What time would he get here? Alex had managed a short nap before waking to a fluttering in her tummy, anxiety nibbling away at her, the sense that this evening's encounter with Gene would be the make or break of their relationship. Kill or cure. She'd tidied up a bit but was still tired after the surgery, her wound still ached if she pushed herself too hard, so she'd flopped down on the sofa, a glass of water in her hand and no physical outlet for her growing nervous energy.

It was ten past six when she heard the knock at her door and, giving herself a mental shake, she let him into her flat. He still looked guarded, taking a seat on the edge of her sofa, hunched forward, his hands hanging between his splayed knees. "Good afternoon?" she asked.

"Glad to be back in the saddle. Don't know what the rabble's been up to while I've been away – place was in chaos. Can't turn my back for five minutes…"

He nodded a thank you as she handed him a tumbler of scotch, edging along the sofa slightly to give her room to sit down, watching as she sat facing him, her back against the armrest and legs curled beneath her. She raised an eyebrow in query. "Have I missed much?"

"Few domestics, a burglary. Nothing out of the ordinary. Which reminds me…" He looked at her for a moment before reaching into his inside jacket pocket, handing her a small leather square.

"My warrant card."

He looked at the floor. "Shouldn't have suspended you. You were right about the heist. Should have listened to you."

Turning the card over and over in her fingers, she stared across at Gene's profile, his down-turned head. "Yes, you should."

He sighed, nodding slightly. "Never filled in the paperwork anyway, so as far as anyone else is concerned it never happened. We'll expect you back as soon as you're fit enough."

"Fine. Good."

"Good." He sat back and took a swig from the tumbler. "Fine."

"Look, Gene – "

"Alex, I – "

He gave a ghost of a smile. "Ladies first."

"No. After you."

Puffing out a breath, he turned his body towards her and caught her gaze. "How did you know, Alex? About King Douglas Street? If it hadn't been for the fire at the florist, they'd have used one of the other routes. It doesn't make sense."

Alex straightened her back and nodded. This was it. She was going to have to lie to him, to make the lie somehow more believable than she'd made the truth. She hoped she could pull it off. "The man you shot. Boris Johnson. He was involved in the heist, working with Carmichael's team. Set the fire in the florist to make sure the King Douglas Street route would be used. Thought it was less secure than the ones going on the High Street."

He stared at her. "Okay. But Alex… how do you know that? He said you couldn't be corrupted and I want to believe that, but why would he tell you where the heist was going down unless…"

"Gene, please believe me, I wasn't involved. I didn't know was Boris either until I saw him at the heist. Then everything seemed to.. I don't know. Fall into place. And what I couldn't figure out he told me himself, before you arrived on the scene."

"I'm listening."

"Boris saw me one day as I was going into the station. He… I think he wanted to date me. Sent me roses, asked me to dinner. I went once."

"I'm not interested in your love life," Gene interrupted bleakly.

"It's important, Gene. You need to know this. He seemed odd somehow. Talked about his glory days in the force, before he supposedly retired. Sounded to me like he'd been forced out. And he talked about how he was going to have one more day in the sunshine before bowing out. Didn't have a clue what he meant at the time – didn't much care by that point in the evening, to be honest – but it stayed with me."

"So Boris is a disgraced copper who was on the fiddle and thought he might get into your knickers in his retirement. I was right about you attracting nutcases."

She smiled. "Well. I might have attracted him. He didn't do anything for me." She sent him a quick glance. "Tried to give him the elbow, but he didn't take it well. Kept calling, trying to change my mind. Said he had one last thing to say to me, asked to meet me one final time. Told me he'd stop bothering me once we'd had this last conversation."

"You went." It wasn't a question.

"Should have known better. I mean, who arranges a romantic farewell at a building site?"

Eyebrows raised. "Building site?"

"Mm hm. Lafferty's building site. Only I wasn't the only one invited. Martin Summers was there too." Alex paused, the memory of that evening still raw. Gene turned to look at her.

"You okay?"

"It's hard for me, Gene. It was – it was horrible."

He made the smallest of moves in her direction, almost raised his hand towards her, but stilled as soon as he started. "What was horrible, Alex?"

"He – Boris – he…" She cleared her throat. "Boris shot Martin Summers. I presume Boris realised that Summers knew something about the heist. Shot him in front of me."

Gene ran a hand through his hair. "You knew who killed Summers? You've known all along? Chrissakes, Alex."

"He threatened me. Said he'd frame me, take me down. That he'd take you and Chris down with me. I panicked. God rid of the body." The words were dragged from her; the facts had been twisted to suit her needs but the terror she'd felt that night, the cold fear at having to dispose of Summers' body, was still horrifyingly real.

