Prologue

Gene sat at his desk and listened to the ticking of the clock behind him. Tick, tock, tick, tock, never stopping. A bit like my world, he mused. The cycle went on and on; someone takes a trip to the pub, someone else turns up on the doorstep. Just days earlier he'd accompanied Alex as she'd taken two of her team for last orders and waved them goodbye on the steps of Luigi's. Gene didn't know them very well but he knew that they'd lived new lives in his world. He'd heard Alex praising them to the hilt on several occasions.

"Good on you, Bols," he'd grudgingly praised her as the doors closed and the tempting scent of Luigi's steak and chips pizza disappeared into the night air. He had to admit that she did her job well. Not just in terms of solving crimes and keeping the streets clean but in helping her recruits to reach their full potential, drink up then move on, and never with an ounce of fuss. There were never any stars or traumas, no gibbering wrecks hearing pub noises in their heads – when they were ready, they were ready. It was a little like when you realise you're in a dream.

He took his flask from his pocket and unscrewed the cap whilst he stared through the glass window in his door and eyed up Jake with something approaching suspicion. Something about his DS... no, his new DI, unsettled him. He swigged from his flask and gave a slight gasp as the scotch hit his taste buds at full force. Maybe it was just the time of year but he'd been feeling oddly reflective, which wasn't like him at all. Just that morning they'd turned their calendars over to December and argued over who got what when their advent calendars were opened. Officers and detectives had been running around the station with boxes of threadbare tinsel and wonky christmas trees, trying to get into the christmas spirit, whilst pieces of paper with sign ups for the various christmas parties that departments were holding had started to appear on noticeboards around the station.

Christmas was coming, and fast. Another year over. Time never sat down for a rest, it just kept marching on.

"So why," Gene mumbled, screwing his cap back on, "aren't you marching with it?" he glared at Jake from a distance, "Hmm?" he couldn't see much from where he sat but he could see the unmistakable sight of Marci with her crazy hair and bold clothing choices barrelling into the office and accosting Jake at his desk where he was finishing up for the day. The two of them became instantly engaged deep in conversation, just as they had been on their first day in the station, which coincidentally had been the first day for the duo Alex has waved goodbye to not so long ago. And yet the Scary Spice and Ronan Keating of the station showed no sign of being ready to pull up a stool at the saloon bar.

Gene had wondered if he was to blame. After all, he had a history of long-term lodgers. Chris and Ray, Susannah and Malcolm... when someone got their feet under a desk in CID they were there for eons. But when he'd talked his theory out with Alex she made him see it a different way.

"They're not hanging on because of you, Gene. They're with you because they need extra time."

And she was right. All the detectives who'd joined him needed more time and attention than Alex or Simon's recruits had. Chris and Ray were a pair of complete numbskulls but, with time, they came good. Susannah and Malcolm took years to hone their strengths but they left Gene's world stronger and ready to move on.

"What about you? Hmm?" Gene mumbled, eyeing Jake and Marci. It had been almost two years since their arrival and Gene felt like he knew little more about them now than he'd done on their first day.

Things were different to the way they used to be. Once there was a time that when work was done for the day Gene would say one word and his whole team would pack up and head out for a boozy night together. Whether at a pub, an Italian restaurant or a karaoke bar, it became a way for Gene to get to know his team inside and out. But things had changed, more or less from the time of Jake and Marci's arrival. The karaoke bar closed down, Robin joined the station and suddenly Gene and Alex found themselves enjoying more time at home alone, drinking wine in front of the fire whilst the younger crowd would head to the nightclub to dance the night away. Things were changing. It was inevitable, he supposed. And whilst sometimes he missed the camaraderie of old, he knew he wouldn't swap it for a night plying Bolly with booze before whisking her up the stairs and using his handcuffs for immoral purposes.

"Gene."

"Argh!" Gene half-screamed as he fell out of his chair. After zoning out, staring at the glass window in his door, he'd been somewhat shocked by its sudden opening and the arrival of a surprise Simon.

"Gene! Oh my god!" Simon rushed forward and tried to help Gene back onto his seat which only succeeded in getting his head jammed into the filing cabinet momentarily. "I'm sorry!" Simon choked, "I didn't mean to scare you!"

"Nothing scares Gene Hunt," Gene huffed, "Except that jumper." He grabbed a handful of Simon's woollen monstrosity and yanked him back out of the filing cabinet.

Simon dusted himself down and tried to smooth out his jumper.

"I only came to ask if you fancied the pub tonight," he said indignantly which made Gene raise an eyebrow.

"Keep talking, Shoe-Boy," he advised.

