I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes
Told you it wouldn't be too long!
Un-betaed again, but I've gone through a fair few times, so I'm hoping it's acceptable!
----
Gene's life seemed to pass by in something of a haze for weeks after that; for days, he argued with himself, considering resignation from the force before realizing that without that shred of normality, his whole life would threaten to cave in. Despite there being no Alex, and despite the initial tensions that followed the failed rescue attempt of the Tibbett kidnapping, CID returned to something marginally similar to the organised and confident state of practice that had existed prior to Operation Rose.
Alex's replacement was an astute, intelligent young man, who was as downright picky as both Sam and Alex ever had been, but held no sense of comradeship with the rest of the team. DI Haywood did his job, and left the building at the end of the day to return to his girlfriends flat; nobody attempted to stop him. Gene knew, watching the day-to-day comings and goings of the office as he so often did, that whilst he might be suffering inwardly for Alex's stint in Hospital and her continued absence from both the team and Luigi's after work, he was not the only one missing her gobby retorts and insightful comments that might sound like complete gibberish to the rest of them, but tended to result in a collar.
He'd found Ray, Chris and Shaz in the canteen one morning, discussing in low voices the fact that DI Haywood was just not fitting in. He'd had to stand outside to prevent the inevitable halt in conversation that he knew would occur were he to join them, listening into the rest of the exchange with intrigue pricking at his ears.
"The Guv don't like him," Ray had said. "An' if the Guv don't like 'im, then 'e won't fit in!"
"Guv didn't like Sam for months," Chris interjected, and Gene could only imagine the dark glower that Ray had sent his way at that point. "He worked alright in the end."
"That's 'cause Tyler saved 'is bacon. An' besides, it ain't that- he just ain't Drake; Guv's never gunna like another DI like that..." There was a moment of silence, before Chris spoke again, voice as dim-witted as ever.
"You still reckon 'im an' Drake were bonking?"
Shaz had sighed in exasperation, whilst Ray had snorted his amusement at the concept. "Don't be a twonk, Chris."
"But-"
"Reckon he wanted to though, don't you?" Shaz had said, her voice tentative and shy.
"Can't blame 'im – tits an' arse like that? Guv's only human." Ray's reply had been met by Shaz's evident huff of distaste, and after glancing round the door, Gene had seen her roll her eyes.
"That's really disrespectful, Ray," Chris said, and Gene had barely been able to hold back the grin on his lips as his DC attempted hopelessly to adopt the air of intelligence. "You're objectifying an innocent, defenceless female, and-"
"Poof!" Ray snorted with disgust, whilst Shaz seemed to melt with warmth, her voice instantly taking on a sweet tone that should never have been publicly witnessed.
"Aw, baby!"
At that moment, Ray had opted to leave, and Gene had hurriedly doubled back so as to pass the disgusted Ray in the corridor with no sign that he had been listening in. Biting back a wave of anger at the knowledge Ray had been so casually crude about Alex, he had merely nodded his head and slipped into the canteen with an attempt at nonchalance.
The Super noticed the teams difference, too; though the number of collars was reasonably steady, there was no denying the loss of team unity within CID, and it was evident that the loss of one of the senior officers had hit hard. Gene vaguely took the time to compare it to when they had lost Sam, wondering briefly if they had been as withdrawn from their jobs this time two years ago as they were now. He had recalled the sight of Chris and Ray's faces back at Manchester the day they heard, and the whole atmosphere of the office before the three of them had transferred to London. He had recalled the amount of drink he had consumed, and the number of cigarettes he had smoked, before sharply reminding himself that, whether Alex was working with them or not, she wasn't dead, and he had no reason to treat her as if she were.
And so, every day, he visited her.
He had tried to stay away after seeing her that night, receiving another warning from Marion as he'd stormed in during the dead hours. He'd even managed to stay away, until nine thirty the next evening, when he had promptly stormed into the hospital and demanded that he didn't care when the visiting hours had ended, because he was going to see her. After that, they'd soon become used to his presence, and simply stopped arguing after the first few vain attempts of 'we can't let you in'.
After a few weeks, the flowers had stopped coming.
The room, which had previously retained some similarity to a large botanical garden, suddenly became sterile and hospitalised. He had shifted uncomfortably the first day that they were absent, and after half an hour picking at his shirt cuff and cringing at the stink of antiseptic, he'd left, returning later with a bunch of flowers that he'd picked up at a garage nearby. For a moment, he'd felt guilty, as though she deserved more than these cheap plants in a glass jug, but at the same moment that he considered tossing them into the rubbish bin, Marion had appeared, smiling warmly at him and offering to find him a vase.
