A/N: Same credits as last chapter apply for the (minimal) 2.8 dialogue.

Chapter 10

She watched him die for a second time.

Except she missed the exact moment it happened, as the world whirled into chaos around her.

He slumped to the ground heavily when the second shot ripped through him, the blood that spread out from his abdomen not quite the same colour as the roses she had come to associate him with. She could hear his gasping breaths as the reverberation from the gunshots continued to echo and pulse against her ears.

His life, ebbing away. She had seen the flash of anger in his eyes, very real. The intent that lay behind the threat.

There was no doubt in her mind that he would have done it, despite all of her desperate and silent pleas.

She became conscious of the world other than herself and the dying Summers, the sound and space, the light playing at the edges of her eyes. Her head lifted with a painful effort, her gaze seeking out Gene who stood a little way away, in front of her, his arms frozen at his sides.

His gun free of smoke.

Her eyes must have held the same alarm as his did, their shared glance one of disbelief and confusion, slightly skewed in their own perspectives.

It wasn't supposed to go like this. Not in everything that was dreamt.

Milliseconds passed, moving inexplicably slow. She noticed his mouth moving but didn't hear the sound that left it – not until it was too late – that particular sense being stolen from her temporarily.

"Bolly."

It was only a whisper anyway. He hadn't intended to escalate the situation further, his warning meant to prise her away from danger.

She missed it, and so the slim chance of escape passed her by.

Another shot fired into the air and then she was trapped, one arm digging against her stomach and the other pressed to her neck. She felt the barrel of the gun, still hot, nudged to her throat. She tried to shriek but nothing came.

The mystery of Summers' assailant evaporated. Alex turned her gaze as much as she was able, confirming what she already knew. The other woman seemed like an inversion of herself, blonde hair instead of dark, black leather contrasted against white.

"I don't believe this," she railed, the gun she held prodded firm against Alex's pulse point, "where's me bleedin' money?"

She shouldn't have thought so sarcastically, would surely have been dead on the spot if Jenette could have peered into her mind.

Perhaps you would have had a better chance of getting it if you hadn't just shot him dead.

"You're on your own, Jenette." Gene's voice cut through everything else, the echoing silence and the screeching sounds she could hear inside her brain. The voice that was begging, please please please.

Please don't let it end like this.

"Whatever 'e offered you to get between us, it was a lie. It's over, love."

Another illogical reaction, given the position that she was currently in, but it stung to hear him call her that.

At such close proximity Alex could hear the unsteadiness of Jenette's breathing. She could certainly feel her growing agitation, even if she relaxed her grip slightly, allowing Alex to get some breath into her lungs.

"You're all the same. Coppers. Men." Her voice remained harsh and steady. "I shouldn't have trusted him. I definitely shouldn't have trusted you."

A thousand thoughts raced through Alex's mind. If she was slow, incredibly careful, she could edge her way out of Jenette's grasp. It still carried a considerable risk. The woman was vulnerable, betrayed. She tried to remember what to do in this situation, what would incur the minimal amount of damage.

Her mind was blank, except for the image of Layton aiming square at the space between her eyes.

The sound of the gunshot the last thing she heard until she woke up in a different world, the past turning into the present and unforeseeable future.

"Jenette," Gene said, "don't be stupid."

It wasn't the reaction she was hoping for. Jenette's arm clamped like a vice upon her stomach, nearly winding her.

"You lied to me!" the blonde shrieked, her voice bouncing off the air. "You're still lying, even now. I know that you remembered me. That you remember kissing me. We could have been so much more. I know that I'm what you need."

Alex's eyes went towards him, pleading with him to look at her if only for the smallest of seconds.

Think this through. Don't provoke her.

"It was never goin' to happen," he uttered, staying firm and rooted to the spot, "not then and certainly not now."

Next to her ear Alex could hear the bubblings of a bitter laugh.

"No. Not now you've got this slut."

The gun rose higher, jabbing sharply against Alex's temple, and this time a gasp did leave her, Jenette's arm winding tighter around her.

Gene's arms went up in retaliation, aiming his gun precisely.

Alex found she could barely breathe.

"Let her go."

To the contrary, she felt Jenette grip at her yet tighter, nails digging through the fabric of her clothes and near piercing her skin.

In the middle of it all she heard the radio that Gene must have still had on his person crackling, a message coming through as clear as anything.

"50ml administered."

In the chaos she had forgotten, somehow. Forgotten that she was fighting for her life like never before. Someone was still helping her along.

Summers' now lifeless body on the ground. Gene with his finger edging on the trigger, his stance otherwise calm and collected.

The ticking, louder than silence and her own heartbeat as it pounded sickeningly slow in her chest.

