Gene. From the moment she'd landed in his world, he'd exploded into her every thought and invaded every moment of her consciousness. There had been a spark, that as many sparks do, first started out as a mutual hatred, which turned to camaraderie and then to a mutual need for each other. She remembered those first few weeks; shrouded in confusion and fear, she'd turned those feelings into anger at Hunt, butting heads with him in a way she'd only done with her ex-husband. The fighting had gone on until she became resigned; having seen her parents die meant she no longer felt she must fight against this world. And so she'd grown closer to Gene, still fighting, but in a way friends do, with no spite but still fire. The corruption had drawn them together, making them something beyond the team of CID, more of a double act. What with facing the tide of bent coppers, they had no time to look at each other, not until the final battle by which time doubts had crept in, Martin had got between them, and the double act was over, forced apart by a bullet. So when they were reunited again, the shattered edges of the two were bound to not fit together. He had doubted her, and so now she doubted him. But her doubts had been drawn out over a year, festering away at her in the form of Jim Keats. Where Jeanette had led Gene astray, so Keats wormed himself into her mind, building a wall of arguments against Gene. That's when the truth had come out. The terrible, brutal truth. She was dead. They were dead. Gene was dead. All wallowing in that grave of a world, but not for long. A few hours later and she was out. Thrown out without time to think. But that had been good. What would she have done in the other world? Cried? She'd cried enough tears already to (ironically) last a lifetime. Fix things with Gene? No, she realised. No, things with Gene could never be fixed. They'd fought too much, argued too long, danced around each other for three years now. The possibility of what they could have been was so great, so beautiful, and yet so unreachable. Because they were both too bigger personalities to work forever. Somewhere along the line, one of them would screw up again, and this time it would be over. No, it was better like this; better to have the bitter sweet memory of a love that never was, than the torn remnants of a love broken. Besides, as Gene would say, you couldn't have a DI sleeping with her DCI, what would the Supers say. Bloody hell she was going to miss him. Those boots, the late Quattro, the smell of fags and whiskey that followed him everywhere, the determined line of his jaw when he knew he was right, those dazzling eyes that had sparkled on the rare occasions she'd seen him smile. The Manc Lion, her Manc Lion. Forever alone, but she hoped, that for a time, he had felt that he wasn't. And with that, Alex Drake opened her eyes.
So, that is all for this one. I'm not so keen on this story, but I thought what the hell, just do it!