From then on, whenever they began to wilt, he picked up some more. He realized as he did it that he was becoming more and more like a clichéd, lovesick teenager by the day, but as he spent more time in the room, as he spoke more to Marion across the small scrubbed wooden table in the Hospital canteen, he realized that he had lost all sense of self. The more time he spent with her, the more he became certain that he couldn't leave Alex alone, and that certainty was only further solidified when Marion began, in turn, opening up to him.
The more she spoke about her husband, Frank, the more Gene realized what he would be missing if he walked away.
---
It was only five in the evening, and Gene had already been sat in Alex's room for over half an hour, absently mumbling to her about the day's events, reciting cases and informing her of leads, in the hope that sooner or later she would wake up and leap to her feet, telling him he was missing something vitally important in the case itself. Though it never happened, he found it an odd source of comfort, and he was busy telling her about the murder case they had closed that morning when Marion walked in, smiling warmly and walking to the opposite side of the bed, where she rested her hand lightly over Alex's. Gene looked up into her eyes, seeing an oddly haunted look, before she spoke, ousting the expression with a gentle smile.
"How about a cuppa, hey?"
He might have said no, were it not for the blatant need for company which shone out from her eyes. So he nodded, standing up and lightly squeezing Alex's hand, feeling slightly scrutinized as Marion watched him, and opting, with something akin to gut-wrenching disappointment, not to drop a kiss on Alex's forehead before he left. He followed Marion out, drawing his coat closer around himself and allowing her to lead him down the corridor, towards the quiet, somewhat desolate canteen, where only one other person sat, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.
Without asking, Marion ordered two coffees, before heading quietly over to the most distant corner table, scrubbed clean, but with a magazine left deserted upon its surface. Gene sat down opposite her, taking the coffee with a small smile, and silently wishing that it wouldn't be so frowned upon for him to take out his hip-flask and throw in a little extra flavour.
The moment his behind touched the seat, Marion was talking, her voice soft, wrenched with emotion, and causing a large lump to form in his throat as she did so.
"It's my Frank's anniversary today," she told him sadly. Gene frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion, despite the knowledge that he should be showing greater concern for her wellbeing than for the knowledge that he was momentarily lacking. "My husband," she said, smiling weakly at him through tearful eyes.
"Sorry..." Gene muttered, feeling useless and glancing hopelessly away. "I didn't-"
"I don't want your pity, lad," she laughed, shaking her head. "No, nothing like that... But I would like to tell you about him- is that alright?"
With the uncomfortable lump trebling in size within his throat, Gene nodded mutely, instantly lifting his coffee cup to his lips and swallowing a large, scalding hot mouthful with difficulty. Marion smiled, tentatively placing her hand on his arm for a few brief moments before she spoke. And deny it as he might later on, he listened, empathising with every word she said, and comparing it, without conscious thought, to the woman he had left sleeping in the room down the corridor.
---
"We met when we were twenty," she said, smiling softly. "We were inseparable..." she told him, meeting Gene's eyes almost knowingly. "I'd known the moment I saw him that life would never be the same again; he was my everything, my whole life – the world turned around him, like the earth around the sun... I couldn't imagine being without him."
"Why would yer?" Gene murmured, taking another sip, feeling his stomach churn with recognition. "If 'e made yer 'appy, I mean, then yer didn't need -."
She shook her head, face sad as she spoke again, voice low, less alive than it had been moments before. "He was all I thought I'd ever need, Gene. I let him in, and forgot what it was like to have a night with friends, or a visit to my mother; I didn't realize what I'd missed out on until he was dying and I had nobody to talk to. I flipped through my phone book, and every person in there, I hadn't spoken to in years... So I sat with him for four more years, waiting for him to wake up, knowing the cancer wouldn't get any better, but completely incapable of turning the machine off for fear of losing him... I let four years of my own life slip away – didn't see anyone, I didn't do anything, I didn't have drinks with my friends, and I didn't go to the pictures... Then one morning he died, and suddenly, there was nobody to turn to; he'd gone, and they'd all given me up for lost to the marriage twenty years ago. I ended up trawling back home with my tail between my legs, spending two years with my poor old mother before I could even face the world again." She smiled sadly, covering his hand with hers before she went on."
