A/N: Some of the dialogue in this chapter is from Series 2, Episode 5, so all credit to Julie Rutterford. The rest of it comes from my crazy mind.

Chapter 4

Here she was, and it felt at once wonderful and normal, overwhelming and surreal. Surreal that after so much time spent fighting against the tide and what surely should have been impossible after the injury she had incurred.

She was finally where she had longed to be.

The room was light – the whiteness comforting rather than stark. She could smell the sweet, honey-like scent of the yellow tulips that sat on the cabinet. Molly sat at her bedside, talking to her, reading to her, smiling constantly. The weakness was still in her body and had a hold on her but she could feel it relaxing its grip the more lucid she became, ebbing away to be replaced by gradually-building strength. She could move her hand, flexing her fingers and shifting them along the sheets to meet Molly's hand, which remained a constant.

Molly stopped reading halfway through a sentence and placed the book down next to the tulips, leaning down to where her mother lay. Her head rested against Alex's shoulder and perhaps the doctors would have warned her not to take so much pressure, not so soon, but she would have dismissed them absolutely. She wanted to put her arm around her daughter, itched to do so, but she didn't need it to hold her in place.

"Were you scared, Mum?" Molly murmured, her body twisted a little awkwardly in the chair. She would have been better off lying next to her on the bed.

She curved her lips. "No. I was only ever scared that I might not get back to you, but I knew I'd never let that happen, so being scared just faded away. Like the breeze."

There was no window to the outside in the room, but she could feel a light breeze brush against her, raising goosepimples on her arms.

"You know that I'd never leave you, don't you?"

She felt her daughter's head turn, nuzzle against her, as though she was the one assuaging the fear.

After a few moments silence, Molly answered.

"I know. I was a bit scared though."

"And that's okay."

The doctors and nurses hadn't told her how long it had been, since she had been shot and now. They wanted to tiptoe around her, ease her back into the world gently. It felt like it was still summer, as grey as the London definition of the season was.

She could sense that it hadn't quite disappeared for her daughter, the feelings of apprehension and suspension and the threat of loss, always looming and waiting in the corner of the room.

"Trust me, Molls. You trust me, don't you?"

She nodded her head and Alex could feel it against her skin and her bones. She would cast the promise deep; it was the very least that could be done when her precious girl had spent too long in the wilderness.

"It's you and me, and that's how it's always going to be. Always."

She bent her head as much as she could, fighting against the sting that pulsed at the back of her neck to plant the lightest of kisses on the top of her daughter's crown.

"Just you and me."

"And Evan, too," Molly murmured.

"And Evan too." She hadn't seen him since she had woken up, which was strange. Surely, he must have been there.

"This is going to sound wrong."

"What? You can tell me anything."

She wished she could have told anything to her mum, but that wasn't how things were. She was gone forever before she was old enough to realise how important it was.

"Well, when I was little...I wanted you to get married to Evan."

Alex laughed, wrinkling her nose slightly. "That does sound wrong." It was a hazy memory, one she could have sworn that she had dreamed instead, but it became clearer to her now. Molly being about five or six and taking to calling Evan 'Dad' for a few months, though he always swiftly corrected her.

She could feel her daughter's frown. "Now it would be weird. Really weird."

"I agree."

She didn't give her a hug, but instead swiped her smaller hand against her cheek.

"You and me," Molly repeated, a wide smile overtaking her face.

The nurse came into the room, intruding upon the reverie with an apology written upon her face.

"Visiting time's over now."

Molly huffed, her face falling in disappointment with a hidden shock of fear. "Can't I have five more minutes?"

"Your mum needs to rest, Molly."

"It's alright, Molls," Alex reassured her daughter, feeling now that the tangibility of touch would have made a difference, "I'm not going anywhere, am I? I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." She leant down, pressing a warm kiss against Alex's cheek before she was led out.

The room felt like it was another place when her daughter left; dark and narrow, the walls shifting and drawing closer, boxing her in.

"Do you want anything?" the nurse asked her, her voice echoing.

"Just the television," she answered. "I should probably know more about what's happening outside."

The woman looked a little reluctant, but switched the screen on, leaving the news channel playing with the volume too low for her to hear, the visuals having to be enough.

It had been barely a minute when the picture began to flicker, changing to static and high-pitched noise that almost made her ears bleed. Then there were images of the city, Piccadilly Circus and traffic, then Gene's face filling the screen.

"Alex...Bolly...Bolly!"

