Sorry for the huge delay in updating, and thank you for the comments I've received so far! Hope you enjoy this newest addition to the absolute angst-fest between Alex and Gene - you'll be glad to know there is a *little* bit of fluff in this chapter :)
They didn't talk about the nightmare or the subsequent tears once it was all over. For once, Alex was relieved by Gene's reluctance towards any kind of emotion, because she didn't know what she would say, if he asked.
When it came to going home, she was grateful for about the first time in her life, to Ray Carling. If he hadn't risked being torn limb from limb by telling Gene to abandon CID for the day, she would have had the embarrassment of being carried, shoeless, in front of the whole crowd at Luigi's during their usual evening drinking session.
"I can't believe I didn't think to ask you to bring my shoes – are they still just cluttering up the space under your desk?" she'd asked from the passenger seat of the Quattro.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure you're fine to balance on stiletto 'eels at the moment, Bolly," he'd remarked, his eyes firmly on the road while he ignored her question entirely. The red shoes were still tucked under the desk, exactly where they'd fallen when she'd kicked them off a few days ago. He hadn't had the heart to move them, even though each time he caught them with his foot it was another raw reminder of what was happening.
"So, now what?" she asked, looking at the rough, gravelled pavement between the open car door and the doors of the trattoria.
Gene shot her an exasperated look, standing casually in front of her. "I swear you've got the brains of Einstein and the common sense of a bloody grain weevil, Drake. We've been 'ere before, and you're tellin' me you don' know 'ow this works?" When colour rose in her cheeks, he realised just how pale and withdrawn she'd become since leaving the hospital. He softened slightly, and went on in a lower voice. "Look, just make sure I'm not 'urtin' you, and I'll carry you up the stairs, alright?"
She tensed in the seat, but nodded. She glanced into the foot well and spotted Shaz's hot water bottle. "You need to make sure Shaz gets that back," she said blankly, clutching at straws to stall for time.
"Noted." He studied her face carefully.
Alex knew her bottom lip quivered but she was powerless to stop it. She avoided Gene's eye-contact and blinked hard, willing herself not to cry again.
"Alex?"
"I'm fine," she insisted, the crack in her voice giving her away.
Gene shook his head. "If you say so, Lady B," he replied quietly. When he picked her up, it was with more care than he ever had done before. It had always been a last-minute decision, or done so much in a rush that there was no thought for anything more than practicality. "That alright?" he murmured, adjusting his hold carefully.
Her head was practically buried in the front of his coat, but with a shaky voice she still managed to speak audibly. "I'm not made of glass Gene, it's okay."
She was tense in his arms, and by the time they reached her door he wondered if she was in pain again. He gently set her down on the ground to unlock the door and things became a little clearer. With the key in one hand, she pressed her other palm to the flat surface of the door beside the lock and breathed deeply. If she had been anyone else, he would have already made some scathing remark, hurried her along. The silence in the hallway was punctuated only by their breaths: it took a few seconds for him to tune into hers, which were uneven and shuddery. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she flinched, but he didn't remove it, instead pressing on her shoulder to make his presence known.
"You're home, Alex," he said. "It's alright now, you're home."
"I… I know," she said. She couldn't put it into words, the cacophony of feelings inside her. Yes, she was home, but she was home with him, and she wasn't his responsibility (although sometimes she thought she'd like to be) and every time she opened her mouth she simultaneously wanted to tell him that he didn't have to stay and that she never wanted him to leave. She was so damn confused, and on top of it all... She mentally shook herself and unlocked the door. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Miles away."
The flat was exactly as she'd left it: there was a slight morning untidiness about the otherwise pristine environment. A book was upside-down on the coffee table, next to an empty cereal bowl and half a cup of tea (stone cold.) By the kettle lay a stack of unopened post and there was washing up was abandoned in the sink. The moment Alex stood before it all, she saw it through the eyes of a stranger and was deeply embarrassed by the mess. She went over to the coffee table at once and bent down to pick up the bowl and tea cup, keen to prove that she was not only capable but that she usually didn't live with mess. Unfortunately, she hadn't factored in the physical exertion of this small task, and cried out in pain. She froze.
In an instant, Gene took the cup and bowl from her hands. "Give me strength, woman! You tryin' to put yourself back in 'ospital?" He was in a state of disbelief but wasn't cross with her; he steered her gently to the sofa and sat her down.
