I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes
Thanks for all the encouragement so far, once again.
Hopefully, you'll like it!
----
Gene did end up at Luigi's, though not because he truly wanted to be there. It had become such a habitual part of his life that spending a night away from it was always odd, and with everything else on his mind, and the silence of his flat pressing down on his ears whenever the TV faltered, he found himself behind the wheel of the Quattro and speeding across town to join the rest of the team with a sense of uncanny need.
He knew, better than he cared to admit, that what he needed the most was company, and that while he moped around in his own flat, he would be forced to dwell on the events of the last two days, and whatever abuse he might receive in Luigi's –verbal, physical, or otherwise, he knew it would be better than the stupendous mess he would get himself into if he spent the night drinking alone in his flat.
When he entered, he was surprised to find that only Ray, Chris and Shaz were there, all sat around a table with half-finished drinks in front of them. It was Chris who looked up, nodding at Gene almost nervously as he pushed out the spare chair at their table, standing up and moving to order a whiskey double. Ray inclined his head in a companionable manner, and Gene sank willingly into the spare seat, taking the whiskey from Chris's fingers almost hesitantly; their eyes met, and Gene could see the worry, the uncertainty in the younger mans eyes, and could only nod, hoping that it would be enough...
He saw a flicker of guilt, and then Chris had nodded in return, sitting himself gingerly beside Shaz, whose hand fell reassuringly to his thigh, twining their fingers together. Gene sighed, throwing the whiskey down his throat in a quick motion and blinking in surprise when Luigi placed a pint of beer on the table before him.
He looked up, meeting the Italians sad eyes as Luigi spoke softly, "you no blame yourself, Signor Hunt," with a nod towards the beer, he murmured, "on the house."
Gene gulped, nodding and averting his eyes as Luigi solemnly inclined his head and bustled away. He knew the other three were watching him, knew they wanted him to talk, to confirm that their faith in him hadn't been misplaced, that he really hadn't meant to shoot her... He looked at Ray, who was smoking a cigarette with deliberate slowness, his eyes suddenly fixing on his whiskey. Shaz and Chris were both eyeing their joined hands when he turned to them, and Gene couldn't help but sigh sadly at the peculiar loneliness that settled in his stomach at the renewed alienation between himself and his colleagues.
He picked up his drink, glugging it down quickly before nodding at Luigi for a refill. The silence was tenuous and strained, and it was eventually Gene who, following the downing of his second beer, broke it, cracking his knuckles briefly.
"Right you dozy lot," he muttered, "fill me in – what've I missed?"
Shaz and Chris exchanged a wary glance, and Gene attempted to ignore it, averting his eyes and looking at Ray, who, to Gene's immense gratitude, sent a withering look at the others before speaking. "We've got a kidnap, Guv. Kiddies been gone two days; 'er Mam lost 'er down the Post Office yesterday, then got a ransom note through 'er door last night... The 'usbands a big businessman, an' the kidnapper wants twenty grand ransom money, else 'e cuts off a finger and raises the price. Drop off points the old abandoned warehouse down Bakers Street, 'cept we ain't meant to be involved; he's told 'em not to get the cops in else the hand comes off an' all, so she don't even know we're onto it..."
Gene frowned, beckoning for another drink as he frowned at Ray. "If she don't know we're onto it, then 'ow do we know anythin' about it in the first place?"
"Snouts," Ray said, shrugging. "Old Jimmy Carris lives by the warehouse, an' 'e rang up saying there was a little girl, blonde 'air, little chubby and wearin' a flowery dress, with pumps on 'er feet, screamin' for her Mam, and fer the letter she was gunna send to her Nana, getting pulled along by some bloke... Then 'er Old Man came in to the station dressed like a tramp an' wearin' a fake beard, sayin' his Missus didn't know 'e was there, and we weren't to tell 'er." Gene raised his eyebrows, taking another swig, but saying nothing as Ray continued on. "Anyways, he said they were takin' the money, but 'e wants us to 'elp catch the bugger who nabbed his little girl."
Gene nodded in understanding. "Carris got a description of the kidnapper?"
Ray shrugged, and shook his head. "'e says not, Guv; says the girl was more important."
"Useless bugger," Gene muttered, pressing his fist against his mouth before nodding. "So, what's the plan, Raymondo?"