"I can hear you," she answered to the screen and the empty room, thinking that she must have been going crazy, "Gene...why are you here?"

He looked less than impressed, lowering his head to stare straight towards her.

"I need yer, Bolly. Need you back 'ere, with me."

"No...I'm sorry, Gene, but I can't. You know I can't."

"You stupid tart! Never do as yer bloody told."

Well, being insulted wasn't going to help.

His expression shifted, the hardness that was in his eyes melting away.

"Come on, Alex. You can bring 'er with you. I told yer that I'd take care of you both."

Her eyes began to fill. "It's impossible. We're here...and you're there. Worlds apart. You must understand."

He backed away so that she could see all of his imposing figure, clad in his overcoat.

"You tell me then, what the soddin' hell am I s'posed to do?"

"I don't know..."

His stare was steel once more, unforgiving.

"I'm fightin' 'ere, Bolly. They're gunna pull the plug, and everything will 'ave been for nothin'. I need you. Need you to help..."

Before she could respond the screen went back to its fuzzy static and its screaming sounds, blurring his image before there was enough time to commit it to her memory.

"Gene," she heard herself crying out, "Gene...please...stay."

Things really were getting strange now. Perhaps it was the final flourish, she considered. Summers hadn't even had anything to do with it, and she had been expecting him to pop up from somewhere throughout the whole investigation, pulling the strings and showing her how her two worlds were closer than she thought possible.

God, what had she ever seen in Pete? That was a weird question to consider when she had been confronted with him as a fourteen year-old, she'd admit. He hadn't had much common sense even then, so at least she was assured in where most of the fault lay, but it didn't make her feel much better about herself. She was just as stupid and naive to have been taken in by his charm and the way he could talk himself out of any trouble. Still, that must have been a skill he acquired further down the line, given how hopeless he had been with Gaynor and the whole situation.

To hear his younger self utter their daughter's name had jolted herself out of her body, convinced for a moment that was going to be it. If he was at the hospital then she couldn't be held responsible for her actions, and was quite certain she'd make miraculous steps in recovering, doing what she could to punch his lights out.

"A cat! A bloody cat, of all things!" She grasped hold of the glass, the force with which she did so almost causing its contents to spill across the table-top. "And what is really tragic is that he showed that cat a damn sight more affection than his own flesh and blood. I should have known..."

She could see Gene from the corner of her eye, contemplating his pint glass, ignoring the others as they let off steam.

Alex knocked back the remainder of her wine almost in one go, wanting to erase not just the last few days but years' worth of regret and painful memories.

"Well, I'm not having it," she announced, near hiccoughing, "she's named after my great-grandmother. A suffragette. That means something. Not a bloody cat."

" 'ave you took a knock to the 'ead or somethin'? Because I 'aven't got the faintest bloody clue as to what you're on about. Although, sayin' that, it's probably the most normal thing that's happenin' around 'ere at the moment."

She turned her gaze towards him fully, seeing those brilliant blue eyes all at once blazing and worringly distant.

"Have you ever had a cat, Guv?"

He frowned at her, the look on his face close to sending her into a fit of giggles.

"No," was his simple response. He leaned back in his chair and reached for his glass, disappointment striking him when he saw that it held nothing other than froth sticking to the sides.

"You should get one," she said, a bit too loudly, "it'd be funny, seeing as you're the Manc Lion and all. It'd be like your little mascot."

"Not really into moggies," he muttered, casting his gaze to the side, "other than for catchin' mice and givin' somethin' to kick round the house when City lose, I can't see the point in 'em."

She scoffed. "No. No, maybe you're not the type after all."

No matter how hard she tried and how much wine she threw down her throat she couldn't get rid of the image of Pete, his hair too greasy with product and stinking of aftershave, cradling the little kitten in his arms.

"Look after Molly. That's really important."

Of course he thought she was referring to the defenceless animal, giving her a faint and confused smile before she left his bedroom. If she really couldn't make it back then he would need to step up, more than he ever had before. She couldn't leave Molly as she herself had been, without a mother and a father.

"But, if you ever did, then I wouldn't be offended if you called it Bollykecks or Lady Bols. In fact, I'd be quite honoured, really."

She smiled at him, being completely serious in what she said. It'd be nice for a piece of her to be left behind, a legacy of sorts.

"Look, if you're gunna act like the Queen of Loopyland for the rest of the night then I might as well get me coat now."

She shook her head, reaching for his empty glass.