"No," she replied indignantly, rubbing her stomach as the cramp subsided. They were few and far between now, but no less uncomfortable. "I'm trying to tidy up, so you don't think –"
"You really think I'm arsed that you didn't do your washin' up?" he said with an eyebrow raised. He turned to pick up the offending items himself but instead spotted her open bedroom door, and the soft-looking blanket at the end of her unmade bed.
"Well, no, but – what are you doing?"
He returned from the bedroom, armed with the blanket. "Makin' sure that you are comfortable, while I sort out the tidyin' that you're so 'ell bent on," he said, folding the blanket carefully to tuck her in. As an impulsive afterthought, he kissed the top of her head.
Alex tucked her hair behind her ear and looked down for a moment, unable to stop the small smile spreading across her lips. When she looked up again, she was met with Gene's face, which the uneducated might describe as expressionless – but she concentrated on his eyes, where as usual all his demeanour was held. He hadn't said a word on the miscarriage since they'd last discussed it, but the hurt he'd expressed that evening reflected back at her, tangled around something that if she wasn't mistaken, might just have been… affection?
"You gonna stare me down all night Bolls, or let me get on with sortin' out your kitchen?"
She cracked a smile, letting out a small laugh. "Can I have my book then, since you're determined to do everything for me?" The paperback was pressed into her hands and she opened it where she'd left off, trying not to overlook the top of it too often to gaze with incredulity at the sight of Gene Hunt doing her washing up.
Gene kept half an eye on her, the whole time. Bollocks to women being the only ones to multitask – it might take him longer but he was damned if he wouldn't keep a watchful gaze on her in between playing housekeeper, which seemed to be important to her. Woman of high standards and all that. She'd asked for that book but not turned a single page, her eyes not sliding fluidly over the page like they would normally have done but sitting statically and seeming further away by the minute. He hurried up with what few dishes there were to wash and moved onto making tea, the one small domestic task he knew he had some skill with.
Offering a steaming cup in her direction, he remarked softly, "You're not actually readin' that at all, are you?"
Alex shook her head sadly and accepted the tea, letting the book fall to the floor (an action most unlike her.) "I can't concentrate," she said. "Even though all I want is to think of anything other than..." She tailed off.
"I know," he said quietly. He sat on the floor and leaned against the sofa, much to Alex's horror.
"God, don't sit on the floor!" she exclaimed. "I'll move, you're not –"
"Give over, I'm fine here," he insisted.
She reached and put a hand on his shoulder, closing her fingers slightly and hoping that he'd take something from her touch. She didn't know what to say that would explain the feeling of her insides swirling faster than a washing machine, not with nausea but with the sheer force of her emotions. And there he was, the steady centre of it all, doing as he so often did and steadfastly making her feel safe.
"D'you want me change your bedding?" he asked out of the blue.
Alex was scandalised. "I – no! Of course not, you don't have to –"
"Will you stop bein' all prim and proper, just for a minute?" he interjected. "I know I don't 'ave to. I'm offerin' because I want to do somethin' useful. Just… forget that's it's me, forget all of this between us, whatever the 'ell it is. You've just come out of 'ospital, do you want clean sheets on or not?" He looked at her expectantly over his shoulder. "I shouldn' 'ave asked," he muttered. "Should'a just gone and done it..."
Alex's eyes watered. She sniffed hard and squeezed her eyes shut for a second, willing the tears away. "And how would you know where to find the clean ones?" she said lightly, to avoid how much it moved her that he was making such an effort to not be his usual brash, brutal self.
"By askin' a few leadin' questions and workin' out the rest," he replied without missing a beat. "I'm not DCI for nothin'."
"Hm, I'm sure locating bedsheets is high up on the job description," she teased.
That night, Alex couldn't sleep. She couldn't help but admit that being between fresh white sheets was very pleasant, and had told Gene so before she slipped away to bed, thanking him earnestly.
"Least I could do, Bolls. Sleep well."