"Now, I'm not saying don't visit her; I'd never say that... But you have friends, and a job, and a life to fall back on. Don't you go talking yourself mental sitting there in a room by yourself when you could be doing something else; she'd never forgive you for it, I suspect."
Gene sighed, downing the last dregs of his coffee and shaking his head. "Ain't the same, Mar," he murmured, using the nickname he had adopted for her as he began crunching the Styrofoam cup in his hands. "They're just blokes who drink an' smoke an' compare the latest pairs o' tits they got their mitts on..." He sighed, tossing the remnants of his paper cup onto the table. "They don't trust me, anyway," he murmured, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and ignoring Marion's reproachful glare as he lit up. "I fucked up one time too many- don't deserve their respect." He took a large drag, ignoring the uncomfortable twisting in the pit of his stomach as Marion shook her head, smile reeking of sympathetic consolation as she spoke.
"It's not them that don't respect you, Gene," she said softly, "it's you yourself."
"Can yer blame me?" He retorted, eyes flashing with anger.
Marion sighed. "No, dear, but it won't do you any good to sit there blaming yourself for everything; accidents happen, Gene. Sometimes the only thing to do is accept them. Your young lady won't think any less of you for not-"
"I've told yer before," Gene interrupted, "she ain't my young lady- never was." The drag he took on the cigarette was even greater than the last, the ash falling unchecked onto the wooden table.
"Well, be that as it may," Marion said, sounding disbelieving of his previous statement and causing Gene's brow to furrow in frustration, "she won't blame you for getting on with your life; especially if you're not even her man anyway!" Her eyes were telling and Gene ground his teeth angrily, giving her a terse nod.
"Yeah, well, maybe it ain't her who needs the visit," he took another large smoke, ignoring the sad look in Marion's eyes as she reached tentatively across the table, attempting to place her hand over his once again; he pushed it unthinkingly aside, bitterly unable to apologize, even when he saw the hurt flash across her face.
"You'll make yourself ill, Gene," she told him softly. "You'll bury yourself in a pit of hatred, and you'll never claw your way back out again; it isn't worth the pain, dear."
He stood up, pushing his chair back and keeping his eyes averted as he shook his head, voice soft and low, reeking of pain and honesty as he answered her. "You're wrong, Mar," he murmured, "she's worth every lousy second; I ain't givin' up on her." Without a second glance, he stubbed his cigarette out, ignoring the black mark he left behind and flicking the dead end into a nearby bin. He'd barely left the canteen before the hipflask was in his hand, and he was gulping down a mouthful of fiery whiskey, ignoring the disapproving glances from the passing nursing staff.
---
A few minutes later, he was back at Alex's bedside, his hand loosely grasping her own as he looked down at her sleeping face, Marion's words echoing in his ears as he stared at her, with utterly helpless need welling up in his chest.
He'd known the moment he saw her that he was fucked, really; he'd seen her face, almost caught a glimpse of her knickers in that hooker dress, and had a good grope of her tits, and an hour after meeting her he was lost. She'd walked into Luigi's the next evening, dressed like some sort of model, in that white leather jacket that never ceased to make her look sexy even a year on, and he'd thought back then that it would all go away with a shag; once he got to rip that jacket off and lose himself in her body, it would've gone away...
But then she'd spoken; she'd been clever, she'd been funny, she'd been utterly bonkers, and perfectly lewd, and he'd never managed to shake off the growing warmth that filled his stomach whenever she was around. He'd watched her shag that Thatcherite, he'd wondered on countless occasions if she was bonking Evan White, and all the time he'd known that it would always be more than a shag; if he ever got his hands on her, he wouldn't be able to let her go.
He'd known it for so long it ached.
He'd taken to severing contact with her as soon as possible in the weeks that led up to the shooting, because he knew that if he held her too long, or hugged her too close, he'd delude himself, he'd lose himself in the smell of her hair and the warmth of her touch, and moments later she'd slap him away, tell him to keep himself to himself...
There'd been moments he'd almost caved- moments he'd nearly fooled himself into believing she felt the same; the interview room, the office, her flat... he'd wanted her so much it was painful. Sometimes he wondered how he'd ever torn himself away; at others, he wanted to claw out his eyes for passing up the chance.
But Marion's words had hit home hard, even through the shell of his denial; he'd never stopped wanting her, never stopped the irrepressible urge to spend time at her side, to impress her, to protect her. For months she'd been his everything; every waking hour had been spent in her presence, and it felt as though she consumed him, as though she was all he needed, wanted, cared for... She became his one irreplaceable source of happiness, the constant source of comfort and support at the end of a bad day, and now-
Now he felt lost, even more adrift than he'd professed to be before, and the fact of the matter was that being here with Alex was as close to normality as he could get.