"No. Stay." Her other hand placed itself on his arm briefly, keeping him in place as his eyes looked into hers. She needed him to stay exactly where he was, to keep her sanity from disappearing completely. "I'll get the next round in."

He raised his eyebrows whilst keeping his expression otherwise unchanged. "Now yer talkin'."

She headed to the bar, ordering the same again. Before she was even aware another member of the team had sidled up, pulling the wallet free from his back pocket.

"Luigi, put that on my tab." He turned to address her. "I owe you one anyway."

She studied Ray closely, slightly bemused by the unexpected display of generosity. "What for?"

"For not sayin' anythin' to the Guv about me goin' AWOL."

He shuffled on his feet, itching the side of his nose. She had the fairly certain idea this hadn't happened many times before.

"Alright. I accept." She paused for a moment, uncertain of whether she should say anything further. It would feel like a betrayal of trust to admit anything, and that was the last thing they needed with everything as it was at the moment. But then again she wasn't going to be here much longer, and she couldn't bear for Gene to be further deserted. "On one condition."

"What?" She could see his suspicions arising.

"Stay."

He looked away from her, and she knew that she didn't have to say anything further. It felt like an itch, scratching away at her.

"I saw you filling in the form." The guilt on his face made him resemble a schoolboy who'd been caught kicking a football clean through a window, but at least he wasn't scarpering in the face of confrontation. "You posted it?"

"Not yet. I need a referee."

She didn't expect him to produce the very form in front of her eyes, but also wasn't entirely surprised that he'd been carrying it around with him like a constant burden.

"Will I do?"

He looked at her again, caught off-guard somewhat but also seeming resigned. "I guess so."

She slid the piece of paper along the bar, being careful not to mark it, feeling Ray's eyes keen upon her. Once it was in her hands, her movements were far more swift as she ripped it into eighths.

"There," she announced, passing the scraps back into his hands, "now you have to stay."

He didn't appear crestfallen by her actions; she thought she even spotted relief lying in his gaze.

"Haven't got much bloody choice, 'ave I?" He pretended to be put out for a bit longer and then his expression moved into something that could have been classified as a smile. "You're not such a bad copper, you know."

A feather could have knocked her from where she was standing. "Thanks, Ray."

"For a bird," he added, just so that she was sure. Still, it was high praise coming from him, and she could feel herself glowing as he left, heading back to the table seating Chris, Shaz and Viv.

She looked up to the entrance of the trattoria, exhaling a long breath when moments passed and nobody appeared.

Gene's approving glance towards her was the thanks she received, along with his gasp of delight as he took the first sip from his fresh pint.

"George Staines. The collar that could have saved us all," she said after she had resumed her seat, "your name really would have been legend."

"Don't rub it in, Bols," he groused, taking a larger gulp from the glass.

"There's still time."

He lowered the pint, looked at her with a searching gaze. If he was trying to ascertain whether she thought he really was fitting of the title then he didn't need to stare so hard.

"What, and break his mum's heart? It's not 'er fault she loves him. Or that she popped out an Arthur and ended up with a Martha."

Alex shook her head. "And that's not his fault, either. But neither is it an excuse."

"I could 'ave retired on it," he mused, visions of glory fading fast in front of his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh that reverberated to her soul. "But there's plenty more scumbags to be collared. I've got a fair few years left yet, Bols. Poor Elsie hasn't."

She smiled. It wasn't too difficult to locate Gene's soft spot, not if you knew where to look for it.

"What did you tell her?"

He took another swig, wiping his mouth once he'd put the glass down on the table, near to being finished already. "Gaynor Mason's been arrested for the robbery."

"Of course you did. Which is why George Staines never gets sent down." Bingo. After the whole Pete fiasco, now she felt much better about herself. "Damn you, Gene Hunt."

He pouted towards her as his gaze lifted back upwards. "Why? What 'ave I done now?"

He really couldn't see it, which meant she had little choice other than to point out the obvious.

"Because despite all the macho put-downs, the insults, the pathetic side-swipes...underneath it all, you're a good, kind, decent man."

Her voice had started to crack, and she took a sip of wine so that he might not notice, although she expected it was probably too late given the way he was looking at her.

"Keep your voice down, somebody might 'ear."

She smiled and then looked over to the other tables that seated their colleagues, her eyes drawn to one amongst the party in particular before they directed themselves back to Gene again.

"And it's precisely because of those qualities that I think you should take Ray out."

He looked as aghast as he would have done if she had asked him to escort Elsie on a date.