His tone was etched in her brain. Gentle and caring, with none of the usual sharp edges. She loved it, and loved him for it – but couldn't help wondering if they would ever get back to their normal. The 'normal' they'd had before they'd spent the night together: simmering attraction and occasional bursts of sexual tension tempered by blazing disagreements, snipes and the odd insult that only served to fuel the energy between them. Would they forever be separated by the gaping chasm of the miscarriage, that Gene only knew how to cross by forcing himself into the image of the perfect partner? Alex knew she was being unfair: she was tired, hormonal and bloody confused.
Most of all though, she was crushed by the realisation she hadn't been able to voice earlier, when she'd struggled to open the front door. It held her eyes open long into the night, even though they burned with her desperation for sleep.
She rolled over and examined the pale glow of the digital clock beside the bed. Two twenty-three.
As quietly as she could, she got out of bed and wrapped herself in her dressing gown before tiptoeing across her bedroom and inching open the door. She didn't want to wake Gene in her quest for a glass of water, but her heart sank when the bedroom door creaked and immediately he forced himself half-upright, rubbing his eyes.
"Alex, is that you?" he mumbled, words slurred by sleep.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to disturb you." She looked down at the floor, frozen in place on the carpet.
He fumbled around in the dark, blinking sleep out of his eyes, and reached to turn on the lamp next to the sofa before propping himself up on one elbow. Discreetly, he rubbed his neck where it had begun to stiffen, disguising it with a stretch and a yawn. "Why're you whisperin'?" he said with mild amusement. He examined Alex more closely, clocking the redness of her eyes and the blindingly-obvious sadness on her face. He squinted at his watch. "You've not slept, 'ave you?"
She leaned on the door frame wearily. "I just keep staring at the ceiling and thinking; my brain won't stop."
"You an' your thinkin'," he commented sympathetically with a shake of his head.
Alex nodded non-committally. She knew she was being guarded with him yet couldn't stop herself: having regained her full mental capacity (albeit tinted with regret) she'd put herself firmly in protection-mode. Despite everything, she was reluctant to be vulnerable in front of him – and she recognised the ridiculousness of this thought, as she leaned on her own bedroom door frame wearing brushed cotton pyjamas and a fluffy dressing gown, with a face that no doubt looked ready to cry at the drop of a hat. Having been hurt in her past (the future?) and ending up divorced because of a man's inability to accept the emotional vulnerability of a newly-postpartum mother sounded like such a valid reason in her mind but the longer she existed in this world alongside Gene, the more she questioned herself.
"I think I just want to be close to someone… to you… for a little bit," she said quietly. "Is that okay?"
He didn't say a word, instead sitting upright and lifting one arm out to the side. He gestured for her to fill the space: when she did, she curled into it and rested her head on his chest. She was silent as he wrapped his arm around her and cloaked her in the blanket he'd been sleeping under.
Alex's throat ached with the pressure of uncried tears but she still couldn't let herself go. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together, breathing in the comfortable, familiar scent of cigarettes that would have repulsed her in 2008 but had since become her entire world.
"It's not goin' to do you any good, curled up like that," Gene murmured. "You need to go back to bed."
There he was again, looking out for her so intuitively that he was barely recognisable from the unbreakable copper who'd strode in to save her in July 1981. It elicited so many complicated feelings – and the easiest response was to shake her head. "I know I do, but..." She paused. Squeezed her eyes shut with disbelief at what she was about to suggest. "Come with me?"
How she managed to quiver like a candle flame while completely horizontal under a duvet, he'd never know. He shifted closer to her, putting an arm across her and brushing his lips against her ear.
She barely noticed he was touching her – her thoughts sped up rather than slowed down once they were in the bed together. The fear was very real, that at any moment his tenderness would disappear and he'd push her away again, put distance back between them just like he'd done after that fateful night together.
Sleep didn't even seem a remote possibility.
"Christ, Bolls, it's like tryin' to 'old an ironin' board!" he remarked flippantly of her flat stiffness on the bed. Normally she'd have come back with a sharper comment, brushed him off entirely or maybe given that gorgeous laugh of hers. Her silence shocked him.
How did he do that? Flit effortlessly between the new, tender Gene and the one she'd fallen for in the first place? She turned to face away from him and curled back up, reminiscent of a threatened hedgehog seeking safety.