You need to fight, Alex. Show us how strong you are.

The chance was passing her by, she was not going to let it slip away.

"Just do it!"

Instinct was nothing like premeditated thought. Her elbow met sharply with Jenette's stomach, sending the other woman backwards. A shot rang out from behind her as she tried to get out of the way, the force of the world holding her limbs still.

Another shot came from the front, a reaction. She heard its fire, could smell the smoke that accompanied its speed, but was blind to its visibility. Her mind yelled and screamed at her body to move, to duck for cover, but she was too slow to cooperate. The highest dose of antibiotics had stunted all of her senses, made any of her efforts ineffectual.

But she felt the pain. Immediate, stronger than anything else she'd ever experienced, in this world or the other. Right in her stomach. Both hands flew there, in the hope that she could stem the blood flow, that she could save herself. It was hopeless.

His name was trapped in her throat, killing her as certainly as the shot was. The shot that he had fired.

She had hoped against hope that it wouldn't come to pass, but her premonition was finally coming true.

Reality twisted upon itself, the layers and dimensions she couldn't comprehend flexing and warping around her. She could hear voices, sharp in one ear and muffled in the other.

She's going into shock.

This isn't what we expected.

Everybody, keep clear!

She gasped out a breath, felt the agonising pain fading from her body, becoming phantom. Slowly she took her hands away from her abdomen, raised them to her face, steeling herself to be confronted with her own blood, as red as crimson coating her palms.

There was nothing there.

Shaken, with uncertainty coursing through her veins, she looked down, adjusting so that she had a clearer view. The skin of her stomach was smooth, untouched. She stroked her hands against it, expecting to encounter a hidden wound, something invisible to the naked eye.

"Bolly!"

His voice came as an echo, a reverberation from seconds previous, sounding too loud to her ears. She frowned at him, questioning the desperation in his tone. I don't know why you're so shocked. You're the one that shot me.

It had been an accident. That was always unclear in the dreams she had, but she knew it now. Somehow the thought comforted her.

"BOLLY!"

She felt his hand upon her arm, still smarting from where Jenette had gripped onto her. His other arm went round her waist, spinning her upon her feet, confronting her with the sight before them. Her head was so jumbled; surely this couldn't be real?

Something was deceiving her. She had felt it, seconds previous. The bullet from his gun making contact with her.

Except it hadn't. He'd met his target – how on earth neither of them could begin to reason – and on the ground, inches away from the lifeless body of Summers, Jenette lay, blood soaking barely visible against the black of her clothes. Her hand clutched to where the bullet had caught her and she was murmuring into the otherwise unbroken silence.

This can't be happening, not like this.

"Someone call an ambulance," he barked into the radio unveiled from the pocket of his coat, "and do it bloody sharpish!"

She was struggling to breathe properly, her eyes still fixed to the woman who had threatened to kill her only moments ago, prone on the ground but slightly propped up, still conscious. Gene was pulling her away, moving her along by his efforts as her feet refused to work.

"She should be alright, but I reckon it's too late for 'im."

He was softening the situation for her benefit. There was no doubting the fact that Summers was definitely dead, his neck twisted awkwardly but his body otherwise face down to the ground. Alex's gaze flitted from him to Jenette, back and forth, and she nearly stumbled to the ground herself before Gene righted her, brought her to sit on a low stone wall. He touched a gloved hand to her cheek, forced her to look into his eyes rather than the horrors before them.

"Stay 'ere," he said in a low, almost gentle tone, "I won't be a moment."

She nodded wordlessly, braced her hands against the hard and smooth stone that was beneath her.

As she watched Gene crouching to retrieve Jenette's discarded gun, then saw how he leant close to her, checking her breathing and vital signs, the thoughts that had been suspended in her head kicked back into life. The full dose had been administered. She wasn't sure how long these things took, but it couldn't be too much more.

That's if it hadn't killed her.

If Summers hadn't got there first.

The panic started to rise within her, heat searing to her head as her body trembled uncontrollably. Cure or kill. She was on the very edge, each second that passed holding an uncertain eternity within it. Each breath she took counted against what had been and what was coming.

She was so absorbed she didn't notice Gene back in front of her, at least not until his hand slipped against her arm, feeling her shake.

"Ey, it's okay. Bolly," his hand trailed upwards, brushing her hair off her face and then cupping her cheek, her eyes wide and wild before him, "it's okay, it's alright."

She looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but calm and assurance. Her constant. Her saviour. All of her worries, her fear regarding what was happening to her and what would become of her, began to fade – if not to nothing then at least temporarily to a softer version of themselves, tempered by blinding light.

