A/N: Still sticking with 2.7 in this chapter - although Alex is in a whole different dimension when we start off...

Chapter 8

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Open your eyes, Alex.

The voice that was clear and persistent in her ears faded further into the distance, touch becoming dominant over sound. She felt a hand in hers, squeezing her fingers. It took all her might but she managed to flex her own fingers enough to squeeze back.

"Alex. Oh, that's it. That's my girl..."

Her eyes blinked open slowly and she saw her mother's face in front of her. Behind where she sat, by the side of the bed, was a curtain covered with multi-coloured stars and the faces of teddy bears.

Her mother smiled towards her, reached out her other hand to stroke her forehead gently.

"Do you remember what happened?"

She thought that she did, vaguely, but the memory was hazy. She shook her head lightly instead of speaking.

"You were riding, and you were doing so well. But then Buttercup bolted and you took a tumble." Her mother rubbed her head with a little more pressure and she was aware of the bump that had swelled there. "Quite a big one."

Yes, she remembered it now. Her first and last time going horse riding. Her mother had wanted her to persist afterwards, to show some determination and bravery, but she had been too scared by the fall and clung to her father's hand whenever the matter was discussed. He raised her up, sat her upon his lap and held her tight, telling her that it was perfectly alright that she never wanted to go back again.

"The doctors don't think it's anything bad. A bit of concussion." She always used the proper words, even when it was too much for her child's mind to comprehend. "Another night here, just to be on the safe side, and you'll be as right as rain. You gave me a fright, Alexandra."

She was only ever called that when she'd done something to disappoint, and though it wasn't her fault she felt the guilt gathering up within her. She wished that her father was there instead.

"I want to go home now," she murmured, her mother looking at her with some disapproval. "Please, can I go home?"

"Not yet," her mother answered, moving her hand down to edge against her cheek, "but soon."

You're doing so well, Alex. Keep going, that little bit more, and you'll be there.

Her hands gripped onto the bed at either side of her, the pain so intense it was like she was being ripped in two. She wanted to move, get onto her knees – anything to relieve the agony to some degree – but nearly every part of her was paralysed.

She'd lost count of the hours, but was certain that it had been longer than a day. They'd gone to the hospital in the early hours of the morning and it had been as muggy and humid then as it would have been in the middle of the afternoon. It was so hot, unbearable; her head and her spine were drenched with sweat. She could barely open her eyes, her jaw gritting so tight she would have been scared she was going to cause herself irreparable damage, if she could get past the bloody pain.

"I can't," she managed to get out, breath tight in her chest, "it's too much, I can't."

She felt a cool and comforting hand against her damp brow, the voice of her midwife soothing and encouraging her.

"Yes, you can, Alex. You're so close now, one more big push and that's all it will take."

She leaned back against the pillows, the pain abating to some degree before building back up again, wielding power over her entire being. Both her body and the midwife were telling her to push but she relented for a few moments, looking over to where he was standing in the corner of the room, chewing on his nails and appearing absolutely petrified.

"Pete," she murmured, extending an arm out into the air. She didn't have enough strength to do this on her own, she'd used everything she had. She needed him.

He was reluctant at first, and it took a piercing scream erupting from her for him to come through and take her hand into his own. She smiled weakly, looking into his eyes, before she could no longer hold off.

"Bloody hell, Lex," she heard him stutter as she grasped onto his hand like a vice, "not so hard, hey?"

She ignored his request, clinging tight to him and crying out, pushing and pushing until the pain ceased. It continued on, for weeks rather than days, and he wasn't best pleased when she asked if he could leave her alone, please, as she cradled their baby daughter in her arms. Molly with all of her perfection fast became her biggest comfort.

A wailing cry became an echo from her own, filling the room as she slumped back on the bed, her fingers slipping from those of her husband.

"Congratulations, Alex," the midwife said happily, "you've got a little girl."

The operation was a success. Now you build up that strength a little more, Alex, and then you can return properly.

She wanted to be awake so badly. Every fibre in her body and synapse in her brain had sparked back to life, and now she was in limbo, waiting. For what, she didn't know. The bullet was out, there hadn't been any complications. She should be awake, back, smiling at her little girl, grown so much in the seamless space of time that she had been away.