It took a moment for him to realise that she was weeping, silently. "I'll go, if you want me to," he said. "Home, if that's what you really want." But she fumbled for his hand in the dark and squeezed it, which he took as a request to stay. "Alright," he said softly. "Alright, c'mere, Bollykecks." Despite telling her only a few minutes ago that curling up wasn't helpful, he curled around her, enveloping her with his warmth as she cried. He kept hold of her hand. "Just… just let it all out, Alex," he murmured. He'd been waiting for her to cry properly, ever since they'd pulled up in the Quattro. Granted, half two in the morning wasn't the prime time for it, but she'd done a bloody good job of holding herself in if she'd been trying all that time. Stroking circles on the back of one of her hands, he pushed down the ache in his own chest that came with sharing the reason for all her pent-up tears. "It's alright, love," he said, "you're home now, it'll get easier."
"I don't know… if I… if I want it to," she spluttered. She wasn't in pain any more but she half-wished that she was, to have that tangible link to what they might have had. After a few minutes, she composed herself enough to say what had been on her mind since arriving home. "The last time I was in this flat, the last time I slept in this bed," she said slowly, "I was pregnant, and I didn't even know."
The simplicity of her turmoil made Gene's breath catch in his throat. Neither of them said any more and it took a long time for them to fall asleep, wrapped around each other.
He slapped the alarm clock off the second it started to ring, and sighed deeply with relief when Alex barely stirred. He slipped out of bed and began to get ready for work as quietly as possible, grateful for past experience that made him carry a change of clothes in the car, always.
As a new copper in Manchester, his first day out of uniform had ended with an all-nighter staking out one of the nastier gangs in the city. As morning dawned, he became the butt of everyone's jokes as one by one, each detective returned to their car and emerged from the locker room shortly afterwards in a clean shirt, neatly shaven and ready to continue the case. One of many learning curves on that team under Harry Woolf, that one at least didn't lead down a rabbit hole of questionable policing.
A muffled call as he came out of the bathroom alerted him to Alex having woken up.
"Gene?!"
He rushed back into her room to find her sitting up with wide, worried eyes, breathing heavily.
"I – I thought you'd gone," she stammered. "I thought I might have dreamt it all..."
"Wasn't plannin' on wakin' you up with a shock Bolls," he replied apologetically. He pulled at his tie. "I wasn't goin' anywhere without sayin' goodbye though, don' you worry."
Alex swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up with only minimal wincing. "You don't need to say goodbye; I'm coming with you."
Gene's response was immediate. "You are not," he said firmly. "You're in no fit state, you've not been sleepin' right an'…" He dropped his gaze, unable to say the words. "It's not right," he conceded at last, "you're not goin' back in there yet with what's 'appened."
"You've got a possible serial killer, Gene, I think you need as many pairs of eyes as you can get!" Although a large part of her knew he was right, and knew she wouldn't have the physical or the emotional energy to get through the day, she would still stubbornly fight her corner.
"Don't make me pull rank, Alex. You're stayin' put; I'm not havin' you chargin' after god knows what scum o' the city when you came out of 'ospital yesterday!"
It was the closest to normal that they'd been in days, locking horns with neither prepared to back down. Although, it was new that the fight took place in the doorway of Alex's bedroom, while she tacitly ignored the shadows under her eyes and the weakness of her frame within her pyjamas. She might have been prepared to gloss over such intricacies, but Gene was not, and he would not stand down.
Alex softened, and without looking him in the eyes expressed the true reason for wanting to return to the office. "I don't want to be left alone with my thoughts all day, Gene." She folded her arms across herself and sat down on the edge of the bed.
He moved slowly towards her and sat with a respectful distance between them. He didn't look at her any more than she had him. "I know you, Bolls, and there's no way you'd sit in CID just doin' everyone's paperwork for the day. You'd want to be out there, doin' all of it – and wipin' the floor with the lot of us an' all. As your DCI, I can't let you do that."
"You're not just my DCI," she argued, throwing caution to the wind and hating herself for it – what vile things had she once said of the women in the modern-day Met who slept with their superiors?
"No," he said gruffly. Like everything where she was concerned, it was infinitely more bloody complicated than that. "But that's even more reason I'm not lettin' you back today. I'm not arguin' with you any more, Alex. I can't, don't make me."
She clasped her hands in front of her and sighed. Although it infuriated her and worried her, the thought of having to stay at home, it still gave her a warm feeling of being looked after. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. "Alright," she said, knowing when she was beaten. "Alright."