She felt as though she was back in time, to the first time that she had encountered Summers, though she hadn't been aware it was him at the time. The drugs heavy in her bloodstream, her whole body paralysed as she fought against the oncoming blackness.

Gene's face was the first thing she had seen when she came back around.

"Am I dead?"

"Not unless I'm Saint Peter. And I find that highly unlikely, don't you?"

"Am I..." she started to say, her voice sounding strange and dismembered from her body, "It's not supposed to...Gene."

He stared at her and she could see the concern in his eyes. She rose to her feet again with his assistance, but she quickly lost her balance, her arms clutching around his neck as he pressed her body against his, holding her tight as she began to cry and continued to shake.

"Shhh, Bols," he soothed her, running a hand over her hair as her face was buried against his shoulder. "It's okay. It's all okay."

As the others arrived on the scene, as well as the ambulance and paramedics that Gene had called for, they remained that way, some kind of impenetrable force surrounding them. In the security of his embrace she finally stopped trembling, regained her composure if she still had no idea how she was existing.

Both of Gene's hands were against her face, the smooth warmth of the leather upon her skin almost as comforting as his bare touch was.

"It's over now," he told her.

The jolt in her heart didn't know whether she wanted to believe him.

The atmosphere back at CID should have been one of elation. They had carried off the biggest foil ever, exposed Operation Rose and the rot that had set in not too far away at their neighbouring division. She was the one out of place, souring things for everyone with the whispers and rumours of what had happened.

They'd missed all of the good stuff, DI Drake and the Guv caught up in some off shoot with the most twisted of them all.

She watched from the sidelines, piecing it together in her head as they all got on with business as normal. Summers recruiting Jenette. It wouldn't have been too difficult. She provided the ammunition he needed and he offered her the chance of a lifetime.

If he didn't get there first.

The mug that Shaz had brought her, still clad in her white dress but looking much less out of place than she did, was stone cold in her hands now. She clung to it still, catching the younger woman's eyes while she spoke into the receiver of the phone, her words masked to Alex's ears.

She needed to make a call.

Standing decisively she almost threw the mug to the floor, placing it down onto the desk before it could fall from her hands completely. Chris's calls of "Ma'am?" were ignored as she headed for the corridor, past the front desk until she got to the payphone towards the entrance of the station.

The number she dialled rang out continuously and she felt sick to her stomach the longer it did. Summers had done the impossible, twisting and distorting reality beyond all repair. She made a silent apology to her younger self, telling her that she had deserved to live. That it was all her fault, for making a deal with the devil in the first place.

The ringing tone stopped, was cut off by a long-overdue answer.

"Hello?"

"Evan?" The breath of hope returned to her, perhaps a little prematurely. "It's Alex. I mean, DI Drake."

"Alex," he answered, sounding somewhat uncertain. "This is unexpected."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I just..."

I just want to know that you're alive. That I'm still alive.

"Um, that case we were working on. When I stopped by."

It took him a minute or so to respond. "Oh, yes. I take it there's been a development?"

"Yes. Yes, we've...apprehended the suspect. Or I should say, he's been...well..."

"Oh, I see. Well, I don't expect much harm was done, if he was as dangerous as it sounded like he was."

"No." She held her free arm tight against her, feeling bad that things had ended the way they had for Summers, despite everything. He must have died in 2008 too, there was little question about it. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I thought I should."

"Thank you," he answered, still not entirely convinced but neither was he insincere.

She felt awkward, harbouring the same uneasy sensation that always surfaced whenever she considered that she was speaking to the younger version of her own godfather. But she had to fight past the feeling, for the sake of her own sanity.

"How are you?"

"Oh..." he stumbled, caught off guard by her question, "I'm...I'm getting there. Since you came round, I'm...well, I think that I'm facing up to things. Finally."

She smiled. "That's good to hear. And how...how is Alex?"

Her heart felt frozen within her chest. She was fairly certain that nothing irreversible had happened, given his positive answer to her previous question, but she wouldn't be at peace until she knew for sure.

"She's good." The smile that she could hear in his voice spoke volumes, and brought the weight rising up from her chest. "I picked her up just yesterday, actually. She's home until the new year now. Excited about Christmas already."

Her smile grew wider, recalling how she loved the holiday as a child, even after her parents had gone.

"Well, don't spoil her too much. I did...I do that with my daughter, and it's always gone against me."

Evan chuckled. "I'll try not to. Although I doubt that I'll keep to my word."

She ended the call after another minute, sensing that he was keen to get away and running out of things to say herself. Her head felt light, adrenaline charging around her body at the wonderful realisation that her fate hadn't been sealed, after all. She still had a way and it wasn't the end.

She could get back and she would get back. She just needed to figure out how, or otherwise stop searching so hard for the answer.

