I'd just like to say a big thank you to everybody who's read, reviewed and added this story to their favourites. I didn't intend this to be anything more than a one-shot initially, but you've spurred me on. Once again reviews would be lovely!

Another massive bucket of thanks to the Smutresses for the vat of 'inspiration' they supply me with. You are all amazing!

I still don't own Ashes, Gene or Alex and perhaps it's a good thing too...

A Bird in the Hand

Chapter 2

Alex eventually managed to get to her feet, nearly falling forwards at least once as her brain still refused to communicate efficiently with her legs. What the hell has he done to me? For a split second it occurred to Alex that she might have had some sort of stroke or aneurism. She'd certainly read at least one paper in a medical journal where a woman had had such a violent orgasm she'd passed out and woken up paralysed from the waist down. A hazy image of Gene stood in front of the Super, playing with his tie, and being asked to give an account of himself flashed through her mind.

'The thing is Sir, I was practicing a new interrogation technique on DI Drake, her brain exploded and she wouldn't bloody get up. This is why we shouldn't have birds in the Police force Sir. They just aren't bloody cut out for it!'

Get a grip Alex, she told herself, You've got a dead leg and his ego's big enough as it is! A nervous giggle crept out as it occurred to her it didn't always pay to have long legs, causing Gene's brow to furrow in confusion. It had to be said it wasn't the most graceful of movements, but the DI concluded little had been graceful about the evening's events. Dotted all around the hotel room floor were articles of both hers and Gene's clothing. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted her boss' black cotton boxer shorts hanging precariously on the door handle. How did they get there? Alex honestly couldn't say, but quickly reasoned that she could remember very little about their antics as they'd entered the room. The copious amounts of alcohol were partially to blame, but so was the desperation of the situation. Hazy images of bruising kisses and entwined limbs flashed through her mind, as they'd hurriedly tried to divest each other of their clothes. When it had come down to them 'doing the deed' for the first time it had surprised her that he'd allowed her to take the lead, and yet now it made perfect sense. Underneath all the blustering bullshit Gene Hunt was flesh and blood like everybody else, with all their insecurities. He had to know that she wanted him as much as he wanted her and that this wasn't another game. Now though the tables had turned.

A forced cough interrupted Alex's train of thought.

'Bolls if you don't hurry up I don't think I'll be responsible for my actions...' It was said jovially enough, but there was a clipped note to his sentence. Part of him meant it. Which part was blatently obvious.

'Sorry... I'll just...' Alex gestured to the clothes that she'd managed to keep on and quickly began to remove them, dropping her blouse off her shoulders, unhooking her bra and sliding each of her unhooked stockings down her legs and onto the floor with everything else. Gene looked on as she finally slipped her suspender belt over her hips achingly slowly. Pulling herself back up to her full height she realised Gene was raking his gaze lustily up and down the length of her now fully exposed body. Following his glare she looked down at herself. Sure her boobs weren't quite as pert as the used to be, but she didn't look too bad for a thirty-something mother of one, who frequently drank too much and spent nearly every waking hour pouring over photos of dead bodies and witness statements.

Both of their heads lifted at the same time and their eyes met.

'How do you want me, Guv?' She smiled daringly as she spoke the last word, leaving it to hang in the air as she observed his eyes widen fleetingly in surprise.

Gene resisted the urge to blurt the first thing that came into his mind, but instead held her gaze. How did he want her? Jesus! Thrice daily. From behind. From the side. On top. Swinging from the light fitting. He really didn't care, he just wanted her. He hadn't stopped wanting her from the moment he'd clapped eyes in the fur coat, high heels and the red prossie dress that was so short he could have probably seen what she'd had for breakfast had she bent over the right way. Back then he'd wanted her physically and that had in no way changed, but now it was accompanied by an incessant need to attempt 'mission impossible' and figure out what was going on in that fruitcake mind of hers. If he was honest this scared the shit out of him: Gene Hunt was frightened of a woman and there was only one thing to do about. He had to lay down the law. Since what had happened a few minutes ago the dynamic had changed and he wanted to take full advantage of it. He needed to know how far he could go before getting a slap on the chops and a kick in the knackers. Boundaries and rules made him feel safe, and the parameters of their 'relationship' needed thrashing out.

A pregnant pause stretched out between them, so intense if it had lasted much longer it could have shattered glass. Finally he huskily replied to her question.

'On your back... Open your legs'

For the second time that evening Alex's legs nearly went from under her.

As Alex looked around the ornate, Victorian conference room the same personalities she knew from her experience on the conference circuit back in 2008 were still very much present back in 1982. The vain, cocky and bearded Professor in one corner of the room, with a flock of naive female research students crowded round him, impressed by tales of his misspent youth and trips to America. She cringed inwardly at having fallen for that herself during her Oxbridge days and blinked away a stray memory of her pasty, weedy lecturer crying out the name of his last conquest as he spilled into her. Sometimes you have to learn the hard way Alex. In the opposite corner stood a thin and drawn looking, middle-aged woman, nervously hanging onto her cup of tea and avoiding eye contact with the other delegates at all costs as she went over the minutiae of her paper in her mind, her lips moving as she stared at the fleur-de-lys pattern on the carpet and appeared to be talking to herself. She was the epitome of the life-long academic: too used to the rarefied air of the Ivory Tower to cope well with the stresses and strains of real life. Dotted around elsewhere were groups of lawyers making small talk and intermittently looking over their shoulders at the sets police officers around the room, muttering something under their breath or looking them up and down in disgust. It was easy to tell the difference Alex thought, something about the self-assurance in the way they held themselves set her colleagues apart. At least they were all still proud to be coppers she thought. One day Scarman and his ilk would get their way and wearing the uniform or carrying a warrant card wouldn't always be something to be automatically proud of.