Ray and Chris were poor substitutes; they tried, he knew, but even when Alex had been around, there'd been little communication on their long nights in Luigi's. It usually consisted of him and Alex at one table, Chris and Shaz at another, and Ray attempting to pick up the latest bird who walked into the bar.
Nowadays, they bought him drinks, and they tried to make jokes, but neither Chris nor Ray was enough; Shaz had rapidly become his voice of reason, but she was with Chris, planning the wedding, smiling at whatever cheesy line Chris failed to execute properly, and in Luigi's, it felt as though she was barely even there...
He felt alone, and isolated.
Nothing but holding Alex's hand gave him any sense of hope anymore; his job was the same as ever, full of scum bags who deserved to be hung by their bollucks, but there was no voice in his ear telling him to be rational, nothing holding him back when the rage swooped in and he lost control... He'd battered five suspects until they were bleeding and close to unconsciousness since she'd slipped into her coma, and received two warnings from the Super about controlling his temper...
It hadn't changed anything.
Unless she was there, acting as the calming influence that had always had some overwhelming hold over him, he was well and truly fucked. And there was no point in denying it, when with every breath his chest ached for her, with every sip of whiskey he wished she was matching him drink for drink across the table, with that teasing smile on her lips, and that coy flirtation that made his stomach flip...
He knew it was wrong to sit here, wasting his life away in a hospital room on the slight off-chance that someday she may or may not awaken, but he couldn't help it; there wasn't anyone else like her. He'd tried, when she'd been around and rebuked his advances, to replace her in his affections with countless women, but all that he'd ever managed was a brief flirt, occasionally a kiss on the cheek, a promise to call, even though the moment their backs had turned he'd forgotten their name in lieu of the woman behind him, seated at their table with a glass of red wine and a knowing smirk on her lips.
Until Jenette, he hadn't ever gone through with his intentions; he'd spent days trying to bring himself to work off aggravation towards her- whenever they argued, whenever she stormed off up to her flat, whenever he made a smutty comment that went unreturned, he'd turn his attention to one of the other women in the bar, and try with all his might to convince himself it was a good idea to go home with them... it never worked. He'd sigh, take a number, and never hear from them again; if they came into the bar, he didn't talk to them. Each time, he drifted back up the stairs towards Alex's flat, and found himself on her sofa half an hour later, a glass of whiskey in his hand, and Alex's long, lithe, toned body stretched across the seat opposite him.
Each time, he told himself to stop being so weak.
Each time, he scolded himself, told himself that he was a fool, that he should have taken the girl home and spent the next several hours working out his aggravation and forgetting the perfect body, hair, and face of Alex Drake.
Each time, the moment she opened the door, he was glad to be there.
And the fact of the matter was, whether she was sleeping or awake, his feelings hadn't changed, and wherever she was, was exactly where he wanted to be.
So he stayed; paying no heed to Marion's warnings and experience, he kept coming- because if Alex woke up, Gene wanted to be there.
He wanted to be there, to wrap her in his arms and press a fierce kiss to her lips, to apologise over and over with actions that spoke more meaning for him than his baffled words ever could. He wanted to be here with her, to tell her once and for all that he knew now, that he realized how much she meant to him, how much he needed her, wanted her, craved her, adored her... He wanted her to slap him away, scream blue bloody murder, and then fall into his arms, weak with relief and exhaustion...
He knew he'd take whatever abuse she handed him; because she was everything.
---
Despite his private and most heartfelt inner declaration that she was life and all it entailed, as Gene sank into his latest glass of whiskey that evening, Ray at his side speaking lewdly about the large pair of knockers he'd managed to get a hand on after a date the previous evening, he couldn't help but feel a renewed wave of loneliness as Marion's words washed over him.
It wasn't like it was a new feeling; he'd known since she'd landed in hospital that Alex was pretty much his only regular social engagement, and he hadn't needed nor wanted the reinforced clarity of it. But there it was; the gaping, horrific truth of the matter, was that he didn't have anyone else- it was always Alex... Only Alex.