The laughter and the animated chatter of CID came to an abrupt halt when she walked back in, hardly giving her the need to put two and two together. She wanted to shout and scream, tell them all in no uncertain terms that was everything was fine – much better than she had expected, actually. Instead she went for self-preservation, sitting calmly back down at her desk and pulling some folders from one of the drawers. Soon enough things went back to normal, even if was muted in comparison to the moments previous.

She jumped hearing his voice behind her back, though he hadn't spoken as loud as he could, not by a long shot.

"Bolly," he said again when her eyes met with his own, giving her reassurance, "a word."

She was a little surprise as he stood to the side, allowing her entrance into his office before him. The eyes of almost everyone were on them, following their path, but she didn't have the space in her mind to worry about it, and he closed the blinds once he had shut the door behind them both.

Her stance was awkward, fingers looped into the waistband of her jeans.

So much to say, but it never seemed to come easy.

"I'm grantin' you leave," he said after an interminable pause, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet hers again, "A week. More if you want it."

That wasn't what she had expected, nor what she wanted.

"Gene...Guv," she corrected herself, feeling as though the situation called for it, "I'm...I'm grateful, but no. No, thank you."

His expression hardened for a brief moment. "Why won't you ever take a simple order?" His tone was harsher than he had intended it to be, she could tell.

She wore an uneasy smile, hoping to show her appreciation for his concern for her wellbeing. God knows she could never show enough gratitude for what he had done for her that day.

"I want to be here. I need to keep working. It's..." she faltered for a moment, thinking of the distinctions of this world and the one that she knew, perhaps not better after all. In this moment, the similarities seemed bigger than the differences. "It's how I cope with things."

He gave her an uncertain look, but didn't make to argue. He opened and reached into a drawer without glancing down, retrieving a bottle and pouring out a measure for them both. She employed her coping mechanisms, so did he.

"I'm fine," she reiterated as she leant back against his desk. "It's not the first time, and it probably won't be the last."

Perhaps that was tempting fate.

"Hmmm. Not if I can 'elp it, Bols."

She had little doubt about that. The warmth that spread out from the centre of her stomach counteracted the chill she had brought on with her own speculation.

"Have you...heard anything?"

She watched him take a slug from his glass, his little finger sticking out in the characteristic way that it did, one of his peculiarities.

"Docs say she's out of surgery. To look at 'er you wouldn't know any the wiser, apparently." He looked into the distance, his hand tightening around the glass. "She can look forward to bein' put away when she's made a full recovery, keep 'er brother company inside. So to speak, anyway."

"You shouldn't have..." she paused for a moment, feeling a dull ache starting to pulse at the back of her head, "you might have to face a disciplinary."

"She's not the ruddy Queen of Sheba," he barked back, his gaze holding greater concern. "Nobody's gunna care. There's more important things to contend with round 'ere right now. Like replacin' half the coppers in Fenchurch West, for one."

She rubbed at the sore spot, downed some of the scotch. Despite the time that had passed her nerves were frayed, her disguise barely holding together. The longer he looked at her he could surely tell that, but he didn't say anything, simply let her be.

Her mind was still a muddle, trying to make sense of the non-sensical. Perhaps she did need to take a break, sleep for a long time. Her chest felt tighter as she considered the prospect; she was too scared to take her foot off the break, frightened about what it might mean.

"It shouldn't have gone this way," she said after a long time spent quiet, feeling Gene's eyes settled upon her. Why had she had the same dream, so many times and more vivid each time it returned, if it meant nothing? Nothing made sense any more. "You were...it didn't happen like that. And that has to mean something. Shouldn't it?"

She was rambling, hardly making sense, and she expected him to say as much.

"It means that I was doin' my job, Bolly. She wanted to end you, and I was never goin' to let that happen." He lowered his head for a moment and she watched him keenly, knowing that it wasn't just the events of the day that weighed upon his mind. "Never."

She thought again, considering it not for the first time. Gene Hunt really might be her guardian angel after all. She could only imagine what he would make of it all, his wings well hidden from the view of others.

He went close to her, covered her hand in a tentative but meaningful touch which caused sparks to trail at the nape of her neck.

"Go home, Bolly," he uttered, the weariness showing through behind his eyes.

If only he realised what he was saying.

She dismissed herself before Gene could intervene and drag her out of the station, feeling frustrated but bone-tired. It hadn't just been the events of the day affecting her, both physically and mentally. Once she was back at the flat she quickly changed, leaving her work clothes and jacket in a heap beside the bed, curling against the pillow. An hour's nap was what she intended; she woke from a welcome dreamless sleep at gone eight in the evening.

