The elegant heel of her shoe had snapped leaving Alex Drake sat on the pavement, clutching an ankle that was already swelling and turning blue. She struggled against him, even as he tried to help and Gene couldn't tell whether she was attempting to crawl away from the pain… or from him.

"Let me see you daft cow," he said, knowing that his tone was unnecessarily harsh.

Alex relented and let him examine her ankle, wincing as he touched the injured area.

"You'll live," was Gene's conclusion. It was sprain and probably a nasty one but he didn't think it was broken.

"No thanks to you," she muttered.

"How is it my fault?"

She glared at him and Gene suddenly felt a little ashamed of himself.

"Those stupid bloody shoes you wear…," he muttered.

"Well sorry for trying to look nice!"

"You do look nice… more than nice…"

Gene coughed to cover his embarrassment. Sitting on the kerb in the freezing cold was hardly the time or the place for this, he realised. He'd missed his chance to tell her she looked beautiful. Should have done that when she first walked into the restaurant and maybe then she wouldn't have been so keen for Keats to join them.

"Anyway… best get you home."

He tried to help her up but she pushed him away.

"I can get there by myself."

And she tried. He had to give her that. Gene followed behind as she hobbled along the pavement, her ruined shoes clutched in her hand. She even attempted to hail a taxi but not one of the bastard drivers would stop. In the end Gene took pity on her, knowing that if he didn't then the impossible woman would probably try and walk all the way back to Fenchurch.

"Come on," he said as gently as he could, "The Quattro's just around the corner."

He slid an arm about her waist, letting her lean on him as they made slow progress towards the car. She was shivering in her thin wrap and her feet were white with the cold. Throwing caution to the wind, Gene scooped her up in his arms. She let out a little yelp of surprise as he did so.

"You could do with losing a few pounds, Bolly," he huffed under her weight.

"It's a good thing I didn't get to eat my dinner then."

But she felt far too thin in his arms and Gene was unpleasantly reminded of her recent stay in hospital, her three month coma… She could have done with a good meal, he realised.

"We can stop for chips on the way home if you want," he offered.

"Chips?"

"What?"

"That restaurant has a Michelin star."

"So?"

For some reason Alex started to giggle, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she fought to restrain her laughter. Gene couldn't work out what was so hilarious but he decided that having her lips smiling against his skin was more important than conversation. The fact that she still had a smile on her face as he started to drive them back home was some consolation. He put the heater on full blast, hoping that warming her feet would go some way towards warming her heart. Perhaps it did because it wasn't long before she spoke again.

"Hell of a day."

"Yeah."

It had been. No wonder really that their tempers were frayed.

"Probably should have postponed dinner," he admitted.

"Yes…"

She paused then to his immense surprise, rested her hand lightly on his thigh. Gene shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Seemed that Sergeant Rock wasn't playing dead anymore.

"We could try again?" she suggested.

"Could we Bolls?"

He looked over at her. There was something infinitely sad in her eyes, something that she would always be looking for and Gene knew it wasn't him. She removed her hand, turning her head to stare out of the window.

"There's a chip shop," she said.

Gene sighed as he brought the Quattro to a halt outside. He had his answer.

"Right… do you want mushy peas?"