"You covered up a murder, Alex. That's not something you can just sweep under the carpet."

"I know that now. But Gene, he told me that he had friends in high places, that no one would believe me if I pointed the blame at him. It was a split-second decision. Hide the body or risk being framed for murder, risk him getting at Chris, at you. Couldn't do that, Gene." She bit back a sob and this time Gene allowed himself the luxury of comforting her, putting a hand on her arm, torn between sympathy for Alex's distress and annoyance at her failure to tell him earlier about Boris and Summers.

"You should have trusted me. I could've helped you."

She looked down at his hand, resting against her sleeve. Slipping her arm free, she took hold of his hand in both of hers. "Trust," she mumbled with a watery smile. "Such a small word. So important. Wanted to, Gene. So much. But I was scared and I didn't know what to do. And after that it all just snowballed, and I hated it. Hated being on a different side to you. Hated losing you."

A pained expression crossed Gene's face and he felt her hands tighten around his. "I heard you on that tape Alex. You didn't seem too worried about being on the other side then. Said you thought Summers could help you, that you had to get away."

Nodding slowly, Alex frowned. "Can't remember exactly what I said on the tape. But I do remember thinking that there must be a way to put Boris away for Summers' murder, that it would be a way of getting out of the mess I was in."

He was sceptical, but let it go. Wasn't really what was on the tape that was the problem anyway. Was the fact that she hadn't been honest with him when he'd asked her to. He took a deep breath. Couldn't look at her. "Why did you tell me all that bullshit about being from the future?"

This was the hardest part. Could she persuade him this time? Leaning closer, squeezing his fingers tight, she sought his gaze. "I was so scared, Gene," she whispered. "I'd brought this all on myself with my stupidity, and I could cope with endangering myself but I couldn't live with the idea that I might endanger you. And then you heard the tape and I thought you might be close to putting everything together, and I knew that if you did then you'd be as much a target as me. I just made something up to throw you off the scent. The first insane thing I could think of. I didn't mean to hurt you, Gene. You must believe that."

Gene sniffed. "I'm the Gene Genie. You didn't hurt me." But he didn't try to retrieve his hand from her grasp.

"I thought I could do it all on my own. I have never been so sorry about being wrong."

Angling his body towards hers, he let out a breath. "I'm sorry too. I'm trying, Alex, really, but I just don't know what to think about all this." He wanted to believe her, desperate to get back to where they were, and he hoped that if he tried hard enough he could overlook the fact that there were more holes in her story than in his Auntie Ethel's net curtains.

"You know," she murmured, "you hurt me too, Gene."

"Told you. You didn't hurt me."

She continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"You said I was cold. Do you really think that about me? It kills me that you might think that."

He pulled his hand away and rose quickly to his feet, catching his coffee mug from the table on the way up. "Got a proper drink, Bolls? Are you allowed a spot of vino or are you under doctor's orders?"

Sighing, she waved a hand towards the kitchen. "Help yourself. And fetch me a glass of water while you're there."

After fumbling around in the kitchen for as long as he could get away with, Gene returned to Alex, sitting heavily back on the sofa. He set the drinks on the table then turned to face Alex. Talking about his feelings never came easily, and it didn't help that he was still so unsure about hers. But he couldn't forget the crushing despair he'd felt as she'd lingered in her coma, the relief when she'd woken up. Could no longer ignore the insistent need beating away within him, calling out with every breath. He swallowed.

"Bolls, you have to remember what had happened, just before we argued, before I said all those things." He wished she'd take his hand again but she was sitting completely still, her eyes locked on his. He looked away. "I'd asked you to trust in me, confide in me, and you were still clinging to that bollocks about the future. So I lashed out, said things I didn't mean. I was angry, Bolls. I'm sorry. I don't think you're cold."

He heard her take a deep sigh, although whether it was from relief or disappointment he couldn't tell. He risked a glance at her and saw she'd wrapped one arm around the back of the sofa and was picking absently at the fabric. She looked tired and he felt a new stab of guilt at having hurt her, shooting her but also lashing out at her, aiming straight at the weak spots he knew would cut her the deepest. He stretched a tentative arm along the sofa back, taking her hand in his. Blinked as he felt her fingers curl into his palm.

She took a breath. "Jenette wasn't cold, was she?"

There it was again. The guilt. Not only had he allowed his head to be turned by a stupid little blonde thing, he'd chosen the very little blonde thing who'd gone on to put a gun to Alex's head. No one could accuse him of not fucking up in style. "Jenette was a mistake."

"Hah," she laughed, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. "And they say you're all brawn and no brains."