Throwing a pair of jeans on but not bothering changing the loose-fitting top she tidied up in a fashion. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts; they were the worst company to have at the present time. Her mouth was dry, coated with that inexpressible sensation that sleep left behind.

Half of the team were in Luigi's and she sat at the table for a little while, itching to get away the whole time. Slipping back into the facade was something she needed to do, find her feet again for however long she had left here. She had an excuse to escape once Shaz and Chris departed, Shaz fussing over her fiancé and pressing kisses to his face. From the bar she watched as they left one by one, not letting on that the day had been a long and exhausting one. Ray was the last to go, finishing off the dregs from everyone's glasses, tipping his head towards where she sat. He cared more than he let on, or perhaps it had been relief; he liked things how they were despite his grousing otherwise, didn't fancy the responsibility of promotion.

She sipped on her wine, listened to the pop music that had been left playing, Luigi not bothering to change it since Shaz left. He smiled towards her, called her bellissima which was kind of him. Luigi was never anything but kind. She would miss his presence, wished she could conjure up a family member who possessed all of his qualities to take back with her.

Gene looked at her keenly but didn't say anything about her appearance. It was just as well, given that he never lied and she was in no mood to face the brutality of truth.

Glasses were lining up, hers and his; she picked up his a few times but he didn't complain, sat back upon his stool and watched her, the smoke he exhaled whirling around her head in tendrils. She was making a point of not focusing on any point for too long tonight – of trying not to think of anything at all – but she lingered on this, stealing glances over her shoulder, wondering if this was progress that he'd never known.

Certainly she couldn't remember sharing that which she marked as hers – herself, in ways that she had lost track of – like this with any other.

Man. Friend. Lover.

She couldn't stop herself from staring at his fingers, aware of the roughened texture of his skin as well as the way he could be so precise and tender. Endlessly surprising.

Constant. The word circled in her head, attached itself to Gene without his knowledge.

He'd no doubt call her a soppy cow if he ever knew, shrug it off the same way he did with any evidence of deeper affection.

She was being so careful not to say anything of the sort, felt she was close to exploding with keeping all of it inside. The alcohol was not helping; she knew that she was looking at him with doe eyes whenever she turned to him, glances growing longer and softer each time she dared. The way she reacted to him made her frustrated; she had to be stronger than this if she was going to stand a real chance of getting back.

She didn't want to go tonight.

Her hand reached waveringly for the bottle of wine, reflexes not swift enough to stop Gene pulling it out of her grasp. She half-frowned at him, amused at how the tables had turned.

"You've 'ad enough, Bolly."

A smile pulled at her lips as she shook her head in the most pathetic attempt at argument she'd ever employed.

"You're not the one who had a gun pointed at you. Twice."

She grasped at the air, almost being successful in wrapping her fingers around his wrist.

"Not today, at least."

Her eyebrows raised and her elbow landed with a thud upon the bar, chin nestled in her palm. His eyes smiled towards her as she waited for him to expand upon what he had said. There was so much of him that she had yet to reveal, the layers endless and each more fascinating than the last, as well as being all the more lovable.

She had no right to use the word, but she wanted to fight against the tide while she still had the time.

It surged within her, the feeling that had been dormant, lulled by sleep and alcohol and talking about everything other than the position they found themselves in now. He looked unassuming, as though he wasn't paying proper attention, which irked her all the more.

"You doubted me," she said without any warning or specific tone to soften the statement. Her mind was back more than twenty four hours previous, when he looked at her with what she could now deem to be suspicion, the sharp sting hurting much more intensely in retrospect.

He stared at her, as if he was trying to remember or otherwise avoid what she had brought up again.

"Don't do that," she ordered as he turned his gaze away from her, "don't pretend, Gene. For the smallest moment you thought I was in on it." She felt a burning in her throat as she considered, still finding it hard to believe that he could ever think she was capable, when she had been proving her loyalty all along. "Why? I want to know."

It truly was a puzzle to her, the way things could shift so fast, foundations she thought she could rely on crumbling beneath her feet.

"Don't start," he muttered as he plucked out one of the glasses from the arrangement, "we're havin' a nice evenin'."

She should have been grateful that he was trying to make it easier. Yet it wasn't the first time she had been sidelined and she wanted to know if these lapses were something she could always expect from him.

She kept her eyes fixed upon him until he could ignore her no longer, the atmosphere becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

"You wanna know why?" he said, his gaze burning into her, making her feel foolish. "I don't know why, is the honest truth. It sounds like a cop-out, I know, but you wanted to hear it, so there you are."

Looking into his eyes she knew that he was being straight with her, which made her feel marginally better but also pissed off that she had been wrong.

He edged the chosen glass with a finger before pushing it away with his whole palm.