The realisation was horrible; Ray and Chris had been with him for years, but Sam was the only person he'd ever allowed close into his life in any way that wasn't just work. He and Annie had always been round Gene's and his wife's for dinner once they finally got their arses in gear, and he knew that the hole where Sam should have been had only felt filled when Alex had sashayed into his life with her short skirt and her brains and her fierce temper and her irresistibly sexy smile... She'd replaced Sam – no, he told himself, she didn't replace him... nobody would replace Sam -but she had given him those same feelings of assurance, of worth, and, though he'd only realized it recently, she had somehow filled the aching, gaping hole that had been there for the last two years, but he had never really paid heed to; she'd replaced his wife in his affections, of that there was no question, but she'd been so much more than that- he'd felt things for her that overwhelmed him, that were completely foreign.
He'd thought he loved his wife, or at least respected and cared for her, but this had been different, from day one, and though he'd never realized it, his wife had never been able to fill the part of him that hurt so much, the part that needed a slap, a yell, a love-hate relationship that was as back and forth as a yo-yo-artist on speed, the part that needed, through it all, even after heated arguments and unresolved debates, the reassurance of warm, slender arms around his waist, and the scent of inarguably female shampoo in his nostrils...
She'd reshaped him, filled the aching pain, stopped the bitterness and the loathing, so much so that she had put him in a position of such inexplicable happiness, he had become a different person; it was hard to believe that two years ago he had just watched a marriage of twenty years fall to pieces, and attended the funeral of the one real, close friend he had allowed himself since his brother's death.
When Alex had arrived, there was a smirk on his lips whenever he glanced in the mirror in the mornings; there was a flirtatious glimmer in his eyes, a slight lift in his step as he strolled into CID... He'd let her in, more than she realized – more than he himself had realized - and she'd never have needed to ask him to; she'd wormed her way into his heart, settling at the very centre of his chest, causing his pulse to skip and the adrenaline to pound, his head spinning, hands clamming up with nervous sweat the likes of which he hadn't felt since he was a teenager...
But she wasn't there now.
The fact he'd let her in, and felt her heal him, felt her mould him into a person that was able to glance in the mirror in the mornings without feeling either fear or guilt, and the fact that he had watched her belief and trust for him blossom, made no difference now.
She wasn't there providing that support, and though he'd felt unstable before, now he felt as though he were balancing on a tight-rope with a fifty kilogram weight on his left arm, plummeting and plunging down into unfamiliar darkness, darkness which was blacker and more bleak than any other type he'd ever known. He could feel hundreds of pairs of hands grappling at him uselessly as he fell, attempting to stop the plummeting doom that was his fall, but he knew, without a trace of a doubt, that there had only ever been two people who would have the power to stop his descent, to drag him back up to the surface and allow his head to break through into the clean air again, only two people who could have given him cause to breathe his relief...
But both of them were lost to him now.
Sam was forever out of reach, lost in another pit of darkness somewhere, so far away that Gene wasn't sure his old friend would even be able to remember him; he was gone, he was unreachable, and there was no denying it.
But Alex?
He wasn't even sure whether she was alive or dead. How did you tell? At least when someone died, when someone's body stopped working and their heart stopping beating and their brain stopped sending out signals, at least then you could know, either way, that they were gone for good- you could drink yourself stupid, bury yourself in a pit of despair and then arise from it with a slight hunch in your shoulders but a grim smile on your face...
Alex wasn't dead, though- at least not officially.
She was asleep -somewhere between the two plains of life and death, if there was any truth in the things he had heard about coma victims' experiences. She was swirling in a mass of grey, stricken with imbalance between the white and the black, blurring the line of certainty and unsure which side she was meant to fall towards... And Gene felt useless, because either way, there was nothing he could do to help.
Was he meant to grieve for her? Was he supposed to give up, say goodbye and move on, ignoring the fact that she was still there in body, that however much she might be sleeping, her heart was still beating, and her blood was still warming her body?
Or was he meant to stay? Was he supposed to sit here and wait for her, spend however many days, weeks, months or years as was necessary making his daily visit, in the hope that she would someday awaken? Was he meant to forget that he himself was still here, moving, talking, feeling, grieving, and simply sit there hopelessly? Or did he leave her, carry on with his life and try to live as he thought she would want him to, even if that meant him not visiting, not seeing her...?
He threw his whiskey down his throat, just as Ray nudged him firmly with his elbow, pointing lewdly towards a pair of girls who had just entered the bar, both in their mid to late twenties and wearing short skirts and low cut tops that said they'd just been clubbing. Ray's grin was wickedly suggestive, but Gene could barely even manage a half-hearted twitch of the lips in recognition, and but for the fact Ray had leapt from his chair and offered to buy them drinks a second later, he would have gone up the stairs and slept.