"Surely you don't believe that you're going to wake up just because they managed to get the bullet out?"

Summers. Haunting her everywhere she went. Awake and dreaming. Alive, and...

No. Please, no. I can't be.

"What do I have to do?" she asked, hearing the beeping of the monitor at her bedside. She could hear Molly's voice too, very faint in the background.

An unbearably long pause before he gave her an answer.

"You have to work, Alex..."

Female, mid-thirties. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. She's lost a lot of blood.

This was on her person. A police officer.

She was so weak; it felt as though nearly all of the blood had drained from her body, seeping past her hand where she had been unable to stop the flow. It had been such a shock, her defences shutting down immediately; she hadn't been able to look him in the eyes.

Stay with us, Alex. We're going to do everything we can.

The pain was fading steadily, drifting deeper and deeper, until she felt empty. At peace. She had hurt for so long, years and years; she'd hadn't realised how long it had been until it had finally left her.

"Jesus Christ, Alex," his voice was in a lower register than she'd ever heard, and she was aware of his remorse. "I never meant for this...stupid bloody bastard."

She felt his fingers brush against her cheek, though it was too brief; she wanted to be able to keep him there, keep him with her. It was so long before he uttered anything else.

"You look...my God, Bolly."

She didn't know how but she was able to look down upon herself laying in the bed. Her hair had been cropped, a little of it falling over her forehead. Her face was ashen, cheeks hollowed and lips almost grey. She couldn't reach out to touch, but she was glad not to be able, too scared that she would feel nothing.

Two voices echoed in her head, speaking to two different versions of herself, prone in their hospital beds.

They said the same thing, word for word.

"You're leaving me when I need you the most."

She felt her heart slow within her chest, readying itself to shatter.

The ringing of the phone woke her up, caused her to breathe in too quickly in compensation. She knew she was alone in the bed, not an uncommon occurrence in the last couple of weeks; it was often the case that Gene would be the first at the station in the morning, driven almost out of his wits at the need to get to the bottom of this case. He was going to burn himself out, and it made her so afraid.

"Yeah," she said, still groggy and shaken by the dreams she had had, one overlaid on top of the other. She knew it would be him on the line.

"Looks like I was right," he replied, proving her own prediction to be correct. "Tomascz was lyin'."

She ran a hand through her hair, pulling herself from the pillow, not ready for this quite yet.

"I'll meet you at the hospital. Intensive care."

The uneasy feeling remained with her as she moved through the corridors of the hospital, trailing Gene with an uncertain gait. He was far more purposeful, and so they didn't encounter many staff or other visitors on their way. Even so, Alex felt eyes upon her where they were available, staring at her not so much with suspicion but recognition.

She hadn't heard the sound of ticking or beeping machines, nor the few voices that had become as familiar to her as the team in the last few weeks. Just silence. It had been the same when they had gone to see Gaynor Mason not too long ago. She wasn't sure whether she should have been relieved or deeply concerned about the fact.

Still, she didn't like the frequency of ending up here when it came to cases; things were blurring enough as it was. What do they say, these things come in threes. Her mind lingered on the recurring dream – she didn't want to term it a premonition. If she thought hard enough about it now she would be able to see the smoking gun held in a leather-clad hand, feel the heat of her own blood as it coated her palm...

Her eyes must have been wide and her face pale as Gene turned to face her just before he made to enter the room that they were after.

"Alright, Bols?" he asked her, the edge of concern clear in his voice for a moment or two. "Dunno what state 'e's goin' to be in. Yer not gunna go all girly on me, are yer?"

She swallowed, shaking her head, desperately trying to rid herself of the images that still revolved there.

"No," she uttered, with more practised assurance, head held back, "let's have a look."

He placed a gloved hand on the handle to the door, and immediately it was clear that Tomascz was in a very bad way indeed. Wires seemed to stream from his person, connecting him to a ventilator that was keeping him alive – for the time being.

"Flamin' Nora," Gene exclaimed, getting nearer to the bedside, "I've seen some sights in my time, but I think this just about takes the prize."

Her eyes fixed to the labourer's bloodied and battered face, almost indistinguishable from the man they had interviewed a couple of days earlier, Alex offered up a silent prayer. To what entity, she wasn't sure.