"For God's sake, why's there never a box of tapes when you want one in this place?" Ray fumed, rushing between desks to try and find a blank cassette in time for the scheduled interview with Peter Richards that morning.
"You could just not record it, Ray," Chris suggested. "Guv doesn' even think it's worth interviewin' Richards, so why're you botherin?"
Shaz shot Chris a knowing look. "DI Drake asked 'im to get it done, baby," she explained. "Even the Guv's not gonna argue wi' that, she must 'ave 'ad a reason."
"And since she's not 'ere," Ray added, "it needs an 'alf-decent tape recordin', not on one o' them crappy cheap ones."
"Carling!" the Guv called as he finally opened the door of his office with a motion that nearly swung it off its hinges. "Catch!" In one fluid movement, he stepped out of the office, tossed a blank tape in its box across CID and pulled the door closed behind him.
Ray caught the tape, luckily. "Cheers, Guv."
"Let's get this over with," Gene said. "Shaz, chase up whatever it was you wanted with the finger-marks on them girls' necks. Let's try and move this investigation along, I'm fed up of bloody dead ends!"
"Yes Guv," Shaz replied, picking up her phone as the two detectives headed down to the interview room.
"That," Gene began slowly, drawing on his last cigarette as he leaned back in his chair, "was a waste of time."
"Agreed. He were out of 'is mind, he weren't even on this planet!" Ray commented, having emptied his own packet of cigarettes about two-thirds of the way through the borderline nonsensical interview. "'e thought a lot of 'imself for, what did 'e say 'is job were at Abbey National?"
"Nothin' 'igh enough for the crap 'e were spoutin', that's for sure."
"Drake's set on 'im havin' somethin' to do with it all though, i'n't she?" Ray said thoughtfully. "Absolutely obsessed with 'im havin' done 'is wife in, but I just can't see it. Too much to lose, an' anyway, 'e didn' make sense for long enough to finish a sentence about 'er!"
Gene shook his head, frustrated that the interview Alex had been so certain would clear things up, only seemed to have muddied the water further. "Give the tape to Shaz, it needs typin' up for the file."
"You serious?" he asked incredulously. "She'll lose the will, on'y about 'alf o' that even sounds like it's in English!"
"Then so be it!" Gene snapped. "Drake wanted the recordin' and the transcript, so she'll get it."
Ray held in a smirk. Between those two headcases Tyler and Drake, the Guv was not the same as he used to be.
It felt good to sit in Luigi's again, if a little strange to sit and wait for the CID team to arrive instead of arriving with them. Alex perched at the bar feeling almost like herself again, dressed in leggings and a Breton-striped top, comforted by the oversized burgundy cardigan she'd grabbed at the last minute before coming downstairs. Her eyes lit up as she heard the doors swing open at street-level; a moment later, Shaz, Ray and Chris entered the trattoria with much the same air of bravado as any other night.
"Ma'am! What're you doin' down 'ere?" Shaz said with a smile. "I was only thinkin' I might go up and see if you fancied comin' down tonight."
"I saved you a trip then, didn't I?" Alex replied, noticing once the words had left her mouth that her voice didn't sound exactly like hers. There was something muted, quieter about it. "I think I've missed enough that it's definitely my round, isn't it?" That was distraction enough: the moment she pulled her purse from her cardigan pocket, any comments from the men at least, evaporated from their minds. She almost missed the comments that would normally have been fired her way for drinking something non-alcoholic: they were all walking on eggshells around her, intentionally or not.
She sipped at her Perrier sparkling water, then asked the question that had been burning since the three walked in minus their leader. "Where's the Guv?"
There was no doubt in Alex's mind, that Ray and Chris had been instructed to brush off this question if it came. "He 'ad somewhere to be… said 'e'd join us after..."
When the two men had taken their standard position at the usual table, Alex was left at the bar with Shaz. "So, where is he really?"
"If I knew Ma'am, I'd tell you. He didn't tell us where 'e was goin'," she said genuinely. "My best guess would be 'e's gone 'ome for a change of clothes. Wouldn't surprise me if 'e takes a while though, 'e was in a foul mood when we all left, and 'e ain't gonna want to bring that 'ome to you." She looked away and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I've said too much, but it's doin' 'is 'ead in, this one."