He watched as Ray pulled out chairs and leaned in to whisper in the ear of the tanned, dark-haired girl, his hand resting lightly on her waist as Luigi poured drinks, with a disapproving glance at the redhead who was leaning on her hand and smiling suggestively at Gene, her spare hand dancing across the wooden bar and gently teasing across his.
"I'm Polly," she smiled, flashing white teeth at him, bright, caramel brown eyes dancing flirtatiously. Gene's stomach twisted, his eyes meeting hers properly for the first time, blue locking with brown as he gulped down the lump in his throat. Her eyes weren't the same as he wanted, and there was no denying that; there were no flecks of green staring back at him, simply seas of brown that were completely open, with none of the mystery that flipped his stomach, and none of the trust he had come to rely upon...
She wasn't the same, but if he didn't look too hard, if he squinted just a little, he could delude himself, in the dim light, that her red hair was really brown, that her curls were slightly tighter, and the cheekbones ever so slightly higher... but it was the name that clinched it, and he knew it the moment he extended his hand, gracing her with a lopsided, if a little forced, smile.
"Gene," he said, feeling her soft hand close around his rougher one, heart pounding slightly as he glanced down at her slender fingers, painted red on the tips of her nails... he didn't fail to notice that when his own grip slackened, Polly's remained gentle around his hand, her chin still resting on her other one as she swiftly interlaced her fingers through his. He didn't bother to resist, sparing only a small glance at Ray, who was grinning and flushing simultaneously in front of his busty brunette, before allowing Polly to pull his hand to her lap, placing it smoothly on her thigh.
His eyebrows flew up into his hairline, and he couldn't help the small tug of amusement at his lips as her sultry, soft voice drifted into his ears. "And what do you do, Gene?" She murmured, leaning slightly closer.
From the corner of his eye, Gene saw Luigi shake his head, but a moment later he'd tilted his head so that the stout Italian was well out of his line of sight, his long fingers stroking her leg through the fabric of her dress as he answered her, voice falling to a low growl. "I'm a copper," he told her, shifting his stool slightly closer as he murmured, "you been behaving yourself?"
Polly grinned, her plump lips framing her smile as she leant closer, speaking softly into Gene's ear with obvious intent. Gene didn't miss the look of approval Ray sent his way, nor did he manage to block out Luigi's glower as he slammed the glass he was cleaning down onto the wooden surface of the bar. He gulped back the guilt that threatened to swell in his stomach, turning his face so that his lips were an inch from Polly's ear, so close that she could feel the slight hitch of his breath as she spoke. "Only in the right hands, copper..." The extra emphasis sent a shiver down Gene's spine, and despite the waves of revulsion that rose up, he couldn't help the slight pounding of attraction and arousal, his fingers tightening in the flesh of her thigh as he answered her, his breath rough and slightly ragged.
"And in the wrong hands?" He asked, feeling the conflicting emotions in his stomach rising and battling with one another like wild animals.
He felt her smile against his cheek. "Oh, I'm absolutely wicked..."
Gene smirked. "Really?"
"Absolutely..." she waited a few seconds, lingering at his ear for effect before whispering, her voice warm and soft, "want to see?"
He gulped, glancing down at his hand on her thigh as though realizing where it was for the first time, and then suddenly, he was meeting her eyes, nodding as he pushed away the nagging thought at the back of his mind that said she wouldn't be enough, that it would never be enough, that she couldn't ever replace Alex...
"Your place?" Gene murmured, seeing her grin in welcome flirtation.
"No need," she smirked, linking her fingers through his and tugging at him lightly as she led him from the bar, throwing her friend - who was currently sat with her hand in Ray's lap - a lusty wink, before drawing Gene out into the cool chill of the night, leading him around the corner and into a dark alley that Gene had never really paid alot of attention to. The moment they were in shadow, Polly turned, pushing him up against the wall and pressing her lithe, young body into his, her mouth covering his own as her tongue swiped across his lower lip. A soft moan rose in her throat as Gene's hands slid gently to her waist, though his mouth was rendered unmoving as indecision swept over him.
It all looked well and good on paper; a quick shag in a dark alley, meaningless and sweaty, with no commitment, no strings, and no need for the cursory first date, or even the purchase of a drink... He'd gotten here without trying, and the part of him that wanted to move on, wanted to heed Marion's warning and start living his life, was aching for the freedom and the casual unimportance of the whole thing... But the other part knew that it would just end up like another Jenette; he'd regret it, he'd plead for it never to have happened... and just because she had the curls and the brown eyes and the flirtatious grin, it wouldn't make it better.