" 'e's goin' to wish he had shinned back up the Berlin Wall," Gene went on, all of his usual sensitivity in place. "Was hit and run. Should be dead by rights, 'e's a tough bastard."

"So he knew it wasn't a poem," she said, thinking out loud, unable to move her gaze away from Tomascz.

"There's no sign of Summers." The very mention of the name caused prickles to run up her spine. She had done well so far in not showing that anything could be amiss, and she just had to keep it up, while trying her best not to feel guilty about not saying anything. "Both of them put one man in the frame."

"Lafferty," she answered with the same thing he was thinking. "But how would he know that we'd brought Tomascz in?"

His expression was grave; she could see that he was contemplating a notion that he hadn't wanted to give serious credit to. He gestured to her to leave the room and she cast a final glance towards the bed and the prone figure within. Tomascz was a big man, not easy to do away with.

This could go in your favour. The thought was a horribly guilty one, whirling around her head as they stepped back out into the deserted corridor. She did what she could to shake it away, without giving anything off. Firstly, you did not murder PC Summers. It was looking likelier that Lafferty had indeed been behind the murder of Dawid and now this with Tomascz, but it didn't mean that he could be pinned for the death of young Summers. He'd be discovered, sooner more probable than earlier. Summers must have wanted to fit up Lafferty, but why? Her brain was working overtime and with the disturbed sleep she had she wanted nothing more than to curl up, but preferably not in a hospital bed.

"Someone in our station told 'im. Probably the same bastard that stole the note." She'd got so tangled up that it took her a few seconds to make any sense of what he was saying. "Someone in CID. Someone on my team."

The shadows cast upon his face, all of the weariness this particular case had trudged up evident in his eyes as well as the unspeakable hurt and betrayal he felt. She shared it – not to the same degree, nobody else was capable of that, but given how close they had become the transference did weigh heavily upon her.

She wanted to say something comforting to him, but nothing seemed good enough.

"You're...you're thinking about Mac?" she said instead, cringing inwardly. As if there weren't enough spectres to deal with.

His expression hardened, but the haunted, lost look that was in his eyes remained, breaking her heart to behold it. "I'm thinkin' about Mac, about Kevin Hales, about every investigation that's gone tits up as far back as I can remember."

She felt the frown upon her face as she looked at him. Operation Rose. There was no going back from it now, they were in too deep. There was still so much to figure out and she could only imagine the vindictive glee that Mac would have derived knowing that everything was very well on the verge of blowing up in their faces while he was safely out of it.

It was a relief to leave the hospital, even if the weight had not lifted completely. Somewhat ironically the Quattro felt like a haven. They could have been driving at a million miles per hour and she would have felt completely safe, all because Gene was in control.

He reached into the compartment, took out one of his many hip-flasks. For a moment or two he let the item rest in his hands, looking into the middle distance. When he did unscrew the top and lift it to his lips he did so for so long that she suspected he was never going to stop.

"Gene," his name was a warning on her lips, her insides seizing up as she watched him. He was drinking far too much of late, even by his standards, and she was petrified where it was going to lead. "Don't you think that's enough?"

He kept on going, head tipped back, and when he stopped she knew it was only because the flask was dry. He wiped the sleeve of his overcoat against his mouth, turned to face her with a determined, half-sated look in his eyes.

"Couldn't bring anythin' in there with me. I think it's only fair, Bols." He paused, and she was wondering where he had stashed the next; it had to be somewhere nearby. " 'sides, it's for the shock."

He gave her a smirk, which rankled her. It was just unfortunate that her concern for his wellbeing took priority over her annoyance.

"I know it hurts you. I can't even begin to imagine." God, her words were so hollow; she really expected to do much better by now. "We'll get to the bottom of it."

"Oh, no doubt about that, Bolly. And that maggoty scrote Lafferty won't know what's hit 'im. Already got a plan brewin'."

She didn't know whether to be relieved or worried, but there wasn't a lot she could do about it. Yet she also knew it wasn't the crux of the matter.

"I pride meself on two things in life, Bols. Bein' a bloody good detective and bein' the leader of the best team this side of the river, if any of those top knobs would give us 'alf the chance."