"Look, Alex, of course I didn't know she was going to show up and threaten you. If I'd known that then I wouldn't have had anything to do with her. Goes without saying. But the rest of it – why shouldn't I have had a drink with her?" His stormy gaze cut right through her. "Why on earth would that bother you?"

She looked down at her lap for a moment before catching his eye once again. "What did you mean when you said you thought we had a connection?"

Giving a hollow laugh he dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling. "You won't give an inch, will you, Bolly?"

He felt her tug on his hand, pulling gently him towards her. "You think this is easy for me, Gene? Think I'm not scared, not insecure? I have no idea what I mean to you. Drinking buddy, first lieutenant, pain in the arse. Because you have never given me any hint of anything else, and it doesn't matter how much I wish for it, if it's not there then I can't make it be."

Reaching across with his free hand, he traced a line on her cheek, cupped her jaw. "It's there," he replied, "it's always been there. But you haven't always been looking."

"Am looking now," she murmured, edging closer, slipping one hand on his thigh, running the other along his arm, curling it around his neck. She lifted her face to his, eyelids fluttering closed as he leaned towards her, sighing as she felt his lips brush gently against hers. "Gene," she murmured, pulling away, touching his face. She caught her breath at the fire she could see raging in his eyes.

"Bolly." One touch and he couldn't breathe, was burning with need for her, spiralling without end. He wanted to rip the clothes from her body, press her down on the stupid zebra sofa and not stop until she was shouting his name. He wanted to hold her like she was made of crystal, as precious to him as breathing. He wanted to know what she thought, what she was feeling about him at that exact moment. She touched a finger to his lips and he thought he might implode.

Inching along the sofa, she leaned into him, capturing his lips once more, a kiss of apology, of hope. It felt fragile, tentative, not what she wanted at all. Parting her lips, she slid her tongue into his mouth, swirling it against his, tasting him properly for the first time. Smoke and scotch and pure, 100 per cent Gene, she pulled him closer, needing more.

He slipped his hands to her waist, beneath her jumper, circling his thumbs in the small of her back. Her skin was so soft beneath his fingers, so velvet and warm, he wanted to touch every bit of her, every perfect, elegant inch, and he tightened his arms around her, urging her towards him. He was tumbling fast, spinning out of control, sense and reason falling away as he wrapped himself in her, her scent, her taste, her touch. His tongue was deep in her mouth, teasing at every corner, giving the promise of pleasures to come, and he shifted against her, pressing her body down with his, wanting to sink into her, immerse himself in her.

The fog clouding his brain took a moment to lift, his body trying to ignore the feel of her hands pushing at his shoulders, her voice panting his name. He lifted his head reluctantly, staring as she looked up at him with dark and dazed eyes, smiling but shaking her head. "Something wrong?" he mumbled.

"Want to," she breathed, "but can't. Hurts."

"Shit," he muttered, peeling himself away and retaking a seat at her side. "Sorry. Er, bit carried away."

"Don't be sorry." She wrapped an arm around his waist, rested her chin on his shoulder. "Not your fault. Just…" She waved a hand at her side, near her wound, catching her breath, trying to calm her raging hormones.

"Course. Yes. Erm…" He took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head, get his blood back into proper circulation. "Did they give you any idea how long it'll take to heal?"

Laughing softly, she shook her head. "They're not sure. Depends on how quickly the tissue knits together. Could be days, could be months."

"Months?" He looked aghast and she chuckled.

"Doubt it'll take that long. If it does, we'll just have to find a way around it. But I'll be out of action for a few days, at least."

He nodded. "Right. Few days. That's fine."

Reaching up, she traced a line across his cheek. "It's not a delaying tactic, Gene. I want this, I truly do. And we've already waited such a long time, we should be able to manage another few days."

Gene rolled his eyes. It was precisely because he'd been waiting for so long that he didn't want to waste another second. He wasn't about to force himself on an injured woman so would take the delay in his stride, but had no intention of giving her the chance to change her mind. He glanced at his watch – supper time. He could sate at least one of his appetites this evening.

He rose to his feet, stretching. "Bit hungry, Bolls. Fancy pasta?"

"Thanks, but I'm not really up to an evening in Luigi's." She looked up at him regretfully.

"I could bring something up? Unless you'd rather I sling me hook?"

She shook her head, fishing around in her pocket. "Pasta sounds lovely. Take my key." Watching his retreating back, Alex sank into the sofa, a hand at her lips, tracing the smile she couldn't seem to wipe from her face.

To be continued

AN - thank you again for all the encouraging comments, I do value them. Oh, and please make like Gene and don't peer too hard at Alex's story - I'm sure a real DCI would see through it in moments ;)