Sure, he could forget it, if only for a few minutes, when his eyes were closed and his mouth was on hers, but he couldn't mistake her for Alex, not really; he knew they'd taste different, and that, even though he'd never tasted Alex's mouth, this woman couldn't measure up to it. And he knew Alex's scent like his own name, and the fruity scent inhabiting this woman's hair wasn't anywhere near the same; there was no spice, no heat, no gentle underlying scent of red wine and hairspray that drove him inexplicably wild...
"Gene?"
He hadn't realized when she'd pulled away, but Polly was looking at him, her face in shadow, her large lips the only part of her that was really discernible, and he could feel himself gulping as he watched her chew lightly and nervously on her lower lip.
"Is everything ok?" She asked, concern and worry evident as she stepped slightly away from him. He couldn't help it; a moment later he pulled her close again, feeling her shiver in anticipation as he nodded, pushing away his doubt as he spoke.
"Fine," he muttered, closing his eyes. "I'm fine, Bolly, just fi-"
"It's Polly," she grinned, pushing her face closer to his and nibbling lightly at his lip once more before whispering against his mouth, "you sure you're ok, copper?"
In answer, he put a hand to the back of her head, fiercely attempting to devour her mouth, his tongue slipping around hers as she threaded her fingers through his soft blonde hair, chuckling against her mouth as his other hand dug into her waist, holding her firmly against him as he nipped and sucked at her mouth.
For a moment, he was lost.
For a moment – a blissful, wonderful, perfect moment – he forgot everything.
For a moment, he could delude himself, could pretend that the mouth that was assaulting his own with such enthusiasm wasn't a random pick-up from Luigi's, but Alex. For a few seconds, he could feel her willing mouth and heated body against his and all he could think was that he wanted to go further, to lose himself within her... But then he breathed, inhaling through his nose in an effort not to break the kiss, and suddenly he could feel it all once again; the fruity scent was cheap and sickly sweet in his nostrils, and he had to jerk her closer, breathing only briefly through his mouth as he kissed her desperately, feeling her hands slide enthusiastically down his neck, over his shoulders, down his chest...
He froze as her fingers brushed over his pounding heart, as suddenly he felt the burning sensation of guilt, resting there across his chest, coming from his breast pocket, enflamed and painful, and suddenly he was holding her at arm's length, tearing his mouth from hers as her fingers traced teasingly across the flat, rectangular shape that her hand came into contact with. She looked up at him, confused once more, but a moment later she was pressing another kiss to his mouth, attempting to capture his lips again in a bid to continue, but the moment was lost.
Guilt rose up in Gene's stomach like a cresting wave in a tsunami, and even as one hand pushed his eager companion away, the other slid knowingly into his pocket, feeling the familiar leather of the two wallets that rested there, gulping with a mixture of relief and revulsion as he spoke, his voice cracked and apologetic, dripping with disgust and disdain as he attempted to meet her eyes, and failed. "I'm sorry," he muttered, glancing at the floor and seeing her shift her feet in embarrassment.
"If you don't want to be outside, we can always get a cab and-"
Gene interrupted with a quick shake of the head, wetting his lips with his tongue before he went on. "No... It's not that, it's-."
"Do you often have trouble with-?"
"I'm not having trouble!" Gene retorted quickly, though in truth he didn't expect her to believe his words, no matter how much he attempted to enforce the point.
"You're not?" Polly asked, her eyebrows clearly raised and her tone full of disbelief. "Then why can't you-?"
Gene hesitated, glancing out into the lit street and seeing the fluorescent orange glow, wondering how best to word his answer without coming across like a completely heartless bastard. "Bolly." He said finally, as if in explanation. "It's complicated, but-"
"My name isn't Bolly!" She snapped, angrily shoving away from him and moving towards the street with disgust on her face. Gene stood up, snaking an arm around her waist and jerking her back, grunting painfully as she smashed her heel into his toe, but holding her firmly as he spoke, his voice soft, full of apology and bitterness.
"I know you're not," he told her, "I know, you're not Bolly... Bolly isn't- you're not her. I didn't mean it to sound like that..." he felt her fall still in his arms, saw her turn her eyes towards his, and noted that, whilst they still housed disbelief, the disgust and revulsion had lessened. He loosened his hold on her, simply resting his hands on her shoulders and meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I shouldn't 'ave come out 'ere with yer..."