"I didn't know bein' good an' kind an' decent equated to bein' a poof. Otherwise I'm gunna be nothin' other than a hard bastard from here on out."

"You must have noticed," she continued, "your head's not that far up your arse."

"Oh, charmin'. You give with one 'and, and then smack me round the gob with the other."

As the others laughed and shouted Ray sat there with his pint, smiling weakly and not contributing.

"He feels left out, Gene." She hadn't thought she would have to spell it out. "Chris has Shaz, we have each other."

"Yeah, well it's not down to me that 'e can't get a bird. Said it before, Bolly, you've either got it or you 'aven't. Raymondo just 'appens to fall into the latter category."

"It's more than that," she continued, not wanting to bring up what had been within a hair's breadth of happening. "He's losing his sense of purpose. He's seen one of his heroes fall from grace with an almighty thud. He needs support from his other. His number one, his ultimate."

A little massaging of his ego wouldn't hurt.

"We all need to know that we're doing a good job from time to time, to hear it direct." She smiled as she could see the argument sinking in. "I think it'd be a tonic for him, and for you too. I can tell you, there's nothing 'poofy' in a boys' night out, not where I'm from."

She leant over the table, 'accidentally' loosening a couple of buttons on her blouse.

"I'll buy you another very large drink," she added, and along with her flash of cleavage it was enough to sweeten the deal.

"Alright then, if it'll stop you from mitherin'," he finally acquiesced. "You'll just 'ave to promise not to be bothered when you find out there's strippers involved. I mean, if you really want to be assured that we're not a load of shirt-lifters after all."

She feigned annoyance, not for long before a smirk lifted her lips.

"Oh that's not a problem," she retorted, "so long as you keep to the rules. You can look..."

She got to her feet, moving nearer to him and giving him the tantalising opportunity to reach out and slip his hand into where her blouse gaped, backing away on her heels the second he was about to take advantage.

"...but you can't touch."

He was like a coiled spring all morning, coming out of his office for all of two minutes at regular intervals and then disappearing back inside for far longer. It struck her that he was getting himself more worked up than if he was going to ask her to accompany him for an impromptu 'inventory' of the stationery cupboard, and she bit back the smile that threatened to show too obviously on her lips.

Just before lunch and like a whirlwind he emerged, striding over to Ray's desk and uttering a few words, short and to the point. Pub crawl. Men only. Like the old days, before they had to deal with all the Southern nancies. DS Carling was left near speechless but signalled his approval with a nod of his head and a 'cheers, Guv.' With a nod and a grunt of his own Gene clapped a swift hand against Ray's shoulder and headed back to the safety of his den, avoiding the eyes of everyone else in CID.

"Very sweet," she ventured as he passed her desk, a twinkle sparking in her eyes evidence of the smile she was keeping otherwise hidden.

His voice emerged in a gruff whisper, his breath hot on the back of her neck. "One more word, Bolly, and you'll be hangin' from the telephone pole by yer knicker elastic."

She wanted to ask if that was a promise, but thought she had better leave it.

Luigi's was quiet that night, with Viv heading home early and the other natives not keen to stick around without their Guv in attendance. Alex and Shaz propped up the bar, making their way through some of the more exotic drinks on the menu, giggling and chatting about work and what Gene would no doubt call 'girly nonsense'.

"What d'you think they're up to now?" Shaz asked, swirling her fluorescent straw with its miniature paper umbrella and scrap of bright pink tinsel attached around her glass.

Alex half-waved a hand in dismissal, her vision starting to go hazy at the edges. "We shouldn't be talking about them, or even thinking about them. I bet they're not thinking about us. Probably too busy watching some scantily-clad," – she waggled her fingers in the air – " 'exotic dancer' wave her nipple tassels in concentric circles."

Shaz giggled hysterically at the image that had been conjured, resting both arms on the bar to stop herself from toppling off her stool.

"You know, I don't think Chris is that bothered. I told him that he could have a stripper at his stag do, but he said he didn't want one." A sentimental smile washed over the younger woman's face. "He said that he'd rather wait for our wedding night instead. Isn't that sweet?"

"Hmmm," Alex muttered, "as long as he doesn't pick anything strange or perversely kinky for you to wear."

Shaz pondered for a moment before shrugging. "Oh, I don't reckon I'd mind whatever it was. My sister's husband had a thing for nuns, so she got an outfit and said I could borrow it if I wanted."