"You mess with my head. Always 'ave, and now I think it's even worse." He looked down again, finding a spot on the floor that held his attention. "I don't know what to make of you most of the time. You make me doubt meself."

"So you're saying it's my fault," she scoffed, holding back a burst of laughter.

She supposed she could understand it. Other women were less complicated, more of what she imagined he had been used to. Easier to mould, knowing when to surrender.

His face was half-stone, his eyes betraying him on the demeanour he wished to portray.

"You have to make everythin' about you." His voice was low, less accusing than she might have expected.

Silence reigned for a while, giving her the perfect opportunity to deconstruct. She pulled herself back from the edge, peered into an empty glass as though it would provide a solution.

"I didn't..." he began, the stuttering of his voice causing her to turn back towards him, "I didn't do anythin' with her. I swear on me mother's life."

The contrite expression he wore made her heart flutter. "I didn't accuse you, Gene."

He half-pouted, figure slumped as he placed both hands down upon the bar. "The problem is I'm a soft touch. For...a certain type."

Damsels in distress. It wasn't exactly a revelation.

"A flutter of the eyelashes, a way of sayin' things. And I bloody fall for it every time, daft sod that I am."

"You only want to help. That's not a bad thing." She touched a hand to his upper arm, a small spark igniting beneath her fingers which he felt too, his gaze seeking hers again.

"Hmmm. Some people are beyond 'elp though, Bolly."

He was perfectly innocent but what he had said had touched something raw within her. Again she was reminded of the mistakes she had made, one after the other in a line that led her down a path that had not only been wrong but potentially destructive. She had been so hopeful – so easy to deceive – that she had grasped onto the thinnest thread. The face of Summers still smiled at the back of her mind, laughing at her misfortune. He could never have helped her.

The tears came quickly, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed with abandon, nearly toppling from the stool.

"Bols. Hey, come on." His arm went round her, the warmth of his touch radiating. "Don't make a scene."

There was only Luigi around to notice. She cried harder and louder, unable to stop herself, having held onto the grief for too long.

"I'm trying so hard," she choked, hiccoughing through streaming tears, "I'm trying, but nothing's working."

He lifted her to her feet, pulled her against his side as she flopped like a ragdoll.

"Shhh. I know you are, love."

He didn't, but she felt better for his reassurance.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs."

She clung onto him, letting him set the pace and control everything. This was his world, after all.

"Signor Hunt?" She heard Luigi's voice but couldn't see his expression properly for the tears that blinded her eyes.

"Perfect hospitality as ever, Luigi. Signorina Drake's a bit...over-tired, so we'll 'ave to love and leave you. No offence."

"Stai attento, Signorina."

Gene all but carried her out and upstairs, stopping every so often to look down at her. She'd stopped her hysterical outburst and by the time they got to the flat her eyes were dry but tight and stinging. It took her a few moments to fish the key out of her front pocket and she could sense that he wanted to help, thinking that she really should get one made for him. It seemed too final, which was why she had resisted and would continue to do so.

She left the door open behind her, assuming that he had followed inside. Instead he stood in the doorframe, hesitant.

"I should..." he gestured behind him.

Having made it most of the way towards the sofa she retraced her steps, reached for his hand, pulling him forward easily.

"Stay," she uttered, her frame brushed up against his, the pad of her thumb pressing into his palm. "Please. I don't want to start crying again."

"I didn't think you'd 'ave anythin' left."

She smiled, bringing him with her to the sofa. He waited for her to sit down in her spot first, ever the gentleman. He'd been sitting for only a couple of seconds before she rested her head against his shoulder, curving against him instinctively. It was the first time she'd felt at ease for days.

Her head was empty except for him, the musky and tobacco-tinged scent of him that she found so comforting filling her lungs, their fingers joined and rested in the halfway point between their laps. She couldn't recall that they'd ever gone so long without saying anything, exchanging verbal blows made to sting but leave no permanent bruises.

In the easy silence the words to a song floated into her mind; it must have been playing on the radio in Luigi's. She tried to divert herself, settle back into her state of peaceful nothingness, but they persisted, causing her to nearly sing out loud.

I, I can remember
Standing by the wall
And the guns shot above our heads
And we kissed, as though nothing could fall

And the shame was on the other side
Oh we can beat them, forever and ever
Then we could be heroes, just for one day

She jerked her head upwards as images played on a fast reel through her brain, Gene's eyes landing upon her.

"Bolly?"

Her eyes locked with his and she felt a jolt within her chest, the whole world feeling like it was rocking beneath her. Time is running out, the voice within her head told her and she argued against it, helplessly and hopelessly.

Just give me a little while longer.

"Bolly," he repeated, searching her face for an answer she couldn't give, his gaze dropping to her parted lips.