She gave him a genuine smile. She didn't say it much – if at all – but she was the proudest of being part of this team than any other, as strange as it really was.

He was silent for a while, aside from expelling a heavy sigh. She was aware of the cost, the pain he felt so acutely to say it.

"But I've failed dismally on both counts this time round." He glanced down, examining the hands that were encased within their gloves. "I mean, what good is that, Bolly? Can't smell shit when it's right under me nose."

She felt her face crumple again. Half of her felt so deeply for him, heart-sore for the disloyalty that he did not deserve to be shown. The other half wanted to shake him, let him see that suspicion was a symptom of further disease and not the cure.

"One bad apple doesn't spoil the crop," she assured him, feeling like the biggest hypocrite. "And we don't know what the motive is. Because there has to be one."

"I don't give a stuff about motives, Bols," the anger he was keeping tethered erupted a little more, "one of my own is tellin' me bare-faced lies, and it makes me bloody furious."

Her cheeks flushed, her body reacting despite her brain telling her to behave. Lucky for her his eyes were averted and she was left to temper her shame and atone for her sins by directing the conversation elsewhere. It was a risky tactic, leaving her an open target.

"I haven't exactly been the most supportive DI," she uttered, keeping her voice soft and her eyes pleading. "I'm sorry for doubting PC Summers. It seems like he was telling the truth about Lafferty all along."

He turned his gaze back towards her and she was somewhat overwhelmed by what she found within. Something she couldn't explain in a million years or more, but something that was purely felt. A wave of emotion rushed over her; she never wanted to stop looking into those eyes, bluer than the clearest of summer skies.

Just kiss me, she thought. Kiss me, and let's forget about all of this, at least for now.

If Summers can keep running and getting away with things, why can't I?

Her thoughts weren't loud enough for him to hear; he parted his lips but to speak instead of what she really desired.

"Can't be whiter than white if 'e's done a runner."

"But, Lafferty..." she began.

"Speculation, Bolly. I mean, if a body turns up then we could nail 'im for good."

Her stomach soured, a sorry change from feeling so pleasant and warm mere moments before.

" 'e did seem a bit shifty, the more I think about it. I mean, what was all that guff about not tellin' anyone?"

She shrugged. "I suppose he didn't want to be seen to be going against his own DCI. Everyone's watching their back, aren't they? Probably even more so now."

"Yeah, maybe." He turned towards the window, hands resting idly against the steering wheel. She ached to do something, an act that would be of use than simply talking them round in the same circles. He sighed again. "I dunno, Bols. I just want to get this sorted, but even then, I don't think it'll be over and done with."

No. She dreaded to think what came next, Summers' face behind her eyes whenever she closed them, laughing at her fate. The fate he seemed to know far more about.

"If there's anything I can do," she said, feeling rather desperate, "any way I can help."

She saw a small smile lift the corner of his mouth. "You just stay by my side. Look pretty."

She smiled herself, knowing how he valued her for so much more.

"Go home, get changed," he continued, "I need you at your best."

Her eyes turned towards him, a twinkle lying within. "Something skimpy?"

He looked back, eyes saying one thing and lips another, even if she suspected he probably wished that they'd agree.

"Best not, Bols, if only for the good of my health. But maybe somethin' underneath. Give me some light at the end of the tunnel."

The storm had been brewing for so long and with such intensity that Alex imagined that the breaking point would come easy in comparison. And yet she had been proved wrong in so many instances before.

They'd got Lafferty back in, this time with enough evidence to ensure that he wouldn't walk away scot-free. Gene's restraint had been hanging by the thinnest of threads throughout and the interrogation proper had barely begun until he'd pushed Lafferty to the floor while he was still seated, grabbing him by the lapels, placing the sole of a boot firm upon his chest. She had pleaded with him, something in her voice somehow pulling him back from the brink before it had become too late. The pure rage burned in his eyes, Alex blinking back tears as she watched his fists tighten upon Lafferty's collar.

"But what really makes me want to crush your little cockroach head is that you got to one of mine."

