hand slid into his pocket, drawing out a small key, which he slid into the lock of the door behind Alex's back.
Without saying anything else, he pushed down on the handle and opened the door, turning her gently around and pushing her into the familiar flat; heart hammering in her chest, knees wobbling beneath her and breath coming short to her lungs, Alex entered.
----
Forget my predictions about how long this stories going to be – this chapter totally went off on a tangent, and now I don't know whether it will be less or more than I predicted. Don't get me wrong – I know how it's going to end and how it's going to happen... I just didn't mean to convolute so much, but I'm almost glad that I did.
I hope it's alright for you though – this was a difficult one to write, as I was trying to get the balance right between Alex's insistence and Gene's denial; I hope I paced his gradual opening up to the idea ok though... Let me know!
Many thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing- I'm glad you're still enjoying it.
Mage of the Heart