A/N: The last chapter is finally here! Please remember to review, and I hope you enjoyed it and the fic overall. Please, please review! Jazzola :)
"Ow bloody ow!"
"Keep still, you baby. It's just a bit of antiseptic."
"A bit o' poison, more like."
"Poison for any bacteria waiting to give you an infection," Alex swiftly counters as Gene jerks his head away from her fingers, trying to stand up and being pushed down again by her.
"Stay put or I'll tie you to the chair. And for God's sake no, that is not a promise," she adds as he opens his mouth, a little smirk making its way onto his face. "Shaz, have you got any scissors? I need to cut a bit of hair out of the way of the cut."
"No. No, no, no, Detective Inspector."
Gene knocks her hands away and gets to his feet, all but running out of the kitchenette before she can stop him. Alex allows herself a small smile, winking at Shaz as the young woman splutters with laughter.
"Ah, the vanity of the male species..."
"The way 'e reacted, you'd 'ave thought you were sayin' you were goin' to pierce 'is nipples," Shaz giggles, earning herself a burst of mirth from Alex.
"I think I'll leave the nipple piercing to the experts," she gasps, turning to put the first aid kit away and wiping a smear of blood from the table. Shaz peeks out to check where her DCI has gone, seeing the Super coming in and raising her eyebrows.
"Ma'am, the Super's out there."
"Thanks, Shaz," Alex says hurriedly, washing her hands and grabbing some hand towels on her way out, seeing Gene leaning against her desk to make sure the Super didn't notice the slight sway when he stood up.
"Sir?"
Gene turns to look at her, and she sees the darkness in his eyes. Despite the warmth in the room, she shivers slightly.
"DI Drake. I thought DCI Hunt might want to know."
The Super pauses.
"Mihai Mironescu slit his wrists on his way to prison on a piece of metal in the back of the van."
Alex has to grab Gene to stop her legs buckling beneath her. Somewhere through the haze of shock, she feels his arms winding round her, holding her up carefully.
"Is he..."
"Quite dead, I'm afraid, DI Drake. I'm sorry, I know it's not the outcome you were looking for."
"No... no, it's not," Alex replies, momentarily disorientated. Gene pulls her into a careful hug, still balancing on the desk; she rests her head on his shoulder, no longer caring about the eyes resting on them, simply searching for comfort, comfort from the man that, God save her, she loves.
In the corner of the room, one milky blue eye, filmed with death, crinkles with a smile before vanishing.
Gene bows his head, giving Alex a little squeeze, not meeting the eyes of the Super as he requests the rest of the day off for the department. The man grants it with a single nod of his head, dismissing the men and woman gathered round him with an almost careless sweep of his hand before moving forwards to force Gene's gaze onto him. The look in the stormy blue irises makes him want to break contact desperately, but being a man of authority he forces himself to keep looking.
"Gene, I think you need some time to come to terms with everything that's happened. I know you don't regard emotion as a reason for not working, but seriously, go home. Rest. Alright? Contact a counsellor if you want. It's for the best."
Gene bites his tongue to stop it lashing out a retort he'll regret, turning to Alex as she speaks suddenly, her voice loud in the deserted room, echoing back in staccato, like the rebound of a gunshot off dilapidated walls many years ago.
"Would I be allowed to go with him, sir? This case hasn't been the easiest, I think the senior members of CID all need a break, especially as we as a group were so closely involved with this whole event emotionally."
"Feel free, Drake."
The Super simply nods once more, feeling more and more like he's intruding with every passing second. The feeling grows as Gene draws out his hip flask and Alex snatches it away from him, downing the whole thing herself to stop him having it and gasping at the sting, drawing a small smile from the man next to her. He slips off silently; from the way Gene and Alex are looking at each other, he doubts they've even noticed.
"Come on," Alex says after a while, luxuriating in the feel of Gene's protective embrace around her body, giving his arm a stroke as he leans against her slightly, trying and failing to not show that he needs her hold on him as much as she needs his. He knows this will have changed both of them forever, this experience, and for now he has no clue whether it has changed them for better or for worse, but will just have to wait to find out. Alex shakes him from his thoughts again. "Who's driving?"
Her hand snakes into his pocket, and his breath catches in his throat for a second, his body naturally reacting to the feel of her skin on his- but when her fingers come out clutching his car keys he yelps, grabbing at her, wrapping her in a bear hug as she squirms to try and get away, both of them managing to laugh as they tussle over the little gleaming bundle wrapped securely in Alex's grasp.
The blue eye blinks slowly, sleepily, as though fading in death, as though it no longer belongs in this world.
As Alex turns to press her lips to Gene's, the car keys in their shared grasp, it closes, turning to join a nut brown eye a little way away, already closed, a single tear seeping from beneath the thick lashes as both leave.
