Not So Far Gone
He'd let her go.
He'd finally had her, right there, begging to stay... and he'd let her walk away, into The Pub.
"Idiot," He hissed to nobody – himself – gulping down a mouthful of malt, straight from the bottle.
His voice echoed from his office and straight through, into the darkened CID. There was nobody left. The A Team was no more; Ray, Chris, Shaz... and Bols. Bolly. Bolly Kecks. Alex.
They were all gone.
It was her face that kept coming to mind, staring at him everytime he blinked, even for the briefest of seconds. She just wouldn't leave him alone.
All alone, there's no one here, oh diddums.
Keats. He just couldn't help it, could he? Devious bastard. Gene wished he'd sent the weasel into oblivion while he'd had the chance. No one would miss the git, and Gene Hunt would be more than willing to do the honours of disposing of the slimy parasite.
I can stay here with you. You can't do this on your own. You need me, Gene. Please!
"Too bloody right," The words tumbled out in a drunken haze that was slowly becoming darker and darker as her voice floated back and forth in his mind.
He still couldn't quite grasp the fact that she wouldn't be sat at her desk tomorrow morning.
He looked up towards her spot and grunted at the sight of her white leather jacket, shining somewhat in the dark, on the back of her seat. Then he wryly smiled in its direction.
Standing, he slowly walked over to the DI's desk and took the jacket in hand. Sitting back in his own office chair, he rested his feet on his desk and in a move that would shock anyone that knew him; he brought the coat to his nose.
"You are going to give that back, aren't you?"
He didn't look up. He didn't dare.
The voice was shaky and shy and teasing all at once, but in the silky, spicy scented daze, all he cared about was that it was there, that he could hear it, that she was within reach and he didn't mind that this could be his cruel mind playing drunken – or not - tricks on him because for one last moment he had her.
"It looks better on you," He still didn't look, nor did he blink, scared that if he did that she'd disappear.
Her shadow grew bigger and bigger as it approached, closer and closer and when it rounded his desk, Gene took in a deep breath, put the jacket to one side on his desk and reached for his Malt bottle.
"Gonna share?"
He scoffed, but nevertheless lent the bottle in her direction, her hand brushing his as she took it, a ghost of a touch but still, there. He felt it. Surely, he wouldn't if she wasn't real.
It was with that that he finally dared to look up.
The desk light shone behind her, circling her in a glow. Typical.
"The Pub not your style, Drakey?"
"Not really..." She shook her head definitively, "There was something just not quite right about it."
"That so? Nelson's bar skills can't've slipped that much..."
"His skills were just fine," Alex smiled, "It was the company that was lacking."
They looked at each other for a moment; raw honesty reeked from each of them, no holds barred.
"You shouldn't have come back, Alex. It's not the way it works."
"Since when did I ever do as you say, Gene?"
"It's the rules; you're a stickler for those."
"Rules are meant to be broken."
"Well, I never..."
They both laughed the banter easy between them.
"You need me, Gene," She said firmly, reiterating her earlier plea.
"Too bloody right."
She passed the bottle back to him, to which he placed it on the table. He didn't need it anymore.
He stood and loomed over her, her legs stretched out between his.
Alex's hands came to rest on his lapels, smoothing them down and then gripping on to them. Her head rolled back on her shoulders and she looked at him, her eyes warm and real, latching on to his, lonely and needy.
"And I need you, Gene."
"Is that so?" Something flickered in him and he found his hands resting on the edge of the table beneath her, his nose not a centimetre from hers. All drunkenness aside, this was the most sober he'd felt in probably twenty years.
"You're never gonna get rid of me," She teased, vamp-ish and enticing, smiling all the same.
"Is that a promise, Bolly?" It was gruff when he said it but the underlying want and insecurity was obvious to her and, to his despair, him.
"Absolutely."
Their lips neared, tentative and timid, treading the temperamental waters.
"Oh, come on," Alex huffed and tugged irritably on his jacket, forcing him to crash against her, fast and fiery and he couldn't get enough of her.
They kissed and touched and writhed against each others as best they could, pulling and holding onto everything they could, certain that they'd never let go; that they'd never want to.
Alex gasped as his hand groped at her regrettably clothed breast and Gene growled as her hand danced over the tent in his increasingly uncomfortable trousers, and their names bounced off the walls as they fell from each others lips.
"Not here," Alex finally managed.
"What?" Disgruntled, Gene pulled back, and then dived back, her neck exposed for the taking.
Alex's hands were on his chest again, and he frowned when they pushed him away rather than pulled him to her.
"Let's go home."
"Home?" He frowned inquisitively, vaguely recognising that she meant the flat. Home.
"Home."
A.N. So this is something of a prequel to the other little mini-fic I did for Ashes to Ashes which you can find at my profile. I've just been watching the show on constant over and over again recently and I just can't get these two out of my head.
Thoughts on this are appreciated.
Happy Reading,
Jessica.