Simon scowled, expressing his displeasure at the return of the Shoe-Boy nickname. It had filtered back into common usage over the past few weeks and wasn't becoming any the less annoying.

"Football's on," he continued, "European match. Free peanuts all night and pork scratchings for everyone every time the opposition concedes a goal."

Gene considered Simon's timely offer for a while. It seemed odd coming directly after his musings on the way that things had changed. Simon was, perhaps, the one colleague he would sometimes meet up with after work for a few pints and the occasional match on TV. He considered for the first time how Simon had always been the odd one out; floating from here to there, never really belonging to one group. Although he would sometimes go clubbing with the others Gene knew Simon had never really fitted in with what he thought of as the 'trendy crowd' or, as he'd dared to label them once, "poofs with pierced arses". Once and only once, since Kim had been a whisker away from giving him a piercing all of his own.

Sometimes Simon would join up with the clubbing crowd and sometimes he would go for a pint with Gene. Sometimes he'd go for a few drinks with Robin and Kim, or for a night out to the cinema or something with them, but that was it. He spent more nights at home than he did out on the town, and that was true going way back before James had made quiet nights at home a far more appealing prospect.

Gene noted that, since James had been living with Simon, their nights at the pub had pretty much ceased, and – grudgingly – he noted that he kind of missed them.

Maybe.

He turned to Simon and nodded decisively.

"Pub," he agreed.

Simon's face changed and accepted a smile.

"Great," he nodded, thrusting his hands in his pockets to look for his car keys, "pub."

Gene watched him turn and walk to the doorway before adding a condition.

"You're buying the first round," he challenged Simon.

Simon waved a hand in vague acceptance.

"Fine," he said as he passed through the door.

"And the last one," Gene added gruffly, making Simon stop and sigh. Eventually he waved his hand again, not bothering to look back.

The door closed behind him and Gene opened up his flask again.

"And all the ones in between," he mumbled, supping scotch again. He closed his eyes, returned the lid to his flask and leaned back in his chair. He could still see Jake and Marci talking outside. Whatever they had to talk about, it was taking some time, and Marci wasn't the kind of girl who liked staying late to dot Is and cross Ts. He climbed out of his chair, flask still in hand, and wandered across to the door so he could watch them through the glass. "Two ruddy years and all I know about Dawson is that he owns more bloody Doctor Who underwear than he does file dividers," he opened the flask once again, "and that's saying something."

~xXx~

"Come on," Marci begged again, "just me and you. A mad night of boozing and dancing. Just like the old day."

The feet of Jake's chair gave an unnerving screech as it slid backwards with one push of his feet, letting him stand up and grasp his work bag with one hand and a pile of papers with the other.

"I told you, Marci, I'm sorry, I can't," he whimpered, wrestling the papers into his bag, "this promotion came out of nowhere and I've got some serious work to do to get up to speed."

"We'll make it a celebration then," Marci tried, jiggling up and down on the spot a little, "to mark you getting the big ol' D.I. In front of your name," she seemed a little hyper, even for Marci, drawing out the letters in the air in front of his face with her finger, "that's what you wanted, wasn't it? Like, forever?"

Jake opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a slightly sad sigh. It was true. Everything Marci had said was true. He'd been desperate for that title as far back as he could remember and had worked so hard for it that his files practically had their own toothbrush for the amount of times he'd shared his bed with them rather than with a person. He'd lived and died for that post and had never let anything get in his way before.

With another sigh he let himself consider the thought that he'd been trying not to dwell on that day.

"What's changed?"

Something had. That was all he knew. He closed his eyes as he realised it was probably him. Yeah, it was. It was definitely him. His eyes opened and fixed on the papers in his open bag. Where once he'd been excited at the prospect of a night poring over files to find missing links and evidence, now all that remained was a feeling of emptiness and impending boredom.

He'd only joined the police force to follow in his father's footsteps, hoping it would give them some common ground but to talk about a common interest you'd still need to want to talk to the other person in the first place. And that was the problem; Jake and his father were poles apart.

Over the past year a lot had changed for Jake. The previous Christmas had seen him enter his first relationship. The part-time arrangement he shared with Robin suited him down to the ground; his work had always been his number one love interest so a part-time boyfriend who didn't mind sharing Jake with his work had suited him perfectly. He'd never felt any jealously toward Kim or the fact that she and Robin were beyond soul mates. He and Robin had fun, and they cared about each other. Even loved each other. But they weren't in love, that was a very different matter and something Jake had never really felt before.