The pair of them shared a look and then laughed so loudly that they just about startled a poor defenceless passing Luigi, who hastily scurried off to the back of the kitchens within a second.

"He's always been really shy though," Shaz went on once calm had been restored again, "but that's what makes him special. It took him three months to say more than a few words to me, and six months to ask me out to the pictures."

"Really?" Alex asked. "I'm surprised that nobody else came along to sweep you off your feet in the meantime."

"Well, it's not exactly like being spoilt for choice, is it, Ma'am? I thought it was really cute. Shows that he really respects me." She pulled a sudden face, as though experiencing a sharp aftertaste from the cocktails they had been sampling. "Not like Ray, who was commenting on my 'puppies' within the first five minutes of meeting me."

"Ah, yes. Poor DS Carling, his techniques leave a lot to be desired. Still, they say that there's someone for everyone...I just can't help feeling a little bit sorry for the woman in question."

They sat in contemplative silence for a few moments, Alex staring down into her glass until she felt a gentle push against her arm. She looked back up to find Shaz with a coy smile upon her face.

"And d'you think the Guv is your someone?" The smile grew wider before fizzling out when Alex took a while to respond. "Sorry, Ma'am, I don't mean to pry or anything..."

"No, no, you're not," Alex offered her reassurance, unable to stop her own smile from appearing as she thought about Gene – not that he hadn't been too far from her mind all evening. "I...well, there's a lot to think about." That was something of an understatement. "We do get on very well, when we're putting our differences of opinion to the wayside."

"I think that's underplaying it, Ma'am," Shaz smirked, her eyes lighting with her own opinions on the matter, ones which she could barely keep concealed. "You're so good together. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that."

Alex felt herself heating up underneath her younger colleague's intent scrutiny, her hand tangled into her hair. She knew that sooner rather than later – much sooner than she had really bargained on – she would have to break things off with Gene, despite her own wishes. You can't live in both forever. When it came down to it it would be a private affair; she couldn't think of many worse things than humiliating him in front of the whole team, even if he would end up goading her into the biggest slanging match they'd ever had so that he could save some face.

"It's not like it is with you and Chris," she stuttered out, realising she had been silent for too long, "I have baggage."

"So does the Guv." What was she thinking – that really was a terrible excuse. She turned to Shaz's face, seeing that it was soft and empathetic. "Look, maybe I shouldn't be saying this...it's a good job he's not around to hear me."

Against her better instincts Alex leaned in on her chair, feeling a bit like she was back at high school.

"Chris told me that the Guv was different in Manchester. I don't know how exactly, I suppose just the way he was; livelier, not as grumpy."

"I don't know if I believe that," Alex commented, offering a small smile.

"Chris reckons that when Sam Tyler died, everything changed. Something happened to the Guv, like a light went out or something. They were more like brothers in the end, Chris said, not that the Guv would ever admit it."

Sam Tyler. The revelation was hardly an earth-shattering one, but it still hit her with unexpected force. He'd been brought within inches of despair before, not even that long ago, and she was going to inflict it upon him once more. What would he do this time – relocate the team hundreds of miles away again? Perhaps he wouldn't make them all face it and instead would remove himself. She knew that isolation would be no good for him; he thrived when he was at the head of a team, leading the charge. He was there when he was needed, but in particular he needed to be needed.

Shaz's smile deepened once more, radiating from her dark pupils. "Since you've been together the old Guv has started to come back, or so Chris thinks. I mean, people change, it'll never be exactly as it was before. But you've done something to him, Ma'am. Something really good. And I know that sometimes it takes other people to notice, so I thought I'd let you know. In case you were having doubts or something."

There was an ache in her cheeks rather than just the heavy, unpleasant one sitting in the centre of her chest, her eyes shimmering as she let Shaz's confession sink in.

She'd never really considered it up until now, but perhaps he needed her just as much as she needed him.

The night wore on, and poor Luigi needed his sleep before another day dawned. Alex called a taxi for Shaz and saw her safely to it, thanking her for an evening well-spent, and then headed to the flat, looking forward to an earlier night than she'd usually get but mourning the absence of Gene. She didn't want to think about the state he'd be in by now, though she couldn't begrudge him – not when it had been her idea in the first place, and not after all he had to deal with in the past couple of months.

She turned the light on, squinting slightly at its unexpected brightness. Sinking onto the sofa, she pulled off her boots, audibly sighing relief at the freeing feeling of being rid of them after so many hours. She closed her eyes, breathing in the peaceful silence; she couldn't remember the last minute in the day that had been completely quiet.