The cracks had started to show before he had addressed them all about the misappropriation of the note, let everyone know without doubt that there was a traitor in their midst. Now, they were in utter disarray. A couple of nights ago they'd gone to Luigi's later than the rest and arrived to witness a full-on brawl breaking out, with Ray, Chris and Viv in the centre of it. Everyone looked to the Guv to intervene – herself included. Luigi, desperate to stop the massacre of his trattoria, called for his help specifically. Instead of doing as any of them might have expected he cast a look about the scene and turned on his heels towards the door, Alex in pursuit not long after.

She questioned whether it was her fault. She was keeping him away from his team, commanding his attention for herself when she wasn't the only one who needed him. At this moment there didn't seem to be much hope for anything remaining of the world but scraps and shrapnel by the time she made her departure, whenever that would be.

There was one person who would be very pleased by the outcome. His laughter echoed in her head, his reflection staring out from behind her every corner she turned. She knew he was an illusion in that moment – the same as Molly had been in many moments before – but it didn't stop her wanting to smash the mirror that faced her into a thousand pieces. Seven years bad luck would be nothing if it meant getting rid of the spectre of Summers for good.

She went slowly back into CID; as tempting as it was she couldn't hide herself away all evening. At first it seemed like she was the only one there, the rest having headed to Luigi's for the alcohol rather than the company and the door to Gene's office open, revealing the fact that he had gone as well.

The shadow thrown high upon the walls made her nearly jump out of her skin, feeling utterly foolish when she recognised who it was.

"Chris?" she ventured, watching as he sat at his desk, hands clasped together and eyes staring blankly ahead of him. "Are you going to Luigi's?"

She hadn't spoken so low that he wouldn't have heard her; they were the only ones in the room, anyway.

"I...I can't," he eventually replied, whole minutes having passed since she had asked, making her wonder whether she had slipped unknowingly somewhere else.

The heels of her boots echoed loudly from the floor as she moved around to take in his face, the unmistakable evidence of his crying in the form of a reddened nose and puffiness circling his eyes.

"Chris, what's the matter?" she questioned gently. "If it's to do with Shaz then you know as well as I do that whatever it is will be forgotten about after a couple of drinks."

He shook his head against her assurances, heaving in a shuddering breath as his shoulders visibly trembled.

"It'll be over, Ma'am, if I tell 'er. Not that she wouldn't find out anyway. She's so clever, so good...too good for me and what I've done. But I did it for 'er, I swear."

She pulled a seat over towards where he remained, not moving except for the involuntary shaking of his body at his distress.

"Chris, you're not making a lot of sense right now. You need to help me out. If you want me to do something, that is."

He looked up at her after some drawn-out minutes, eyes glossed with tears. She saw him as a boy, lost and deathly afraid, and the transformation tore at her. She glimpsed Molly in the whites of his eyes, on the precipice of confessing something that had happened at school which wasn't her fault but had caused her to feel as though the whole world was ending.

"She doesn't know who I am. Shaz. Nobody does."

A surge shot straight to her heart, nearly jolting her out of the chair. Summers said they were the only two here. What if he had been lying, or simply unaware of all of the possibilities?

"It's okay," she reached a hand out, touching the back of his tentatively, "if you want to say, I'm here to listen."

This could be the way out. She could have cried with relief. Not that she would have ever imagined that it could have been Chris who offered it. Always look out for the unexpected.

The wildness in his gaze gave way to emotions that were more fathomable; sorrow, regret, fear for what was ahead.

She found her grip increasing upon him, his eyes casting down before he began to speak again.

"It was just a loan. I never thought..." he stumbled slightly, taking in and letting out a deep breath to put himself on firmer ground. "It was a bloke Ray knew. He said he couldn't help me, but he pointed me to someone who could. No problem, 'e said. Pay me back when you can. Five hundred."

Her eyes widened as her heart sunk back down, beating more evenly again. She heard Summers' voice again, as pleased as he always was. Wrong again, Alex. You couldn't seriously think...?

It hadn't been that much of a stretch, she argued back at him silently. But perhaps she had been too hopeful.

"I know, Ma'am. It's a lot. But I wanted the best. I didn't want to let her down."

Refocusing, Alex looked back into his eyes, nodding her head. Her hand had fallen from his; she pulled it back into her lap, wedging it between her legs.