The DI was clipping her name badge to her blue silk blouse when she felt something warm brush against her arm.

'Drake!' Gene was holding out a cup of coffee in a generic off-white cup and saucer, which she took from him. 'No bloody garibaldis! Just these soddin' Viennese-flaming-whirls...'

He stirred his coffee furiously, placing one of said biscuits into his mouth, not bothering to finish as he continued talking.

'You expect this sort of thing from nancy, twatting Southerners... Girly biscuits an' all that, but Christ... I stay south of Watford Gap for two minutes and this is what bloody happens...' Another biscuit disappeared into the hole in his face. Alex rolled her eyes, blew gently on her coffee and took a sip only to instantly screw her face up.

'Bloody hell Gene! Did you bother to put any coffee with this whiskey?' she exclaimed discreetly. The DCI instantly grabbed her cup and switched it over with his.

'Sorry Bolls...' Crumbs hung at the corner of his mouth. 'Gave you the wrong one...'

'You can't be serious about drinking this early? It's not even 10o'clock yet!' In reply he shot her a devilish grin.

'Well you didn't expect me to spend any amount of time with this bunch of navel gazers and the funny wig brigade and not get pissed did yer? If I 'ave to 'ob nob with these pricks I'd rather do it pissed!' Alex sighed deeply and held her free hand up in a gesture of resignation. Arguing was pointless. Gene Hunt always pleased himself.

'I give up! If you want to miss out on a chance of actually learning something then be my guest!'

She turned on her heel and sashayed over to the nearest person stood on their own; a nervous looking, young female student who appeared completely out of her depth as she fumbled in her bag and tried to balance a glass of water in her hand, Alex taking it from her as she introduced herself. All the while he was admiring the outline of her pert backside in the black pencil skirt she was wearing, noisily slurping on his drink and standing apart from the crowd.

Four hours later and they were enduring the key note speaker. A balding, slight man in his mid to late 40's, who appeared to be ignoring his audience and informing himself about the 'Rights of the detainee', only making eye contact with them when he stopped to pour another glass of water and perhaps do a quick head count of the ones he's managed to make doze off. Right now Alex realised she would have killed for one of the gawdy PowerPoint presentations in air-conditioned surroundings she was so familiar with back home. At least there'd have been pictures to look and fresh air to breathe instead of fighting to keep her eyes open in these stuffy surroundings, whilst listening to the monotonous tone of the 'distinguished speaker'.

It was at times like these she wondered what Molly would be doing right now. Glancing down at her watch she saw it was 2.15. Wednesday afternoons were always games. Fragments of memories flashed through her mind. Of stuffing her daughter's P.E. kit into her bag before kissing her on the cheek and waving her off from the door as Evan waited for her in the car. Of her little girl pulling her seatbelt across and blowing her a kiss, which she always caught as the estate drove away.

A sharp dig to the ribs interrupted her musings as Gene handed her the piece of paper they'd been passing backwards and forwards for the past 20 minutes, a diagonal line striking through 3 crosses. So this is what he does when he's supposed to be going over case files. Practices noughts and flaming crosses! Turning slightly she couldn't help but notice the smug grin on his face, a by-product of his ten straight victories in a row. Boredom and frustration getting the better of her Alex reflexively swore under her breath.

'Hmmm?' Looking at her DCI she was greeted by a blank look followed by a nod in the direction of the seat to the next of her.

'Did you say something, dear?'

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his liver-spotted hands, the elderly delegate to her left was staring at her expectantly. Quickly looking to Gene for help but soon realizing none was forthcoming as he faced the front and feigned interest in the paper, Alex did what her degree and training had taught her to do so well. She bullshitted.

'I said that was an interesting take... on, you know, the rights of the detainee in custody...' she whispered leaning, noticing the whispy white hairs protruding from his ear, as he nodded and a tight smile spread across his rubbery lips.

'Oh quite dear!'

It would appear I'm not the only one well versed in the art of bullshitting, Alex noted as she realised the man's gaze was now flowing down her body and lingering over the uncovered part of her thigh where her skirt had ridden up when she'd sat down. As she tried to adjust it without standing up, the man to her left stretched his legs out languorously and began to fiddle with the waistband of his trousers in an attempt to hide his burgeoning beer belly, all the while not averting his eyes from the young, attractive woman who appeared to have fallen in his lap. His tongue peeped out and ran lasciviously over his lips, making her skin crawl.

Suddenly Alex could feel hot air on the back of her neck which instantly made the hairs there stand on end, and sent shivers right down to her toes.

'I think you've made a friend, Bolly.' There was more than a hint of mirth and sarcasm in his voice as he lingered near her ear and uttered one more word.

'Pub?'

Gene leaned back into his seat but continued to regard her, taking in the slight blush in her cheeks. It must be the heat. Pursing her lips together as if deliberating for a second Alex slowly nodded her response and turned back to her 'admirer' to her left, and leant towards him to speak.

'If you'd excuse me please...' Alex stood up trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as a couple of people in the rows directly in front turned round to see what was going on. 'My colleague and I have some Police business to attend to...'

The DI didn't wait for his response as she awkwardly placed one leg over his outstretched ankles. Unbeknownst to her, seeing his opportunity the man shot his hands out and went to grab her backside, under the guise of helping her ease her way down the narrow gap between their row, but was halted by a look that could have curdled milk, causing him to look away and awkwardly pull his hands back, jamming them in his pockets like a small child who'd been caught stealing sweets.

Watching Alex reach the end of the row and turning round to check where he was he felt a wave of protectiveness for her wash over him. Nobody touched her. Not again anyway. Not if he could help it.

TBC...