The shrill ringing of the bright red telephone swiftly shattered that hush.

She didn't speak on picking up the receiver, and was met with a slow but incessant tick tock tick tock sound, sickeningly familiar to her ears.

Getting the point, she was about to slam the phone back down when the voice on the other end finally made itself known.

"Time's ticking on, Alex. I've heard a bit of bad news, I'm afraid; that you've taken a turn for the worse. You can't delay things much longer, assuming that you've made your choice."

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes against the sound that felt as though it was burrowing its way into her brain.

"I have." Molly's beaming smile and open arms were vivid in her mind, and she enlarged them to the point where they might have the chance of blotting out the vision of Gene, looking lost and though he was beyond all hope.

"Very good," Summers responded, "now you know what will come next. Or perhaps not, but I can fill you in on everything soon enough. Tomorrow, in fact. Let's meet somewhere neutral. The White Knight, Old Compton Street, 7.30."

The symbolism wasn't quite lost on her but the only thing she could think of was Gene. Everything he had suffered, all of the disappointments and the good faith he had placed in others destroyed.

"I know you could be my only chance of getting back," she answered, her voice low and steady, "and you know how much I miss my daughter, I would do anything to see her again. But what you want me to do, what you want me to be is corrupt and dishonest. I'm sorry, but I simply can't."

She knew that she would have to leave, to be another in a long line of crushing blows to Gene. At least if she did so on her own terms she could help to soften it and not sour his final memories of her to the point of no redemption. She would hate for him to not only forget her but to purposely erase her from his history, whatever the full extent of it was.

"And so the answer is thanks, but no thanks. I don't know how, but I'll find my own way back."

The line went quiet aside from Summers' low breathing. Once again she moved to hang up, stopped seconds too soon in her tracks.

"I had a feeling you were going to say something like that," he replied. "Hmm. Oh well, if I can't change your mind, maybe Operation Rose will."

It looked nothing like Luigi's in here and tonight she was grateful for it. The dark amber light and wood panelling that started more than halfway down the walls, the worn velvet seating that she was perched on, made the place ageless, timeless. If she could immerse herself a little deeper she could have no trouble believing it was 2008 and the clothes she was wearing could be explained as fancy dress, one unbelievably long night nearing daybreak at a snail's pace.

But she didn't have a habit of frequenting slightly murky-looking pubs in 2008, not even more sophisticated wine bars in particular, and she couldn't see further past the nearest thought at the forefront of her mind. So she drank. One glass, then another, then another until she was half-convinced that the bottle was bottomless.

Men were men in every dimension of time, especially men who were nothing more than strangers.

"Are you alone?"

It took her a few seconds to look up at the intruder, a pint held in his hand, his hair scruffy but in a way that was supposed to be trendy. He didn't look much like he belonged in the '80s, either.

"I'm waiting for someone," she lied, the tactic one she employed instinctively. She hadn't forgotten that much from all her years of socialising only when she forced herself to so as to not become a complete hermit.

He remained unmoving, perhaps even came fractionally closer to the edge of the table. "Can I wait with you?"

His shadow was outdone and he moved to the side, making way for Gene as he strode up out of the darkness. With the light thrown upon his face she noticed that the bloke chancing his arm in a horribly creepy fashion couldn't have been more than twenty five.

"No, you can't," Gene barked, leaving the stranger with no uncertainty, " 'op it, sunshine."

Without so much as a glance back Mr Scruffy Hair was absorbed by the void, and Alex let out a huff that she didn't think was audible. Gene took the stool opposite her, a softer light edging his frame. He must have a sixth sense. Not that she believed in the spiritual or supernatural but she couldn't come up with any other way of explaining it. Always there, sensing whenever she was in danger. She tried not to dwell on what it meant that he was never around when Summers was in the vicinity.

"What d'you expect?" she heard him say through the fuzziness blocking her ears. Was he seriously laying the blame upon her? "You look out of place, Bols."

She expected him to finish his statement with some colourful or perhaps even complimenting metaphor but she was left wanting.

"I fancied a change of scenery."

"Didn't tell me about it."

God, she was not in the mood for this kind of back-and-forth, catering to his whims and patching up his bruised pride.

"You don't own me, Guv."

His lips twitched at her deliberate choice of address. Maybe this was good; the distance would help.