She mirrored him in every respect, bracing a hand upon his chest as she leaned in to kiss him, losing herself against his mouth. His hand slid against her cheek, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss, his tongue tracing her bottom lip. She murmured his name, placed her other hand against his neck, breathed him in as she felt her head spinning, desperate for more.

Never wanting this to end.

Their lips were still connected as she pulled them both to their feet, smaller kisses exchanged. Her breathing was quick, heart hammering in her chest; she dared not open her eyes in case everything disappeared before her, Gene slipping from her hands like an illusion.

She'd edged them to the bedroom, no doubt in her mind of what she wanted. What she needed like nothing else.

His hand caught hers as it travelled down his torso, the other firm upon her face.

"Alex," he uttered, trying to ease himself away from where she held him close, "I should go...you're in no fit state. You'd hate me in the mornin'."

She shook her head, holding onto his hand to convince him that she was strong, that she knew what she wanted.

"I don't know when..." she stumbled upon her words, filled up with such emotion, "...this could be our last chance."

She tried to look past the confusion in his eyes, taking backward steps into the room and bringing him with her. With each step traversed, he seemed to be a little more convinced.

"Please," she breathed, knowing she sounded utterly desperate but hardly caring, "I just want you, Gene. I need you."

His arm drew round her waist as she went closer to him, heat escalating in the small gap between their bodies. His gaze fixed upon her lips, quirking into a little smile before she brought them to his own again, the wait almost painfully slow.

She reasoned that she hadn't needed to kiss him again to persuade him, but the opportunity was one she couldn't possibly pass up, not when there was nothing but mere breath between them. She could hear herself murmur against his mouth, one hand twisting into his hair – it was getting longer than she'd ever known it to be – while the other started on the buttons of his shirt, clumsy in her eagerness to feel his skin against her fingers, touch him properly and feel the thud of his heart pulsing into her own bloodstream. Connection, the word echoing in her mind.

His movements became more assured as he slid his hands up from her waist, caressing her sides once he had worked her loose-fitting top off. He'd brought them both to sit on the bed, kissing the corners of her mouth.

"You sure?" he asked her again, muttering against the sensitive skin of her neck which tingled when he brushed his lips there.

She hadn't failed to notice how he had taken his hands from her, not wanting to proceed until she gave consent.

Alex nodded, pulling both of his hands back to her, settling one shamelessly over a still-concealed breast.

"Yes," she managed to say, her breath rasping. He wasn't touching her yet, but the warmth that came from him was enough to set each nerve within her singing.

She felt his mouth smile against her skin as he rained kisses upon her neck, her throat, slipped the straps of her bra down to nip at her shoulder. His hands were working wonders too, one trailing up and down her back, sending sparks skittering upon her spine, the other dipping underneath the cup of her bra – just as eager and wanting as she was – to fondle the soft curve and weight of her breast. He gained better access quickly, taking the garment swiftly from her body, his head dipping to kiss as his hands moved to stroke her sides – neither his mouth or his hands were off her for the smallest fraction of a second – his lips delightfully warm as he closed them around her nipple.

Her stomach tightened, both hands digging into his scalp. She thought that she was saying his name over and over, each repetition in a higher note than the last, but all of her senses were inaccessible, surrendered to him as he took command of her body, utterly responsive as it was to his every touch.

Her arms still bore marks from the events of the day; they'd stopped stinging quite so much in the last couple of hours. She could feel them fading away, healing as Gene passed his lips over them, pressing kisses to every patch of skin available. She knew that she would feel him long after she had gone from here, the memory of him etched into her soul, making her at once complete and closed off, unable to love anyone else in the same way for as long as she was lucky to live.

I'll always be in love with you.

She felt aimless, her hands smoothing against him, waiting patiently but aching from the loss of contact as he ridded himself of his vest and belt. He was just as keen to get back to her, his hair tickling against her stomach as he pulled the jeans from her legs, fingertips leaving electricity in their wake.

His mouth was hot, planting more kisses upon her, finding the skin that was less smooth stretched out just beneath her stomach. He lingered there, apparently in fascination, trailing his tongue over the fine crinkles and then above the waistband of her knickers, making her writhe and wriggle, breath caught tight in her throat.

She was sure that he couldn't have mistaken her, but all that had happened made him more susceptible. Cautious, even. Not a word that she would use often with Gene Hunt.

With one hand resting upon her side the other pulled hers away from him, kissed her wrist tenderly. It sent another unbearably beautiful sensation spiralling through her.

You are needed, she could hear his voice in her head though he said nothing, his lips otherwise occupied.

Here, with me.

He squeezed her hand in his, assuring her without words, before letting go, taking the last remaining cover from her body. Tears were gathering in her eyes as he placed small kisses on the top of her thighs, her soul calling out to his with the deepest need.