A week later
"Ambidextrous."
"Writes wi' both 'ands."
"Has no dominant hand, can perform complex tasks such as writing, painting and assembling with either hand."
Gene pouts.
"So I got it right!"
"Alright."
Alex notches a point on the board next to Gene's name, sitting down on the edge of her desk and wrapping herself in Gene's coat as he drapes it over her shoulders, both of them tranquil and relaxed in the silence of early-morning CID. Recently they have got into the habit of sneaking into the room to do whatever takes their fancy in the early hours, playing games on the board, rearranging the mugs in the kitchenette for a laugh and reading through files to have a look at recent cases, occasionally leaving notes to help them along. Neither really knows why they feel so comfortable in CID, but every time they see the checkerboard floor and tacky strip lighting and smell the stale cigarette smoke and human scent their hearts lift.
"You'd think they'd leave the heating on. They know we come here."
"Do they?"
Gene perches on Shaz's desk, looking ten years younger in scruffy jeans and an ancient Manchester City jumper, his crocodile boots replaced by battered trainers. Alex holds up a note lodged in one of the recent case files, in Shaz's neat italic handwriting, a huge contrast to Gene's scrawl next to it: "Thanks, Guv, but how did you get hold of the file?"
Gene smirks at it, taking it and reading for himself as Alex puts her arms into the Crombie coat and sits down next to him, feeling his arm snake round her waist instinctively and smiling as he pulls her closer. Now I know how he managed to marry... inside, Gene Hunt is just a lonely man looking for someone he can trust. It hurts that one day she might have to leave him to go back to Molly, but for now she is content to wait. Que sera, sera.
"She only knows I got the file. Might not know we come in 'ere at three in the bastard mornin'."
Despite Gene's frequent complaints about the time, Alex knows he wouldn't stay at home and sleep at this time anymore. The couple of times they've tried to get a decent night's sleep they've been antsy within minutes of trying to settle; both have a thirst for the job they do, one that is not quelled by simply staying at home. Alex, acting as Gene's counsellor, knows it's better for him to be somewhere familiar than just sitting idly at home all the time; better he is kept occupied and happy than just gets stressed sitting at home with nothing to do.
"Maybe I'll tell her, so she can leave some stuff here for us."
"She's a smart girl, she'll figure it out," Gene says unconcernedly, prising the file from Alex's hands and slotting the note back in, deliberately putting it on Shaz's chair so she knows they've been again. Alex smirks as she imagines some of the dimmer DCs having thoughts about a ghost in CID; from what she's heard said in Luigi's about the overnight movements, she wouldn't be at all surprised.
"Yer goin' ter wipe the board off?"
"Nope. Your turn."
Gene cocks his head to one side.
"Dirge."
"A what?"
"Dirge, Bolly-Kecks. A dirge."
Alex frowns, looking round the room as though it will hold the answer in a grimy corner, seeing the smile pulling at Gene's lips.
"I honestly don't know, Gene."
"A short song, Bolly. Typical of a bard."
"That is mean, Hunt. You deliberately picked a word you knew I would have no clue about."
"Thought that was the rules o' the game?" he grins, wiping out one of Alex's points. The board pen is abruptly whipped from his hands and he feels a tickle on the back of his hand, looking down to find Alex writing something along his arm, pushing the jumper up to access more skin.
"Those are bloody 'ard ter get off, Bolly."
"I'll give them a good rub in the shower tonight, then."
"I've got somethin' else I'd rather yer were rubbin'," he says cheekily, just catching her exasperated sigh but seeing the smile creeping up on her mouth in the mingled moonlight and dimmed street lighting seeping into the room.
"There we go," she says happily, drawing back and letting Gene see what she's written.
"I found your doodle. Kitchenette?"
His eyes bulge as he remembers that particular doodle; Alex laughs, taking it out of her pocket and holding it up. Excitingly for Alex, something else on Gene's body begins to bulge too.
And then it's a blur until they are pressed against each other, closer than close, Gene's moans mingling with Alex's gasps and squeals as they rock together, flesh warm, touches electric...
As they both shriek in the dappled light, she thanks the world that she has found herself here, with Gene, and that he has let her in, that she has won his trust. His gentle arms carry her out to the Quattro and she snuggles into his body, exhausted from their activities, a smile on her face as his lips press to her forehead and she is lowered into the front passenger seat.
The two ghosts of Fenchurch East leave.
Several weeks later
"Andy Wren. Small-time drug dealer, now appears to be following Simon Neary and trying to get hold of guns. He doesn't know we have the gun dealer locked up. What I suggest is sending in an officer pretending to be the dealer, who Wren doesn't yet know, and then arresting him when the guns have changed hands. Guv?"