He ignored his extra sense, leaning both arms on the table and drawing closer, his eyes examining her. She wanted to disregard him, request to be left in the morose peace she had forged before he barged in, but the thudding of her heart brought on by his proximity and his concern for her could not be so readily pushed to the side.

"I'm not complainin'. You an' all your frilly poshness in a common-as-muck boozer? It's...what do they call it."

She looked up into his eyes, familiar warmth spreading through her chest and heading further south.

"A contradiction-in-terms?"

He gave the smallest shake of his head. "Was thinkin' more of a dream come true."

She smiled, despite herself, feeling her cheeks flush and tearing herself away from his gaze for some moments of respite. They gave her cause to sober, in the figurative sense at least, and it was a long while before he broke the silence.

"Don't give me the unenviable task of try'na psycho-analyse you, Bolly." She glanced up again, impressed at his turn of phrase. "We both know I'd only balls it up. Not that it wouldn't give you a good chuckle at my expense. Lookin' at yer, I think that might be exactly what you need. That, or somethin' else I know I can do much better with."

This time she struggled with her outward appearance at his insinuations, the turmoil of her mind winning over. Her eyes narrowed and she reached blindly for the glass, her stomach lurching before the wine trickled down her throat, washing down the lump of sorrow that had gathered precisely there.

She felt his eyes heavy upon her; she had to give him some kind of explanation, though one was barely formed in her tumultuous thoughts.

"I've had a letter," she began, thinking misguidedly that it was easier to fib about, somehow not realising that he might ask to see the physical evidence for himself, "from Molly's father."

The image of Pete had been an easy one to grab, given his unexpected appearance a few days previous.

"I shouldn't get my hopes up, but there's...well, there's a chance that I could get to see her again, soon."

"That's good, in't it?" He responded far more enthusiastically than she had been on giving him the news, brimming up with joy on her behalf. "Reason to celebrate if there ever was one. Should get a bottle of Bolly for yer, Bols."

Her smile was watered down, reflected in the blue of his eyes as the realisation sunk in.

"Ah," he uttered, leaning back against the air, his arm prone upon the table. "I see."

Guilt consumed her swiftly, watching the restrained expression take shape upon his features. She should tell him the truth, if it didn't sound so utterly absurd. If she was going back then she supposed it didn't matter. But she would rather let him down gently than have him think she was insane or a pathological liar, because he would, even if they had got so much closer. What reasonable person wouldn't?

He hit his open palm against the table-top after a few moments contemplation, but she didn't flinch.

"Well, we 'ad a good run. Weren't bad at all, Bollykecks, not by any stretch."

For a minute or two she wasn't sure whether he was simply trying to make her feel better or if his feelings didn't run as deep for her as she had imagined. There were others before her and there would be others to follow. Way of the world, he'd put it down to, yet she couldn't help feeling resentment mixed in with her sorrow and unease. His mellow acceptance was a far cry from the past version of himself who saw it as his unquestionable right to govern her every move, as well as the version of himself who was a near-constant presence in her dreams, begging with her to stay, unable to let her go.

He didn't ask for much information, which she was glad of. It hadn't been that long ago that she had told him Molly's name; she wondered now whether she should have done that at all, whether it was a step too far, but it meant something to her, entrusting him with such a significant detail. If he couldn't know the whole truth about her at least she could give him that. All he needed to know was that she would be going back soon. Not tomorrow or the day after. Soon was all she could give him, in the absence of really knowing herself.

She didn't want to think about the exact moment she would have to leave him, wondering what on earth she could possibly say. The look that burned quietly in his eyes – something that a few months ago he would have tried fiercely to hide – spoke volumes, extinguishing her previous doubts and leaving her heart shattered.

"Gene," she spoke his name softly, reverently, with the honour that he deserved, "if there was a possibility..."

"I know, Bols," he hushed her with a peculiar mix of empathy and understanding along with a dismissal, covering up the defencelessness that only she could see. "You said it yerself, it wasn't gunna last forever. The Gene-Genie knows what 'e's gettin' into, at any time."

If only she would have been so sure about herself.

"Any'ow, on the bright side it means I won't 'ave to listen to you bangin' on about goin' home every hour of the bloody day," he added, squaring his shoulders, "every cloud."

"I can only imagine your relief," she said, her smile a little more genuine.

He pursed his lips in that way that was so particular to him, pushing his outstretched arm towards hers without touching her. "If it means you'll be happy, then I dunno 'ow I can moan about it."

It might not have been how anyone else would say it but it showed without question that he did care about her after all. She couldn't help thinking of the old adage, if you love someone set them free.