"Super's okayed us going in, s'long as we're careful and don't make it obvious we're coppers till we need to." Ray lit a cigarette, and then went on. "'e wants Chris and Shaz walkin' by like newlyweds-"
"Oh bloody hell," Gene sighed, shaking his head. Ray shrugged sympathetically before continuing.
"Wants 'em to just act like passers-by an' only do somethin' in an emergency. Then-"
"So we're gettin' people to walk in front of an abandoned warehouse?" Gene asked, disbelief evident on his face and in his tone. Ray nodded, giving another quick shrug.
"Super's orders, Guv."
"Bloody twat," he muttered. With a heavy, reluctant sigh, Gene downed his drink, and waved for another two, ignoring the worried looks on the other three's faces as he gulped them down in quick succession.
----
An hour later found Gene disorientated and depressed, slumped over the bar with his head on his arm as Ray slurred something meaningless about football, and women, and some insane combination of the two that Gene couldn't quite get his head around.
The numbness that often came with alcohol had dissipated away, and as Ray rambled on and on, the drink still flowing smoothly, though with less appreciation than before, Gene could feel it simply acting as amplification to the aching pain in his chest and gut. The solemnity with which he had entered the evening had multiplied tenfold, and his already depleted sense of self-worth had diminished entirely, disappearing into the back of his mind as his entire being recalled the scene of Alex's shooting with frightening clarity. Somehow, the alcohol made the colours ridiculously vivid, everything but Alex becoming so unwittingly blurred, with only her perfect form holding any sense of realism at all, and he deluded himself, for a horrifying moment, into thinking it was happening all over again. The blood on her clothes was vibrant and corrosive to his gaze, and even though he could see Ray waving his arms around drunkenly in the corner of his eye, and could tell that Chris and Shaz were busy flirting in the corner of the restaurant, he knew nothing more clearly than the fact that, once again, his nightmare was reliving itself.
Even with the tried and tested methods of company and alcohol, he had failed to chase it away.
He was so completely drunk that it was baffling; he shouldn't be able to think of his own name, let alone make a conscious replay of his worst moments so perfectly clear before his eyes. The knowledge was terrifying, and with fumbling fingers, he reached into his pocket, searching for a cigarette with severe difficulty, his large, usually adept fingers fumbling in the packet, managing to snap one in half and remove the filter from another before he succeeded in lifting one free.
He grumbled his annoyance with hopelessly incoherent words, earning himself a strange look from Ray, before the DS muttered, quite bluntly, and with as much tact as the average elephant, "yer pissed, Guv. Bloody pissed."
Gene couldn't even bring himself to argue. He grunted a half-hearted insult of "bloody twonk," which may or may not have emerged simply as a drunken flurry of syllables, before struggling to put the cigarette to his lips, finally opting to place his head on the bar, chin flat against the cool wooden surface, face tilted slightly as he tried to place the end into the flame of his lighter.
It was Shaz who took pity on him, seeing the drunken mess that he was as he tried to light the cigarette with his arm half a metre away, walking over and drawing the lighter from Gene's fumbling fingers, lifting it to the cigarette with a sympathetic smile. He tried to smile in gratitude, but the cigarette threatened to slip and he roughly pulled himself back up, swaying slightly in his chair as he closed his fingers around the offending cigarette, nodding at Shaz through glazed eyes. She glanced worriedly at Ray, and then sat herself on Gene's other side, watching in concern as Gene turned around in his chair, almost toppling off as he pointed a finger at her.
"Yer a clever girl, Granger... clever girl," he jerked his head so far in Chris' direction that he nearly fell over, catching himself just in time as he prodded her gently in the shoulder. "That plonk over there- that one! Tha' bloke is a bloody lucky shit! An' if 'e turns aroun', an' sticks a bullet in yer gut, make sure you punch 'im in the gob- someone's bloody got to!" He lifted his newly filled whiskey, with a strange mock-toast at Shaz, before he tossed the drink back down his throat with drunken flourish.
"Maybe we should get you home, Guv," Shaz murmured worriedly. "I'll call you a cab."
"Ain't bloody going home," Gene muttered, slamming his glass down. "Don't need motherin', Granger; jus' need a bloody miracle." He looked at her through bleary eyes. "She ain't wakin' up, y'know?"