Gene surveys the room calmly, looking over several people before nodding to Terry.
"Yer a dead spit fer our gun dealer, DC Terence. Get yerself tooled up."
Terry heads out into the evidence room to get the clothing nicked from the drug dealer, turning back to cheekily ask DI Drake if she'll do his wire for him and all but running out of the room as Gene stands up, thunder on his face.
"The rest of yer, get armed an' in position, OK?" he growls as Terry disappears as fast as he can along the corridor. "Second 'e 'as the guns, we nick 'im."
Alex leans against her desk, watching as Gene stalks into his office, taking a long swig of whisky as he picks up his gun and loads it, spinning the barrel and holding it up to let the sleek metal catch the light, glinting palely in the cool winter sun. He catches her eye, motioning with a jerk of his head to the filing cabinet in the corner, where his doodle is stored; she winks at him, turning to pick up her coat and sashaying more than is strictly necessary, watching his face lighting up at her wordless promise.
Night has fallen as the assembled police officers wait for Wren to come and bite, Terry standing in position next to a clapped-out Volvo, leaning against a wall smoking with the guns in a box next to him, disguised as a briefcase. Gene is snoozing next to Alex in the Quattro, Chris, Shaz and Ray playing darts with a piece of Blu-Tack on the back of his seat (and Shaz beating both by a country mile, much to their annoyance) and Alex trying and failing to entertain herself by playing one-person I-Spy and reminiscing about the future.
The radio next to Gene crackles, signalling the start of the encounter; Gene wakes with a jerk, rubbing his hands over his mouth as Alex holds it up, motioning for Chris and Ray to be quiet.
"You got what I want?"
"Yeah."
"As many as I said?"
"Check for yourself."
Alex holds her breath, praying that Wren doesn't suspect anything; there is a rustle, a click, and then a small noise of appreciation, and the butterflies in her guts began to land.
"Very nice."
Gene looks out of the window, mentally yelling at Terry not to screw this up, envisaging the scene out there right now: Terry acting the part of the seedy gun dealer, Wren examining the firearms in the suitcase, perhaps noticing movement in the corner of his eye, possibly aware that something was happening around him...
A flash of thick brown hair makes Gene catch his breath.
As he looks, a woman wearing Romanian-style clothing, a simple pastel-coloured cloth handbag hanging from her slim shoulder, her nut-brown eyes flashing kindly at him, walks away.
Within seconds he is scrambling out of the car, running haphazardly towards the woman as Alex yells his name after him, the three detectives in the back staring with wide eyes and gaping mouths as their DI hurtles after their DCI.
Gene runs and runs, seemingly always one step behind the woman, pushing through a crowd and stopping just behind the woman as she stands outside a dilapidated old pub, peeling red paint and ugly dull lettering giving an illegible name. The woman turns, and her eyes meet Gene's, her broad, familiar smile warming him from the inside out.
"Goodbye, Gene Genie," she says softly, the Romanian accent lacing each syllable, gentle and happy, years of adoration and friendship in her face as she reaches out to grasp Gene's hand and press it to her heart, pulling him into a hug and then turning away, reaching towards the pub door handle.
As soon as she touches it, it becomes The Railway Arms, proudly blue, bright lighting spilling through the dusty windows; Ada smiles, her hand gently trailing out of Gene's grasp as she opens the door and steps through, smiling back at Gene as it closes behind her, sliding shut slowly and returning to the previous pub, tacky and sad.
Gene stands for a minute, staring at the door of the pub, his hand still awkwardly outstretched. A panting in his ear makes him turn slightly, and he sees his DI standing next to him, her eyes wide, clutching the police radio.
"Gene, what- you just- ran off?"
"I saw 'er," he murmurs, turning back to the pub as though Ada will step out of it at any second. "I saw 'er goin' inter the Railway Arms."
Alex looks round at the pub, to her just an old, ugly building at the end of the street, and then back at him, moving forwards to gently take his hand in hers, stroking the back with her thumb and sliding both their arms round his back so that she is holding him close.
"We got Wren just after you hared off, they're taking him back to the station," she says quietly. "They'll be wondering where we are."
She gently pulls him away from the pub, his stumbling feet reluctantly falling into line, her arm still wrapped round him. He barely speaks until they are back at the Quattro, and only then to make up a story about seeing a shoplifter and running after them but losing them. Nobody says any more, simply accepts the story, heading back to the station with Wren yelling various crude insults from the back of the police van.
Somewhere through the daze, Gene feels tranquil, almost rested; his hip flask sits untouched in his pocket, the cigarettes beside it unneeded.
Knowing that Ada is finally at peace is the best intoxicant he could ever have had.