He flinched. Before. He let his eyes flicker to Marci just for a split second before focusing once again on his files, loading up some more into his bag. Best not to dwell on her for too long. Nor upon the cleavage that had almost swallowed him a moment ago. He growled slightly in frustration as he jammed another folder inside his bag. When Gene had put him forward for an internal promotion he'd jumped at it, but it had taken him a couple of weeks to realise that was because wanting to become a detective inspector had become a habit rather than a goal. He was so used to wanting it that he went through the motions like a clockwork toy. But by the time he'd sat through several interviews and Fletcher had arrived at his desk with a smile and an extended hand of congratulations he realised that his dream had wound down.

Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was sharing his life with someone for the first time. Maybe it was being stabbed by a crazy old cat woman and fearing that he was gong to die. Maybe it was watching Gene and Alex getting married. Or maybe it was -

- Something else...

...whatever it was, something had shown him a fact that he'd never expected to accept:

That there was more to life than work.

"Can't you take Marci?" he mumbled as he struggled with the zipper on his bag. He found a hand waving in front of his eyes.

"Uh, hello? I am Marci?!" Marci reminded him.

Jake froze, panicking slightly.

"Did I say Marci?" he felt his voice crack, "I meant Shaz. Why don't you take Shaz?"

Marci's eyes fell downward.

"Yeah, well," she mumbled, "me and Shaz are over, so -"

"What?" Jake's eyes finally rested back on Marci as his heart rose in his chest and started to beat at double time. He wondered if he was going to have to shove it back into place. His mouth grew dry with extreme speed and he licked his lips as he blurted, "Why? What happened?"

Marci's expression was unreadable. Her smile stayed where it was but her eyes reflected a conflicting pool of emotions, none of which could Jake unravel from the rest. She moved the focus of her gaze ever so slightly so that she wasn't looking at him directly and then said slowly,

"Well, because."

Jake waited for more. Eventually it became clear that Marci really did feel like her sentence had reached its conclusion.

"That's it?"

"What?"

"Well because?!" Jake ran his fingers through his hair, aware he was blushing just a little but not entirely aware why, "You can't just say that!"

Marci couldn't look at Jake any longer.

"Why not?"

"Because you two have been through too much for that!" Jake cried, "Christ, you've been on and off, hot and cold, but you always have a reason, even if you tell me you don't want to talk about it!"

"Alright, I don't want to talk about it," Marci said haughtily, jumping a step or so backward and swinging her bag over her shoulder, "I want to forget about it. So can we just go out, have some drinks and celebrate your big fat promotion?"

"How about celebrating you and Shaz apologising and making up?" Jake asked, although there was a little part of him that didn't quite mean it.

"Jake, it's not going to happen, OK?" Marci told him crossly.

"Who ended it?" Jake blurted before he could hold back his frankness.

"She did," Marci's voice rose and for the first time real emotion and distress came through her words and flashed in her eyes. Jake stared at her, his mouth falling slightly open as he did so. He tried to find the right words but they weren't coming out fast enough to stop him sounding like a floundering idiot.

"Marci," eventually he spoke, his voice quieter, "I'm so sorry."

Marci stared at the floor.

"Yeah, well," she mumbled.

"I am," Jake reached out but she evaded his hand, "really."

"Well it would probably have ended soon enough anyway," Marci said quietly in a tone Jake couldn't decipher. She finally looked back at him, detesting the pity on his face. "So let's just go out tonight, OK? Me and you, best friends forever."

Jake swallowed, his heart so torn. He truly was sorry to hear about Marci and Shaz splitting up but that little jealous voice kept chanting "Good!" in a variety of silly voices in the back of his mind. He was also full of concern and couldn't work out what had gone so wrong, so quickly. He stared at her, the slight sadness in her expression covered by her curls which were tumbling over her downbeat expression. Perhaps a night out would give him a chance to find out what happened between them. Perhaps a night out would take his mind off the promotion he didn't want. Maybe it would take off his mind over the thing he did want.

He had to physically shake himself to stop staring at Marci. Maybe a night on the town was the answer. A night like they used to have, just to remind him that this was Marci, his best friend, not someone to masturbate over wistfully at night.

"I've never done that!" he blurted before realising that Marci was staring at him like he'd lost every marble from his head. "What?" he swallowed, "I mean," What did he mean? "OK," he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Alright, I give in." he looked at Marci and found her eyebrows raised expectantly, "let's go out."

"Yes," Marci's grin returned as she held her hand up for a high five that Jake almost missed. Marci didn't seem to mind too much though. "Alright," she hauled her bag up higher on her shoulder and picked up his bag with a groan. What was in that thing? Geoff?! "Alright," she lumped the bag into his hands and sent him reeling backward a few paces, "you get home, get your glad rags on, meet me at the club tonight. Eight o' clock. Don't be late."