Alex decided there and then that she would return to CID the following morning, regardless of Gene's opinion. In 2008, Occupational Health might have forced a phased return on her if a DCI had been tricky about things… In the eighties? Well, she would just have to make it work around a DCI who was hell-bent on making it difficult for her to return to work (even if his heart was in the right place.)
It was two hours before Gene arrived at Luigi's. Having expected to head straight upstairs to check on Alex, he was astounded to see her sitting at the bar, albeit drinking some yuppie sparkling shit instead of anything proper. He hovered at the door for a moment, unseen by the team. She was putting on a good show, convincing the others that she was fine, flashing smiles and laughing in all the right places. She didn't let go of her glass the whole time though, and her shoulders were rounded under the protection of her thick cardigan. Her posture was all wrong; her eyes seemed far away.
He strode into the trattoria, straight to the bar. "Scotch, Luigi," he called before turning to Alex. "You bringin' that to the table then, Bollykecks?"
Alex took the corner seat against the wall, enjoying the sense of safety that this offered. Gene might have asked her to sit with him, but he'd barely said two words to her since. They were both reluctant to demonstrate any aspect of their burgeoning relationship in the presence of the team – in fact, Alex was beginning to think that he was with her out of duty more than anything. Suddenly, he nudged her under the table with his knee and shyly caught her eye before putting his hand on her thigh, just above her knee. Her gaze warmed at once and she wrapped her hand over his.
"You know, most blokes would completely ignore me, or else just say it straight, I don't know how to be with you in public." She didn't know how to say it without being patronising, that she deeply appreciated the fact he was trying.
"Don't you ever stop analysin'?" he asked, a fond glint in his eye. When she laughed, he was taken aback. The act she'd been putting on all night melted away: it was all her, she was all herself in every warm syllable of laughter as she tipped back her head and then looked down with mild embarrassment.
"Look, I'm going to call it a night," she said, stifling a yawn. She squeezed his hand. "I'll leave the door unlocked – don't feel that you have to come too, you stay and drink if you want."
"You sure?"
She looked at him in mild exasperation. "I really am okay, Gene," she said with a gentle smile as she rose from her seat. "I promise."
Half an hour later, Alex was curled up on her sofa with a book when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Predictably, the door opened a few seconds later.
"You okay?" he checked before anything else.
"You know, I'm really not as delicate as you seem to think," she said quietly, trying to hide how much she liked that he cared.
Gene shook his head. "Wouldn' dare suggest anythin' like that. I like my face arranged as it is, not with one o' your fine fists across it."
Alex giggled. "You make it sound like I took pleasure in punching you! It happened once, I'm not planning on a repeat performance!" He shot her a look that forced her heartbeat to accelerate wildly. "I happen to like your face rather a lot as it is, too."
Inwardly, she was nervous, but she projected the utmost confidence as she stood up and crossed the room. Facing him, she reached out and took him by the coat lapels to pull him towards her. She closed the last remaining space between them and stretched up, tilting her head back ever so slightly to touch her lips to his. For a second, he froze and she wondered if she'd done the wrong thing. Maybe they really were going nowhere. But then he seemed to relax and they could both give everything to the kiss – they were kissing the way they had when it had only been a drunken one-night thing. Gene put his hands in her hair, gently caressing the sides of her face with his thumbs. Reluctantly, they pulled apart for breath, both with thundering hearts and tingling lips.
"You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Gene murmured.
This was something so new to them: their proximity had been purely professional, necessitated by emergency, or sexually spontaneous. Neither of them was used to deliberately expressing care and affection, or how good it felt to do so.
She slipped her arms inside his coat to hug him, and rested her head on his chest for a moment, feeling his blood rush under her ear to mirror her own.
"I should probably tell you why I was late comin' to Luigi's," he said, his arms wrapped around her. He had no complaints whatsoever about her sharing every inch of his personal space, but he extricated her from his coat in order to rummage in the pockets.
"Oh yes?" Alex said. She frowned in confusion as he handed her a small, flattish satin box. She held it in her hands for a moment, stunned. "What's this? Gene?"
"Why don' you open it an' 'ave a look."
A folded note fell from the box as she opened it. The way his cheeks darkened as she picked it up made her pocket it for later. The box contained a necklace that took her breath away. A fine gold chain suspended a pendant below two elegant pearls: a loop of gold encasing a delicately-cut purple stone. Her throat ached and her eyes prickled with tears.