"I'll call you a-"
"No," Gene sighed, pushing his glass away and burying his face in his hands. "Not going anywhere... Only do summit stupid if I do..."
"Guv, the nurse said-"
"Nurses-schmurses," he muttered, rubbing his eyes bleakly. "Don't know their ear from their elbow; 'bout as useful as a florist an' all... in fact, y'know wha', tha' bird in there this afternoon looked like one an-"
"Guv, they said she looks positive..." Shaz was tentative, and then looked away. "Said she might make a full recovery – just needs a bit of a rest, that's all."
Gene snorted, shaking his head and feeling the world spin slightly. "I'm pissed, Granger," he conceded, "but I ain't that pissed." He stood up with difficulty, swaying on the spot for a few moments before pushing away from the bar, stumbling unevenly towards the door, knocking into several dining tables as he went. He staggered out into the hallway, moving towards the stairs without really thinking. He was halfway up when Luigi appeared behind him, shaking his head.
"Signor Hunt, you are very drunk!"
"Ain't drunk, Luigi," Gene grunted, pulling himself up the stairs using the banister and wondering when his feet had decided to treble in size, "I'm bloody pissed out o' me skull!"
He was somewhat surprised when the stout man put one hand beneath his armpit and heaved him – with a huge effort, if the grunt he let out was anything to go by- to his feet, keeping him reasonably steady as Gene began to descend the stairs again, swaying slightly. "You are very drunk, Signor," Luigi repeated, shaking his head sadly. "Signorina Drake would not like me leave you by your own in the streets, so you may stay tonight." He tapped on the familiar door to Alex's flat, and Gene slumped against it, absently slapping the other man on the arm in an effort to show gratitude.
"You have the key, Signor," Luigi said, raising his eyebrow in something that might have been frustration, or might have been simple amusement; in his drunken state, however, Gene could quite easily have mistaken joy for misery, and could only nod, absently fumbling in his back pocket and drawing out the key.
"Right y'are," he muttered, nodding and turning to put the key in the lock. "Sorry 'bout that... should prob'ly arrest meself... wouldn' be so bad, actually... d'you wanna repor-?"
Luigi interrupted with a shake of his head. "No, Signor, you do not go to prison by me. Signorina Drake would never forgive me. Goodnight." He turned and walked down the stairs, his round form descending slowly. Gene barely managed to lift his hand in farewell before he stumbled through the door to Alex's flat, nearly crashing into the wall and steadying himself only just in time.
"Bloody piss'ead," he muttered, staggering through into the living area and slumping onto the sofa. "Couple o' whiskeys an' yer pissed as a- as a- as a piss'ead." He sighed, flopping onto his side, head resting on the cushion that smelt of Alex's hair, his arm sliding beneath it unconsciously and holding it tighter against his face. His eyes closed, the warm scent of her drifting through the alcohol-induced haze, his whole body suddenly feeling calmer, lighter, and terrifyingly more sober. He clenched his eyes shut, focusing only on the smell, his mind awash with images and memories of the feel of her in his arms...
The hooker costume was the first thing that came to mind; the bright red dress, the stockings, the heels, the fluffy coat... and his arms around her, holding her tight into his chest, one arm under her leg, the other firmly behind her back. He remembered the dead weight of her, the gentle scent of perfume that smelt so much more expensive than any other Tom's he'd met. He remembered the bounce of her curls as he carried her into the station, the look in her eyes when they were stood alone in the evidence room, his hand on her breast, hers pressed gently against the pounding of his own heart... He remembered the glint of anger, the disbelief, the utter vulnerability and confusion as she stared at him...
He thought on, his nose burying itself deeper in the fabric of her cushion as he did so. He recalled the feel of her held tight against him in the sweltering heat of the vault, and remembered the sheen of sweat that had coated her body like a second skin, and how, for a few moments, before the door had burst open, he had considered what it might have felt like to pull her into his lap, to feel her skin pressed against his as he kissed her... He remembered the touch of her fingers on the chain that still hung around his neck, and the gentle caress of her hand as she placed it once again over the fast-paced beating of his heart...