"I got a call, not too long after. He just said 'e knew I'd do him a favour, this one favour. And I thought, well, fair's fair, and I thought that'd be the end of it. But when 'e said what it was, I knew it wouldn't be." A tear rolled down his cheek, catching upon the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm so sorry."

A wave of nausea washed over her as Chris continued to stare at her, his bottom lip trembling. He brought his sleeve up to his eyes and the way he wiped at his tears with little care made him appear even more boyish than the moments previously.

"If I could go back, I never would 'ave taken the money. Not knowin' what was in store, what I was gettin' into." She could hear the escalation in his tone, watched him as he rose from his seat. "I shouldn't 'ave said anything, I'm sorry..."

Alex rose too, blocked Chris's path before he could leave, his eyes wide and desperate as he looked into hers. It was too late for running away.

"You know that you have to tell him?" she said. "I can't let you leave or say anything more until he's here."

He didn't attempt to argue, just stood helpless and resigned for a few moments, nodding and sniffing back tears before he sat back down. Alex stared at him with pity, held in suspension for moments before she made the move the short distance to the phone at her desk.

"Ma'am?"

Chris's voice stopped her before she could dial Luigi's number, hoping that Gene hadn't gone somewhere else instead, but knowing that she had to get hold of him.

"Tell him that I didn't mean it. That I was goin' to come to him sooner. I should have done. But it's too late now, isn't it?"

Alex bit down on her lip, heart nearing suspension in her chest.

I hope it isn't, for all of our sakes.

He had been crushed when he came back, coming face to face with Chris's guilt-ridden expression. Alex had never seen him look so distraught. Chris couldn't take his eyes from Gene's figure, uttering a quiet 'Guv' which chose to go unrecognised. He beckoned the Detective Constable to the interview room with a gesture of his hand instead and leaned heavily against the wall, letting Alex take the lead. She had little inclination to conduct the interrogation but knew it was her duty, not simply as a Detective Inspector.

The revelations came blow after blow, until she was convinced that nothing but fire and wreckage would be left by the time they left the room. Kevin Hales' prison transfer file. The note from the evidence room. Tomascz's name being passed on. She was wrung out by the time Chris had broken down completely, telling Gene repeatedly that he was sorry. Knowing that it was pointless to plead she watched him leave the room, slamming the door behind him. Surprisingly Chris stopped crying at that point, Alex suspecting that he was resigned to the worst outcome.

"I've still got it, that note. The one from the evidence room." His voice was shaky. "I was supposed to shred it, burn it. But I knew this was something else. Something different."

"Leave it on my desk. It's late, you need to go home." She was drained, unable to focus on anything right now. "The man you called to give Tomascz's name. The man who gave you the money. I'll need you to trace the address."

Chris nodded, getting to his feet. "If the Guv doesn't make it so I never set foot inside 'ere again. Not that I'd blame him."

"I'll deal with the Guv. Just go and get some sleep, Chris."

"But..." he stumbled, letting out a small strained laugh as he looked down to the floor, "Shazza's expecting me."

"It can wait until tomorrow." She felt a little guilty thinking of Shaz but he'd been through enough for one night. "Go, Chris."

Gene was foremost on her mind and she panicked the longer she was kept from following him. She found him not where she expected, holed up in his office with a bottle of whisky in his grasp, but instead leaning against the door to her flat. The bottle was clutched in his hands, so she was half-right.

"Really do need to get a key, Bols."

She smiled despite herself and the way he looked, carrying the weight of his despair square upon his shoulders.

He made it easily to the sofa, holding the bottle against him like a prize. Alex eased down next to him, thankful and worried all at once. It hadn't been the breakthrough they had expected and she honestly didn't know where things would go from here, had no words of comfort to offer him.

She placed a hand upon his shoulder, reeled at the look of deep hurt lying within the stormy steel of his eyes.

"Years," he started, each word an effort, "chance after bloody chance. Always gave 'im the benefit of the doubt, against my better judgment. And 'ow does 'e repay me? By pissin' in my face."

"Don't talk," she said, her fingers stroking against the wool of the overcoat he was still wearing.

He looked at her, silent and motionless for a moment or two, before he nodded his head.

"You're right, Bolly. What good does talkin' ever do, eh?"