"If this is the last time," he uttered, his voice deliciously hoarse, his hands drawing little circles upon her skin, "then we'd better make it count."

A high gasp fell from her lips, then a series of soft moans as he put his mouth on her where she craved it most – at least in this moment. His hands worked their way up her body, stroking and caressing, while his tongue lapped at her, slow and teasing. She felt as though she was floating, the pleasure racing and radiating through her so intense that she thought any moment that she might fall apart.

I'm falling, further and further.

She wanted to hold on but it was all too much – his mouth, his tongue, his eyes glancing up at her while her legs were hooked about his shoulders. His hands trailing down her calves, tickling at the sensitive spot behind her knees, melting her further. She was incoherent and he was enjoying it far too much.

He didn't even need to bring his elegant fingers to her sleekness; she was undone without their addition, her breathing laboured and her body on fire, begging for mercy even as she needed more.

It took her a few minutes to come back down to earth, reaching for him while she remained half-prone, her legs still numb. He took off his trousers and boxers in one go before lying down almost on top of her, a satisfied smirk covering his face. Alex drank in his expression, her head still in a haze. She shut her eyes tight, grasping a fistful of his hair in her hand and crashing her lips to his. She'd left traces of herself upon him, and she only hoped that the memory would burn as bright and stay as strong and immovable as his would for her.

His forehead rested against hers, she heard a contented sigh slip from his throat. Her smile faltered when he pulled back a little to gaze down at her, silvery-blue eyes cutting straight to the heart of her like every part of him did.

"Ey, no tears, Bols," he uttered, stroking a thumb against her cheekbone, "it weren't that bad, was it?"

She shook her head, looking up at him earnestly, her hand stroking between his shoulder-blades.

"You...you won't forget me, will you, Gene?"

She knew that there were others before her and that there would be others that would follow. He was never short of occupation, striving all the time to out-do himself and put the world to rights. His world.

His gaze softened to the vulnerability in her eyes. She'd never felt vulnerable with him, not like this.

"I'd 'ave a job," he replied, tracing his thumb against her bottom lip. His other hand was against her side, the backs of his fingers coasting upon her skin. "No, Alex. I'd never forget you. Not even long after I'm gone."

A rush surged within her; she flicked her tongue against the pad of his thumb, causing him to growl.

She kissed him so that she wouldn't think of the fate that befell him, that which may have already done so.

"I promise," she said between increasingly hungry kisses, "you'll be my secret. Always."

She held true to the promise within her heart, fiercer now than it was even days ago, that she would never betray him, divulging all like some sordid kiss-and-tell. She wouldn't offer him up for deconstruction or examination; instead she would keep him just for her.

He dipped his head to nip at her neck and the lobe of her ear and she murmured her delight. She could feel him, hot and hard, and she wanted to press him down against her, have him surge deep inside. Instead he plucked at her skin with little kisses, brushing his lips and hands over her reverently, making her feel utterly worshipped.

"God, Bols, you're beautiful," he said against her skin, moving his mouth to the valley between her breasts, "I don't know how..."

He didn't finish, focused his attention on her instead, and she wasn't in the mind to press him. Her hands trailed down his back, fingernails scratching him softly as he continued to map her with his mouth. All that mattered to either of them was the other and their ensuing pleasure; they were one another's world.

If only the world could go on forever.

Her hands reached his buttocks and she pressed a kiss to his neck as she grasped onto him, both of them letting out helpless groans as he filled her, and she felt complete once again as they moved together in perfect synchronicity, each second that passed bringing her closer to ascending but grounding her, too.

It seemed like a contradiction but time was a factor that simply did not figure. They made love long and slow, minutes melting away unnoticed against kisses and touches; the night took on an almost endless quality, much to Alex's delight. Her head would have well argued otherwise but her heart was certain in these moments when she was in his arms, underneath and above, his eyes gazing into hers as he drove her to euphoria again and again.

A part of me will always be with you.

She'd held back for months, telling herself that it was no good, but that night it was different. He felt so right, within her, adoring her. In her whole life she had never felt so wanted, so needed, and the feeling took over her entire being, made her feel real.

She didn't know when she would get the chance again – she wasn't even sure that this wasn't her last chance – and so it wasn't a loss of inhibition but instead an impulse brought from deep within her as she held onto him, feeling him in every way possible.

She said it more than once, making sure she looked into his eyes as she did so – not an easy thing when they were both so overwhelmed.

"Gene...I love you."

A/N: Heroes written by David Bowie and Brian Eno.

Things are officially totally AU from here on out...(I still have no idea how long this fic is going to be, whoops)