Before I post Chapter 3, can I just say a hussive thank you to my very kind reviewers who felt moved enough by my meagre scribblings in Chapter 1. Thank you very much, I appreciate your comments! Due to typo - and late night original writing, poor ol' Desk Sgt Viv ended up as 'Vic' - thanks for hauling me up for that one :)
Okay, on with the story, I hope you continue to enjoy it.
The usual disclaimers apply: I own nothing. All hail the Mighty Quattro, and Gene, how I love you, let me count the ways...

Chapter 3

He'd gone to Luigi's, where CID had decamped en-masse to start the end of the week celebrations with gusto.

Chris and Shaz were sitting in one of the coveted corner seats, surreptitiously holding hands, while Ray was pontificating through a cloud of cigarette smoke at the bar.

Ales perched at her usual chair at the opposite side of the bar, legs tucked up under the seat, manicured fingers curled round a glass of red wine.

And then, somehow, he'd got caught up in a conversation that had seemed so urgent and that had to be had there and then, then when he next looked up, she was gone.

Her empty wine glass sat alone at the bar.

He hasn't bothered excusing himself from the table where he had been sitting, nursing what must have been his third or fourth pint, he'd simply slammed the glass down on the table and marched over to the bar.

Luigi leant on the other side, humming tunelessly to something on the stereo and polishing a glass. It was his default setting Gene had decided. If the world was ending, Luigi would be found, humming tunelessly and polishing a wine glass.

'Signor Hunt!' Luigi greeted him.

'Where is she?' Gene demanded.

'She?' Luigi raised a bushy eyebrow in query, not quite making eye contact with Gene.

Gene leant over the bar and hissed in the Italian's ear, 'You bloody well know who I'm talking about! Tell me right now or I'll, I'll, I'll'.

The impossible happened. Gene Hunt was speechless.

So desperate was he to know where Alex was, to know that she was alright, to just see her and make eye contact and watch as her hair bobbed as she acknowledged him back, that words were a waste of time.

Luigi stepped back and smiled nervously.

'She left.'

'And?!' Gene growled, 'Stop playing games Luigi, this isn't bloody well being taken down and used in evidence. Yet!!'

'She left, about 10 minutes ago.'

'Did she say where she was going?'

'Eh, I am a barman, not her confessor!' Luigi paused and looked away at the main crowd from CID, playing for time.

Gene knew that look well. It was one he used round Alex when he wanted to talk to her but didn't have a clue what to say.

The look that bought him time with her, precious seconds when he was the most important person in her mind.

'What?' he asked, using a softer tone of voice.

'She looked tired, Signor Hunt, very tired. I tried to talk to her, to take that sadness from her eyes, but Luigi?' he shrugged his shoulders hopelessly, 'Luigi is not the man she wanted to talk to tonight.'

'Luigi, what the bloody hell are you whittling on about?!'

The Italian leant conspiratorially across the bar, folding his arms as he did so.

'Signor Hunt. Please listen to me. The signorina, she is a beautiful woman. She is also full of fire, of passion! She is not happy tonight, and wine, wine is not helping her. She doesn't not need to talk to me, poor elderly Luigi! She needs a strong man to make her laugh, to give her some joy!'

Gene narrowed his eyes, was Luigi telling him what he thought he was, or was this some weird windup?

'I tell you, Signor Hunt, the signorina fluttered like a butterfly when the young man bought her lunch here last week. And he was attentive, keen! But he has not been here for over a week, and she does not mention him.'

Gene knew exactly who the 'keen young man' was - Evan. Bloody lawyer. Sniffing round his DI like he was God's Gift?

Luigi noted the slitted eye look Gene was exhibiting. Excellent! The Signorina, she was a good match for Signor Hunt.

And Luigi, sensing he must come to the point of this little chat, pressed on.

'This young man, he is not here tonight. He does not come here searching her out. And so she sits here, alone, nursing her glass of wine and looking sad.'

He paused, and then went in for the kill.

'And it is not him she is thinking of tonight. It is not him she is watching across my bar. Oh no! Signor Hunt, it is not any other man she has been unable to take her eyes off. She thinks old Luigi does not see! But she is wrong!'

Gene's head spun round and he locked eyes on Luigi.

Alex had been looking at him? Watching him? Surely not! She could have had any man in at least a ten mile radius, with one flick of her mascared lashes and a slip of her posh mouthy accent - and yet, according to this Italian barman, DI Alex Drake had been watching him.

'You allow me to make a suggestion? Signor Hunt?' Luigi knew he must tread carefully.
The English policeman had a large temper, and he must be sure to make certain this taciturn man from England's murky North went in the right direction.

'You suggest all you bloody like, Luigi,' Gene told him, lighting up a cigarette to cover up the many disturbing thoughts currently running through his head, 'If I don't like them, I'll just punch them away, alright?'

Luigi gulped, nervously. He lowered his voice.

'I have the most succulent hand made pasta cooking in the kitchen. Go and see the Signorina, who is alone, in her apartment, and take her dinner. Talk to her. Make her smile again.'

Gene squinted through the haze of his cigarette. The idea had merit, he couldn't deny it.

'Alright,' he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke that wouldn't have shamed a power plant, 'go on then Luigi. You're on.'

Luigi clapped his hands together and smiled broadly.

Gene pointed at him, 'But don't you let on what's happening here - alright? One word gets back to CID and I promise you'll regret it!'

'Signor Hunt! Discretion is my middle name!'

And so saying, the Italian backed away into his kitchen, smiling broadly and singing under his breath.

Gene leant back against the bar. This could work, he told himself, pulling on his cigarette. Casually pop up to Alex's flat and present her with dinner. She couldn't possibly say no.

Sudden cold fear clasped at his stomach.

She could possibly say no.

It was a real possibility.

Gene spun round, wanting to stop Luigi, to tell him that it was a crap idea, to put away the meal and pass another pint over the bar.

But Luigi was long gone. And Gene could hear the faint sound of pans and kitchen implements being wielded with serious intent.

Oh God. It was too late. Wheels were in motion, and there was no time to back out.

He loosened his tie and, realising he would kill for a drink, went behind the bar and poured himself a stiff whiskey.

In the fullness of time, Luigi beckoned Gene to the far side of the bar, to a small door labelled 'Kitchen' which was away from the full on frenzied noises coming from the CID claimed area.

He held out a paper bag, and Gene saw foil containers stacked inside.

Money changed hands, and Gene, sliding the bag to his far side, nodded thanks to the Italian and walked quickly out of the bar.

In the still heat of the oncoming evening, he looked up to Alex's flat window. He knew by heart which one it was, the red Venetian blinds hanging there. The window itself was cranked wide open to catch any breeze that might be passing by.

Before he had the time to change his mind and head home with the meal he carried, Gene took a deep breath and marched up in the main entrance and up the stairs towards Alex's front door.