She watched as one of his arms raised, unscrewing the top from the bottle. Her free hand moved just as swiftly, unperturbed by the half-hearted scowl of his expression.

"We've been here before," she uttered, wrenching the whisky fairly easily from his grasp and setting it out of reach on the coffee table.

"If you're doin' this for my benefit, it's a bit bloody late."

Her eyes turned softer, tuning into his. "I'd like you to stick around for as long as possible."

A bit rich, all things considered. But even when she had gone she wanted to think of him as a constant, keeping everything going and facing down the worst. You're not the only one who needs him.

"Hmmm," he muttered, shifting his gaze away as her fingers traced his sleeve, her hand having slipped down his arm.

She hated to see him like this, so broken down, when the hardest part of the fight was yet to come. He needed time to get back to his best, time to recover. Time was something that neither of them had.

He turned towards her, catching her off-guard slightly with his sudden movement. The clock from her bedroom echoed into the room; she should have put some music on but couldn't move from where his eyes held her in place.

"You know, I realised somethin' today." The rough edges of his voice showed his weariness while his eyes, clearer now than moments before, told her that he was being sincere, working hard to battle through the agony. "I dunno who to trust anymore, Bols. Aside from you."

She felt thrown, the declaration coming closest to another she had told herself she would not hear from him and really, it would have been for the best. Looking into his eyes with her throat gone dry, she did what she could to silence the nagging voice in her mind. If only he knew.

It took her a while to say anything, her words coming out garbled. She laughed a little, straightening herself against the sofa and trying again.

"I...erm, I never would have expected that. When I got here, that is." Her fingers curled around his thumb, his eyes licking flames across her skin, scorching her. "I thought I'd be the last person that you'd ever..."

"Yer not very good at this, are you, Bols?" She looked a little startled as he let out a chuckle, one of his hands landing upon her thigh. "S'alright, neither am I."

"Getting better, though," she smiled, appreciating the sparks he was sending up her spine with the gentle strokes of his fingers. The thought crossed her mind briefly that they were both wearing too many clothes. Her hand moved to his face, wanting to show him how touched she was, how privileged she felt.

The time that she begged with him to let her in felt like a thousand years ago, not mere months. Part of her felt strongly that she had always been planted firmly in his soul, and that he had been with her since the start too.

"You made me..." His voice was quiet, almost indistinguishable. He cleared his throat, locked his eyes with hers. "You made me better than I was."

Oh God, this is too much. He was vulnerable, and she had the feeling that she was taking advantage. It had been a horrible night. And yet part of her was sure that he wasn't only saying it because of everything that had happened. To have some comfort couldn't be wrong; it was only natural.

He turned his head slightly, brushed his lips against the heel of her palm before pulling back, thinking that he'd made her feel uncomfortable. She felt nothing of the sort.

Her free hand mirrored her other on the other side of his face, and she shuffled closer, bringing her knees up and pressing them against his thigh. She closed her eyes as she felt his arm go round her waist, hand settling on the small of her back.

"I'd bloody self-destruct if it weren't for you."

"Gene," she whispered, one hand slipping to his neck. He'd pulled her into his lap, bringing her closer to him.

"Yer not gunna start yappin' at me now, are you?"

"No," she said, all she could manage before their lips met. There was healing in the kiss, for the both of them; passion and need too, somewhere deeper, just beyond their reach for the time being. She murmured against his mouth, felt his hand stroking her back and against her hipbone.

She was light-headed when they broke apart, a little reluctantly. Her hands against his chest, she could feel that his heart was hammering just as hard as hers was.

"Stay," she thought she heard him say.

Such a simple word that tore at her heart.

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied. At least not for the moment. "This is my flat, remember?"

His face remained straight as she smirked a little, his gaze raising to where she was above him.

"At my side, Bolly," he reiterated, his eyes devastating and clear, "don't let me do somethin' I'll regret."

She took his face into her hands, held his body close to hers. And yet it didn't stop the same terrifying dream from coming back.

The shot of the gun echoed through her head, as did the cry of his name for her.

A/N: Jeez, these two tortured souls hurt my heart.

I used a line that was cut from 3.8 because I couldn't resist temptation. It's in more of its original context in the wonderful one-shot Better Than I Was by AStoneTown (hurry to read it if you haven't already)