"Are you married?" She asked, and he saw a flicker of anger in her eyes. Gene couldn't withhold the bitter laugh that left his throat, and shook his head with mirth.
"No, I ain't married," he assured her, still shaking his head in amusement. "Nothing like that, I just-"
"You're gay?"
Gene groaned, pushing her away and running a hand through his hair. "I ain't a bloody fairy! It ain't anything like that! She's just-"
"Girlfriend?"
"If yer'd shut up fer a minute, I'd bloody tell yer!" Gene snapped, feeling his anger and frustration bubble away in his belly, irrationally directed towards the woman in front of him as he ran a restless hand through his hair, mussing it more than he realized as he breathed, attempting to reign in his temper at the sight of her, clearly cold, unnerved, and a little frightened; he felt like shit.
"I'm sorry," he said again, voice muffled as he glanced towards the floor. "Didn' mean ter yell, just got a bit... y'know..." He shrugged, as though it was self-explanatory, but all Polly did was glance at him with uncertainty.
"I should go..." she said softly, turning back towards the streetlights and watching him nervously. Gene watched her for a moment, before shaking his head and jogging to her side, turning her around swiftly, then pushing a ten pound note in her hand and looking at her with what he hoped was sincere apology burning in his blue eyes.
"Get a cab, 'ey? An' go straight home- I'll make sure yer friend knows you're ok..."
Polly nodded wordlessly, biting at her lip for a few brief moments, before words seemed to burst from her mouth like water from a pipe, unchecked, and almost blurred into one as she sought desperate reassurance. "Did you fancy me?"
Gene blinked, taken aback, but nodded slowly, his jaw tight, eyes sincere. "Yeah..." he murmured. "I did... I mean, I do... just... just get yerself home, ok?"
"So I wasn't just some girl in a bar?" She asked, disbelief and distaste evident as she glanced away, hailing a cab as it passed down the street. It pulled up on the kerb, but Gene ignored it as he thought quietly to himself, gulping slightly.
The honest answer was, he'd fancied aspects of her body that reminded him of Alex; he hadn't fancied her as a person... was he meant to lie? If she'd had straight hair and blue eyes he'd have paid no attention whatsoever...
"You remind me of someone," he said honestly, glancing at the floor and waiting for the inevitable slap. "I jus' got carried away.... 'm sorry."
He waited a few seconds more, bracing himself for the sting of skin-on-skin... when it didn't come, he glanced up, seeing the sympathy burning in her eyes and feeling his stomach churn with disgust at the pity he had neither earned nor would he ever come to deserve.
"You love 'er?" Polly asked, suddenly shy, nothing at all like the ballsy girl who had been so suggestive in the bar... Gene gulped to himself.
"She's important," he said, feeling Polly's knowing look on his face, just as his stomach was pierced with a sharp, cold, metallic stab of denial, mixed with guilt and hurt.
"Suppose that's better than just being a shag," Polly murmured sadly. Gene met her eyes, just as she lifted a hand to his cheek and smiled weakly. "See you later, Copper," she whispered, brushing the briefest of kisses across his lips before pulling away. Gene only nodded, stepping forward and opening the door to the cab, watching as she settled into the seat and gave directions to the driver. He knelt slightly so that his face was on a level with hers, giving her a sad, apologetic smile as he spoke.
"Sorry," he murmured, touching a hand to her shoulder. "You should-"
"Y'know, if you wanted to talk, I got my BA in Psychology at-"
Gene shook his head, smiling slightly at the irony. "Yer alright," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "I ain't the talkin' type."
Polly nodded, glancing at the driver, who was tapping his fingers impatiently on the leather steering wheel, before turning her gaze back to Gene. "Do I get to see you again then, Copper?"
He smiled sadly, shaking his head. "I wouldn' waste yer time, love," he murmured. "Get 'ome, 'ave a cuppa, a shower, an' curl up in bed with whatever crappy magazine it is you women obsess over, 'ey?"
She smiled, nodding sadly. "I didn't think so. Bye then, Gene."
He nodded in reply, biting back a wave of nausea as he spoke again. "Take care... Polly."
A moment later, he had shut the door, and she was driving away. Once the car turned the corner, he turned around, leaning helplessly against the wall as he breathed heavily, his stomach churning with revulsion as he attempted to collect himself.
Ten minutes later, he was climbing the stairs to Alex's flat, ignoring Luigi's glare of disapproval as he did so.
---
Yeah, I'm still being evil to Gene lol... sorry.
Let me know what you thought!
Mage of the Heart