Alex woke slowly the following morning, eyelids reluctant to admit the dawn light and skin tight from the tears that had dried over her cheekbones. Gathering the duvet closer around her, she wanted nothing more than to fade back into sleep, deny the world outside and the realm of waking memory. It was too much.

The bed around her was cold, as though it had known nothing of the nightmare she had lived the night before, and when she sat up she found no trace of him anywhere. She didn't want to think his name, didn't want to see the shadow of his face behind her eyelids or remember the ghost of his touch anywhere and everywhere, all over her skin and underneath as though no amount of scrubbing could get her clean. Bringing her knees up under her chin, Alex looked morosely around her bedroom to find the candles gone from the windowsill and the floor clear of clothes. She swallowed and felt tears rising in her eyes again, a barrage of suffocating memory stifling her thoughts. Her heart beat heavy against her lungs, chest rising and falling as she fought for some semblance of control, for something to hold onto that would fade the aching in her body, the panic in her lungs.

Gene. She had done this for Gene. For Chris and for Ray and for Shaz and for her own life. To spare all of them. Taking a deep breath, Alex squeezed her eyes shut and repeated their names to herself like a mantra. Chris, clumsy, cautious Chris who had so much love and so much potential. Ray, strong and macho but with a heart of gold underneath and no small amount of pride. Shaz, sweet and clever Shaz, so sharp and smart and bound for superintendent one day, no doubt. And Gene. Gene who made her feel safe and alive and hungry for all that she had once hidden from. Gene who was her safe harbour in this world. It was a while before her breathing returned to normal, but still she felt a stranger in her own skin, unclean beneath her flesh and sick.

She dragged herself into the shower with heavy, shaking limbs. The hot spray pelted down her back for what felt like hours, her arms wrapped around her torso as if trying to hold herself in from the outside. She scrubbed her skin raw and washed her hair twice, as though rinsing away the memory of his fingers might make her feel whole again. As she dried, Alex muttered their names to herself again, taking a deep breath between each one as she saw them all like anchors, hooked into her bones and keeping her on the ground. Gene. Chris. Ray. Shaz.

Alex could feel the change in the air as soon as she entered CID an hour later; it was lighter somehow, more familiar. There was none of the grim suffocation that had pervaded the team for weeks, no broken atmosphere or the silence of despair. Despite her attempts to slip in quietly and unnoticed, Alex was immediately stopped by a beaming Chris before she even made it to her desk.

"Have you heard, Ma'am? He's gone. Keats, he's gone! Filed his report late last night apparently, says the department's running smoothly and there's no cause for further action. Finally realised the Guv's not one to be messed with, I reckon."

It took all of Alex's effort to muster a smile and when she did it felt dead and empty on her face. "That's…that's a relief, Chris."

She dropped down behind her desk with a long sigh. So Keats had maintained his end of their deal after all, and for that Alex could only be thankful. She would have felt as the rest of the team looked – cheerful, relieved and hopeful – if it weren't for the aching of the price of their freedom beneath her skin. Still, she swallowed and pulled the remainder of her paperwork towards her. It would get easier. It would get better. Once the team were fully back on their feet, once it was them and the Guv again, fighting to keep the streets clean without menace and interfering, then it would become easier to stomach. Alex told herself this while trying to quell the emptiness in her stomach, the sick feeling that felt lodged in the back of her throat and wouldn't go away. When the door to Gene's office opened and she heard him call her in, she felt queasier still. It all felt too easy and yet too hard at the same time.

"Shut the door, DI Drake."

Alex frowned at the use of her title, something unsettling below her ribcage, but she did as instructed. She tried to face him as neutrally as possible and take an even breath to keep her voice steady and detached. "Chris told me about Keats' report. Not so doomed after all, were we?" Her lips attempted a small smile on her behalf.

Yet Gene appeared not to hear, or else ignored her words. He was leant against a filing cabinet by the back window of his office, legs crossed at the ankle and arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her plainly.

"Good night last night was it, Inspector?"

"Gene, what - ?"

"Get all those things done you said you needed to get done?"

His voice was cold and sharp as stone, settling a chill in Alex's bones. The frown on her face had scattered into an expression of fear.

"I…I don't know what you mean, Gene, what's all this about? I thought you'd be pleased, about the report, about Keats being gone – "

"Ah, yes. Jim Keats." A dark shadow crossed Gene's face as he stood up straight, gaze boring into Alex as though she were a stranger to him. "I'm surprised you're not more upset about his being gone, Alex, I mean – "

"Gene," Alex snapped, taking a step forward.

The chill in her bones had given rise to an anger beneath her skin. She couldn't understand why he was being so cold toward her, so sharp and unyielding when… She had just sacrificed everything for him, for them and for their team. He couldn't know, couldn't possibly know the price she had paid…but for it all to be for nothing sent an ice cold blade through her gut.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Moving forward, Gene snatched up a brown envelope from his desk. "Yesterday, Bolly, you said you 'ad some things that needed doing, couldn't have dinner with me because you were busy. Very busy, it turns out." He thrust the envelope towards her. "Something was keeping you occupied, Bols. Or rather someone."

Alex's eyes widened and she felt ice solidify in her blood. No.

With shaking hands and a hammering heart, she slipped the contents of the envelope out into her hands and felt the knife in her gut give a sickening twist.

Clutched in her hands was photo after photo of her and Keats. His body against hers and mouth against her neck. Hands around her wrists as he arched above her against pristine sheets. Hands at the clasp of her bra. Arms encircling her waist as they fell back onto her bed. There were more than a dozen and none of them telling the true story, none of them showing the tight press of her lips throughout, the stiffness in her reluctant muscles and the writhing of disgust beneath her skin.

Alex felt her breath fail her, lungs grasping for air as she met Gene's gaze through a blur of tears. His voice, when he spoke again, was cold as stone.

"Get out of my sight, Drake."

*ducks from incoming missiles* well, a deal with the devil was never going to be without a catch! Apologies for the delay with this chapter, I meant to update sooner after getting back from holiday but didn't get round to it. Thank you all for your continued reviews and support, I'm so grateful!

Eleanor :) x