He remembered that terrifying moment in Chaz Kale's restaurant, where his hands were on her chest and her heart was threatening never to beat again. He recalled the moment where his decision to claim her lips had overtaken him, where his head and his heart could both have gleaned the same precious desire, only to have it taken away, with overwhelmingly welcome relief, when she opened her eyes and lifted her hand to his cheek. He remembered the icy chill of her fingers, and the inevitable urge to turn his face and press his lips to her wrist. He recalled the way her face had cupped so easily into his hand as he gazed down at her, his whole body swamped with such enormous gratitude it had taken him several moments to be able to speak again...
And he remembered, as he drifted into slumber, the words she had spoken in the interview room, her face barely inches from his own for those few perfect seconds, before Shaz had broken the moment, pushing open the door as though nothing were amiss. He remembered the look of warmth and need in her eyes, and the perfect shaping of those gorgeous red lips, as she whispered the words that had played over and over in his mind for weeks; "let me in."
---
He woke a few hours later, in desperate need of the toilet, his bladder threatening to burst; he got up and he stumbled through to the bathroom, apparently still reeling with the effects of the alcohol he had thought might have left his system. The flush of the toilet was loud in the silence of the flat, and he flinched away from the sound as his head pounded in pain, washing his hands briefly under the cold tap of the sink, his whole body swaying as he staggered through the door and into the next room.
He didn't make it back to the sofa, and a few moments later, he collapsed drunkenly onto Alex's bed, half-heartedly tugging the duvet over him, the cool red silk calming and therapeutic as he closed his eyes and surrendered once more to sleep, her scent invading his mind and his senses as he drifted away.
---
She walked across to him where he lay, sprawled on his back across the sofa, whiskey in hand, one eye on the television, the other on her- the gentle sway of her hips, the curves of her breasts in that low-cut top that made him want to combust with desire, the tight grip of her jeans on those perfect legs.... As she moved, he trained his gaze on her alone, eyes slowly and luxuriously moving up and down, scrutinizing the perfection of her figure, the way her body flowed so smoothly as she came across to him, settling her incredible body alongside his own, her smell intoxicating him, the warmth of her body a welcome assurance as she settled close to him, her hand rested above the steady thump of his heart as she smiled up into his eyes.
"Bad day?" She whispered, pressing a lingering, gentle whisper of a kiss to his roughly stubbled cheek.
"Not the best," he murmured in reply, tugging her closer into the circle of his arms, lips teasing across her forehead as he went on, voice husky with warmth and desire, "make it better?"
She smiled, twining her fingers around his and standing up, tugging him towards the bedroom before pulling him in for a heated kiss.
She tasted of wine, of pasta, and of spice; he tugged her closer, tighter, needing to taste her, to savour her, to imprint the incontestable assault on his senses to memory. His arms were around her, hands on her blouse, slipping each button free, his heart pounding, head spinning...
In the minutes that followed, their clothes were shed in a tangle of limbs as they fell forward onto the red silk of the bed sheets, mouths locked as their bodies came together, wrapped in another hot kiss, another heated embrace...
---
When Gene woke again, he closed his eyes tight against the warm light infiltrating the room through the small crack in the curtains on the opposite side of the bedroom. He felt warm, snug, surrounded by the soft fabric of the duvet, Alex's scent in his nostrils, face pressed into the pillow, a smile on his lips, and the last thing he wanted to do was wake up and go to work. He shifted slightly, the smell of her consuming him, and without thought he reached across to the left, his arm searching for the naked heat of her skin, for the gentle pleasure of tugging her into his chest and feeling her nuzzle lightly at his neck with her nose. His hand hit the cool mattress on the other side, and he frowned, eyes still closed, hand still seeking the evading warmth of her skin, and tracing the empty, cold dip in the mattress where she should have been...
His eyes flew open a moment later, and he drew his arm back so fast that it was as though he had been burnt. He bolted upright in an instant, looking around himself in horror as he took in the surroundings, as memory flooded back to him; the dream that had so blissfully tormented his mind abating instantly, guilt and horror flooding through him at the realization that he could have forgotten, that he overlooked his horrific deed and deluded himself into thinking that she was with him, that she would be there by his side when he awoke, that she would ever have considered it in the first place...
He threw the covers back, practically leaping from the bed, stumbling into the bathroom, his clothing shed and his body beneath the shower only moments later, the warm water flooding over him as he scrubbed himself raw, trying with all his might to forget the perfect illusion that his dream had provided, the flawless impersonation that had left him feeling so wholly complete... He slammed his fist against the wall, stepped out of the shower, and shrugged back into his clothes after swiftly towelling himself dry.