"That's an amethyst," she whispered. "My birthstone, my birthday's –"
"– February, I know," he replied quietly, watching her intently. They stood in silence for a few moments as she admired the gift, dumbfounded. When her eyes began to sparkle, he wondered with a start if he'd made a mistake. "Are you cryin? Is there somethin' wrong?" he asked.
Alex shook her head vehemently. She sniffed, and when she spoke she forced herself to remain level. "No! No, not at all – I'm just not used to having so much attention paid to me. And I'm certainly not accustomed to being bought beautiful things."
"Well… You should be. You're a beautiful woman, Alex."
She pressed her lips together and looked down for a moment, before lifting the necklace from its holds in the box. She held it out to him hopefully. When he fastened it around her neck, he kissed the space where the clasp met her skin. Goosebumps tingled across her skin, each one a tiny mound of electric hope.
She didn't read the note until she was getting ready for bed. She unfolded it carefully from her pocket and was amazed to see a much neater, more considered variation on the scrawl she was used to seeing.
Don't expect me to say it out loud – I'd never find the words. You brought something to my life I never thought I'd find. I didn't know I could love someone so deeply in a single moment, until I thought I could be losing you, that afternoon in the office. I never want to lose you, Alex.
With love, always, Gene.
Trembling, Alex slowly opened her bedroom door, still clutching the note. She half-expected to barge in on him getting ready for bed himself, so it was a surprise to see him sitting on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and fingers steepled in front of his face, as though he was waiting for her to come out.
"How long have you known you were in love with me?" she asked, sotto voce. "Please," she pressed. When she was met with silence, she decided to go out on a limb. "Do you remember the vault, when the lighter ran out? I thought that was it, for both of us, and… and, we hadn't worked together very long, but I remember thinking that I felt safe, there with you. In that moment, I knew that if I had to die, then I was glad to be beside you. I was so lost… and you found me." She paused, knowing she'd have to be selective about how she described the turning point. "I was almost sure, then, but I knew… the day Caroline Price was killed." She swallowed hard, a bitter feeling in her throat from holding back the urge to say my mum.
Gene furrowed his eyebrows. "What?" he said, tilting his head as he tried to join the dots.
Alex stayed where she was and leaned on the door frame. "The way you didn't even think, you just ran, and you were there for that little girl." There were so many complicated feelings tied up in that moment, that even she could not unpick. "That's when I knew there was so much more to you than what first meets the eye."
"What're you tryin' to say?" he said with deep mock-offence.
Alex smiled. "I'm trying to say, that you're a lot more than the 'punch first, ask questions later' that I first thought you were. I'm trying to say that I love you too."
"You don't 'alf beat around the bush when you're tired, Bolly," Gene replied affectionately. He pushed a hand through his hair. "It's not easy for me to say – it's all blurred together. First time you answered back. First time you proved me wrong." He looked at her with one eyebrow raised.
She was taken aback. Even though she'd asked, wanting a proper answer, she had still half-expected him to balk at her line of questioning and say something smutty that didn't really mean anything.
"And," he went on, averting his eyes, "the first time I thought I'd 'ave to go back to bein' without you."
Alex frowned in confusion. She rubbed her tired eyes and swore under her breath when she remembered she'd put make-up on to go down to Luigi's earlier. She was floored by Gene's sudden explosion of vulnerability.
"Carryin' you out o' that fridge unit where Chas Cale's missus 'ad you drugged and tied up," he explained. It still sent ice through his veins to think of it, that he should have taken an opportunity to kiss her in Luigi's because God, the first time his lips touched hers it was hell to know hers were cold and lifeless, receiving air from his lungs. And it killed him to know that the only time she'd been conscious of his hands on her chest, he'd been acting like a condescending bastard in the evidence room, grabbing her by the breast just to get a rise out of her. "I thought you was already gone, an' I'd never got round to sayin' I thought you was more than just a posh mouthy tart."
"Why didn't you ever tell me, afterwards?" Alex whispered, crossing the room slowly and standing in front of him.
Gene shrugged. "Didn't know 'ow," he said simply.
She held out both hands for him to take and gently pulled him to standing. "Don't sleep on the sofa tonight," she said.