"Wait, Marci!" He held up one hand and tried to keep hold of his bag with the other, "I was hoping you might give me a lift home."

Marci froze and Jake's request turned her expression upside down. A trail of goosebumps started at her wrists and ran all the way up to her shoulders before travelling across the back of her neck like a series of tiny ghostly footsteps.

"What?"

"I mean," he managed to pull the strap of his bag onto his shoulder, "I don't want to carry this all the way. I need to save my energy for keeping up with you on the dance floor later."

"I walked in this morning," Marci said, once again avoiding his gaze all to deftly.

"What?" Jake laughed, "Marci, you hate walking!"

"I drank to much last night and didn't want to get stopped," Marci tried.

"Wrong," Jake frowned, "you were in all night, we spent two hours on the phone, talking about the Miller case."

"Look," Marci sighed, her hands in the air, "I don't want the Spanish inquisition, I just walked, OK?"

Jake frowned a little.

"OK," he said quietly.

"It's not illegal is it?"

Jake shook his head gently.

"No," he said quietly.

"Anyway, why do you need a lift?" Marci asked him, "something wrong with your car?"

Jake felt his face flush with heat from one cheek to the other and this time he was the one who moved his gaze from Marci's.

"No," he said quietly, "I didn't feel like driving this morning either."

Marci stopped in the doorway and turned to Jake. She didn't live a million miles away from work and could walk at a push. Jake, on the other hand, was lost without his car.

"What the fuck?" she asked, "since when did you want to do a marathon to get to work?"

"Wasn't feeling well," Jake murmured, pushing past her.

"Hey, no, wait," Marci rolled her eyes and took chase, "Jake, wait for me!" she caught up to his side and grasped his arm with her hand, "I'm sorry, OK? I don't want to piss you off, I just thought it was a bit," she froze, just for a moment, "of a coincidence," she said quietly. The slightest whisper in the air sent a chill through her and she raised her other hand to her ear as though to catch the sound but Bammo and Poirot pushed through the doors behind them and marched down the corridor, laughing as they went, destroying the tension that filled the air around them. For a split second they looked at one another, each silently asking the other if they'd heard and felt the strangeness in the air but before either had a chance to speak Marci decided she didn't want to know.

"Never mind," she said quietly, "let's just both get going. If we're walking it we need to get a bloody move on. Not going to show up at the club in my work clothes." She sniffed her sleeve as though she could catch the scent of crooks in the fabric.

Jake hesitated. The whisper still rang inside his head but its memory was almost unobtainable now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Fine," he said soberly, "let's get out this place." He turned to Marci and wagged his finger. "and you're buying the first round tonight."

Finally the tension faded and on Marci's face a smile broke through.

"Whenever don't I?" she grinned.

~xXx~

Gene opened the door and stared out at the emptying CID as Jake and Marci's voices disappeared into the ether. He leaned against the side of the doorway, his brow creased with frustration and a certain amount of worry. Something didn't feel right. There was a strange stillness in the air that only made the chills he felt travel down his arms grow stronger. He shuddered, glad no one was around to see that. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Gene?"

Immediately the chills dispersed and his eyes focused on the face peering around the doorway out of the office.

"Sight for a sore brain," Gene sighed.

Alex wasn't sure what he was talking about and she wasn't sure she wanted to know either. All she wanted to do was slip into the passenger seat as Gene drove them back to their home, then open a fresh bottle of red.

"Coming, Gene?" she asked.

Gene hesitated only for a moment. He needed time to stare at Bolly and take in the same sight that had greeted him so many times before. It offered him the antidote to all that staring at Jake and Marci and the blanket to keep away those chills. He nodded and strode towards her, hearing his door close behind him.

"And not a moment too soon," he commented.

~xXx~

A/N: Hey everyone! Back again for another outing, this story is the sequel to Pure Morning and I'm writing this for NaNoWriMo. I'm still struggling badly with my health so my writing isn't going to return to the pace I used to write at. However I'm aiming to hit the 50,000 words of the competition by the end of the month, even if I can't get the fic finished too. Not saying I won't, just saying I can never guess what I'll be up to from day to day.

I've been excited about starting this fic since it sees a return to something that I've not had the opportunity to write for some time – all about the nature of Gene's world. I've had this story planned for a very long time and I really hope you'll enjoy watching it come to fruition.

Thank you for sticking with me and my stories – you are awesome! :)