He glanced briefly at the clock on the bedside table as he left the bathroom, blinking; it was only half seven. He glanced out of the window into the street; it was sunny, but deserted, and a few minutes later he'd brushed his teeth with one of the spare toothbrushes Alex always kept in her cupboard, snatched up his coat, and was down the stairs, keys in hand.
Ten minutes later, he turned into the hospital car park.
---
At the door to Alex's room, Gene paused, looking through the glass panel at her sleeping form; more flowers had been placed strategically around the room, covering every available surface with floral decor that he would normally have turned his nose up at. Today, however, he nodded in approval, glad that she had been thought of, that she had people to send her flowers... He'd never really thought about it, but apart from Evan, the only people she talked to were her colleagues- it would seem, however, that she had made an impact. Or, he thought bitterly, that they were all so shocked by his actions that it seemed the only humane thing to do.
He stepped into the room, standing at the foot of the bed for several minutes and watching her where she lay; his senses zeroed in on her, and for a few moments there was nothing but her – her scent, the sight of her, the way her blankets felt beneath his fingers... He stood there for a while, content to simply stand in her presence, until, finally, he walked around the bed, stopping at her side and pulling the chair towards him, his other hand tentatively reaching to stroke away a stray lock of hair which had fallen across her eyes, presumably after a gust of wind from the window to her left, which allowed the slightest of breezes into the small room.
His hand froze on her cheek, his throat going into spasm as he gulped repeatedly, subconsciously moulding his large hand to the surprisingly cool skin of her face. His eyes darkened with longing, need and warmth, and he found himself settling onto the mattress, ignoring the chair he had deliberately dragged forwards, and trailing his other hand down her arm. He shivered slightly, the brief contact proving overwhelmingly bittersweet, his fingers tracing down past her wrist and pausing as his long digits came into contact with her own smaller, more delicate ones.
Gene hesitated then, watching her face as though for a warning, a sign that this was nothing like what she wanted... he wanted her to awaken, tell him to remove his hand and get the hell away from her, while at the same time, all he wanted to do was hold her hand in his own and apologise profusely for every smutty, indecent and insulting thing he had ever said or done to offend her.
The thumb on her cheek traced downwards, caressing the smooth, yet slightly dry skin, moving to the roundness of her lips, the lump in his throat trebling in size. The flesh of her lower lip was flaky and raw, as though at any moment it might crack and bleed. His thumb rested on it lightly, his eyes fixed on her face, the fingers of his other hand twining tentatively around hers.
"Wake up, yer daft cow," he said softly, briefly glancing out into the corridor and breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that there was nobody there who might see fit to interrupt. He turned back to her, moving the hand on her face into her hair, combing through the soft, natural curls with a delicate touch in his fingers that he wasn't sure he had ever used before. Stupid, he reasoned, that the only time he could show her his feelings was when she was conked out on a hospital bed, with no real proof that she could even hear or feel anything that he said or did. His fingers tangled lightly in her hair as he spoke again, his breathing heavy as he searched for words.
"Look, Bols," He said finally, "I know I said yer needed to wake up 'cause they thought I shot you... well, they don't think I did anymore... I mean, they think I shot you, but they know I didn' mean to, 'cept... well... I need yer to wake up an' all... didn' only want yer 'cause yer might clear me name, I just- well... I didn' know 'ow to tell yer." He looked around the room, eyes fixed on a large bouquet of flowers he couldn't put a name to, in an assortment of bright colours, with a card beside the vase that was just readable from where Gene sat, and was signed with flourishing handwriting and a large, over-exaggerated kiss; it was from Luigi. He couldn't help but smirk as he turned back to her.
"You've got flowers, love- bloody loads of 'em an' all! It's like a bloody rainforest in 'ere – keep snoozing much longer I might bring yer a monkey to jump about the place... That'll wake you up..."