Damn you, Gene Hunt. Damn you so much.

"'e gets to keep the cat, then?"

She was thrown off-guard but quickly recovered, smirking more to the fact that he really had paid attention.

"Yes. I think it's a fair exchange."

"You 'ad a lucky escape, Bolly. Two things a man should never own; a cat and a sex guide."

The laugh sounded foreign as it rose from her throat. "If he would have had the second then perhaps I would have got a little bit more out of our marriage."

"I doubt it. I'm gunna be selfish and say that I'm glad 'e didn't 'ave a clue what 'e was doin. Made my job a whole lot easier."

For once he was being rather modest. She fought to keep the images from her mind but it was of no use. She didn't even have to close her eyes to envision him over her, his hands mapping her and his lips pressed against the slope of her neck. It was too painful to think of what Summers had said. Marriage, a child of their own. Even if it could have been, who was to say that he would have wanted that?

He shifted upon the stool, his intense gaze shaking her out of the daydreams of a life that would never be.

"As nice as the atmosphere is in 'ere, I reckon we should make tracks and make the best of things while we can."

She could hear the desire clear in his voice and felt racked with guilt that she would have to turn him down. Covering her hand over his upon the table she pushed it away gently, leaning back onto the padding behind her.

"I think I need to be alone for a few nights." She hoped her rebuffal didn't sound too hollow. "Just to let it sink in."

He put on a brave face, looking away from her. She was doing the wrong thing, again, but she couldn't seem to stop herself, repeating the refrain that it was for the best whilst she completely disbelieved it.

The bar was calling them, the familiar and all too easy route to drown the sorrows they both held. To her surprise Gene avoided it, getting to his feet and looking down upon her once he had put his overcoat back on.

"At least let me see you back," he said, sounding gruff and shy and only half sure of himself, "some dodgy lookin' buggers round 'ere, Bols. Not havin' them take their chances, not when I can knock a few of them down."

She smiled a little as she rose, watching as he stood to the side, guarding her from the rest of the punters, none of whom moved from their respective spots.

"I don't know if there's any need for that."

He pouted at what she had said. "Maybe not, but it'll make me feel bloody good."

It was five when she gave up on sleep completely, fitful dreams of Gene whirling in her head. Dreams which were almost perfect mirror images of her recent reality. It would not be that long before the dreams were all she had to remember him by and that was what caused her to stumble out of them.

She looked longingly at the empty space to the left of her, cursing herself for not taking him up on his offer. The yearning was a powerful one, clawing at her soul, but she told herself to be strong. She had faced worse; she had been torn from her own time and from her child without so much as a reassurance that she would be back as soon as she could.

Molly would be her reward. That was all she needed to think about.

She'd never forget him. She almost laughed at the notion; how could you possibly forget someone like Gene Hunt?

She rose from the bed after some minutes had passed, opening a drawer and pulling out a pen and notepad. The impulse and idea had struck her from apparently nowhere, until she thought about the lie she had told earlier that very same night. She searched elsewhere for the envelopes, finding just enough to go round for the most important.

Lying back against her pillows she began to write, finding herself smiling down at the pages at intervals and pausing in other places, wondering whether she really should be so brutally honest but then continuing on.

Viv, Shaz, Chris, Ray. Each letter was sealed safe within its envelope and she had no regrets about their contents.

She sighed heavily as she put the pen to the blank sheet before her. This one would be the hardest to write and for a long while, aside from writing his name – Gene instead of Guv, although she wanted to put the more official title in brackets – she simply didn't know where to begin. She had so much to say to him, and visions of him scrunching up the letter unread didn't help matters.

Once she decided everything else came easy, at least for the most part. Her hand ached where she pressed it fervently against the pad, and she had to restrain herself else she would have wrote reams, which he most definitely wouldn't bother reading all of. By the end of it the tears were streaming her cheeks and she was careful to hold the pages away from her lest they become blotted. She had poured her heart out, in a way that she couldn't recall doing before.

It struck her that it still didn't feel like enough, not with everything that had passed between them. She looked at the sealed envelope, not having another to hand, her fingers tracing over the curves of her handwriting of the single word on the front.

Placing it underneath the others at her bedside she went over to the one drawer she hadn't opened for a while – a month at least, if not more – holding herself back for a few seconds before she could deny the urge no longer.

With a shuddering breath she plucked out the recorder, picking out a random tape – she had no blank ones left – to continue saying all that she needed to say.