He watched her face for any sign that she might have heard him; the roll of her eyes beneath her closed lids, perhaps? Or the twitch of her lips that said she wasn't allowing herself to laugh at his stupid attempt at humour, even though they both knew she was grinning on the inside... Neither showed, and Gene's heart sank as he glanced at the clock on the wall; quarter to nine. He'd been here over an hour, and he'd barely managed to say a hundred words. He glanced at their hands, still joined at her side, and was quietly pleased that, where her skin had been cold and chilly before, it was now warmer, felt more alive... He smiled half-heartedly, and went to stand, gently extricating his fingers from hers and placing her hand back down on the bed. His other hand remained buried in the abundance of curls on her head, and for a moment, he could only stand there, bent slightly as his hand maintained contact with her skin, before, without really thinking, he leaned closer, gently touching his forehead to hers, feeling the gentle brush of her sleeping breath against his face causing him to still in his tentative caress of her hair.
After a few moments, he drew slightly back, face ten inches from hers, breath gently stirring her hair, making it move slightly as he spoke, his voice surprisingly emotional. "See yer later, Sleepin' Beauty," he murmured. Then he stood up, walking towards the door and sparing only a small backward glance at Alex, before he exited the building, ignorant of the slightly faster pulsing of the heart monitor.
----
Alex lay awake in the dim light of early morning, the room turned an odd shade of grey as the sun began to rise up for the world outside; she couldn't bring herself to move, let alone join in with the hustle and bustle of 2008 London. Her heart beat slowly in her chest, the plain smell of washing powder prominent in her nose, oddly discomforting as she shifted uncomfortably in the cold, unfamiliar bed.
I should get up, she told herself repeatedly.
She should spend the day with Molly, with the daughter she'd thought never to see again, and show her how much she cared... but she couldn't bring herself to do anything at all. The idea of leaving the private sanctuary of her bed – however plain, cold, modern and discomforting it may be – was alarming and terrifying.
She could hear the distant lull of Molly's music as she got dressed, the news on the television as Evan prepared for work, and the barking of dogs next door... and that was enough; to leave the bed would be to alert herself to all of the technological differences she had become so used to living without. She didn't want to see a mobile telephone, or a computer, or an iPod, and nor did she want to see the ridiculously advanced graphics of the television, the incredible modern day architecture of the world broadcast proudly on the forty-two inch screen that should have been a small black box that crackled and jarred when the wind blew the slightest bit too hard.
She didn't want any of the modernised gadgets she had once admired; the thought of anything from this decade at all made her want to panic and hyperventilate.
She couldn't bring herself to leave the eighties behind her; everything she saw brought with it a startling comparison, a wonderful and yet simultaneously awful recollection of one man who didn't seem to be able to leave her mind at all.
Discovering for good that Gene had really existed made her heart ache; knowing they had lived alongside one another, knowing that somewhere, somehow, she had really been a part of his existence, made her want to cry. The idea of pushing his memory aside now felt disrespectful and wrong; it had been bad enough before, where she had convinced herself he was simply an imaginary construct in an over-stimulated brain, but now... now she craved his presence, needed to know he was alive, that he was ok...
And sat here, in the privacy of her room, where she had no responsibility but to get better, she could convince herself that he was with her, could close her eyes and remember the sweet scent of him – whiskey, cigarettes, Old Spice, cinnamon, man-stink, washing powder and soap- washing over her.
As she let herself drift into that beautiful place between awake and asleep, she could remember the warmth of his arms, and the low, husky growl of his voice... She sighed, hugging her pillow against her chest and feeling a warm breeze against her skin from the open window, for a moment convincing herself that it was him, practically tasting the mint of his toothpaste and the warmth of his drink... She felt herself smile, felt her body respond familiarly to the imagined closeness of him, could imagine him speaking to her, touching her, holding her...
"See yer later, Sleeping Beauty," he said, his voice full of emotion and meaning as it surrounded her. Her heart rate quickened, a smile tugging at her lips for the briefest of moments, the warm wind teasing across her face once again, then disappearing suddenly, leaving her cold.
A moment later, she opened her eyes, half expecting to see him at her bedside, smirking down at her and ready to make a smutty comment about her state of undress... He wasn't there. She felt her heart sink, felt cold flush her skin as she rolled over, trying to get comfortable, her eyes resting on the window for several seconds, before she frowned, sitting up and feeling the duvet slip down her body.
It wasn't open.
----
Hope you enjoyed it :)
Big thank you to Feline for beta-ing :)
Mage of the Heart