A/N: Here we go with the second part! Where were we? Oh yes, Alex had discovered a little problem...*tee hee* Thanks for reading and reviewing so far!

Chapter 2

"Bloody 'ell, what is it now? Don't tell me they've forgot the caviar."

She chewed her lip as she waited for him to survey the scene, her insides turning over. It was a beautiful room, much grander than they really needed for an overnight stay. The phrase 'beggars can't be choosers' didn't fit, somehow.

And yet the fact remained true, no matter how hard they stared.

There was one bed. A gorgeously-furnished king-size bed, but just the one.

It was certainly big enough for the both of them. Alex felt her cheeks burn as she considered the possibility of sharing a bed with Gene. The night being so perilously cold meaning that she'd almost definitely need to cuddle against him for warmth, press her body right up against his. Actually, the duvet looks like it would do the job just fine. But that's not what you want, is it?

They were away from their usual surroundings, and for all intents and purposes were still at work. She needed to be professional, and put those incredibly distracting thoughts out of her head.

"I should have checked before we took it," she said, fumbling for excuses and turning herself towards where he was standing next to her on the threshold of the room, "I just assumed that it would be a twin room, and that's what they meant by 'just the one'."

"Maybe she thought we were...y'know...together."

His voice sounded huskier when he uttered the word, causing her body to almost short-circuit.

"I made it quite clear that we were colleagues," she stuttered out, hastily.

"Alright, sweetheart," he huffed, the disdain clear in his tone, "you're not exactly my cup of tea either."

She couldn't look at him, felt herself being rejected even though she had been the one to pour water onto the flames. For the good of the both of them, she should point out.

"I suppose given that we've already paid that it's too late to change now..."

Her hand went into her hair, cursing inwardly at the predicament they found themselves in. Bloody Tommy Smithers, choosing Christmas as the ideal time for a jailbreak. Bloody snow that couldn't wait a couple of days longer to come down. Since when did it ever snow at Christmas anyway? Not once that she could remember in her life.

"Calm down, Bols," he said, sounding different yet again, "we've got a nice-looking chair, I can kip there. Christ, I'm so knackered that I could probably do it standin' up."

She read something else in his words, mentally slapping herself on the wrists. Naughty Alex; stop it. You know that this is all psychosomatic?

Yes, absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was rugged and rumpled and utterly gorgeous, whichever way he came.

Oh god, don't even get me started on thinking about that...

"We can think about all that bollocks later," he continued, steel-blue eyes burning a hole through her without even being aware. "I dunno about you, Bolly, but I am starvin'. I could eat a scabby horse, with the 'ead for starters."

She pulled a face as her own stomach grumbled softly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since about midday.

"I'm sure they'll have something far more appetising on the menu," she remarked, picking up the sheet of paper detailing room service. "Steak sandwich and chips, sounds perfect."

"And 'ow much is that gunna cost? We'll get three courses at the restaurant, value for money. I intend to feel the benefit of every bleedin' penny that's bein' rung from me."

"It's gone ten, they won't be serving anyone new this late."

"I'll bloody well make sure they do. Show them me warrant card, they can't argue with that. And if they try, they can get served a Gene-Genie special."

She flopped down onto the bed, her fingers digging into her scalp. She really didn't have the energy for another argument, not with how long this day had been.

"Let's just stay here. I don't really care how much it costs."

"Yeah, 'cause you're not the one payin'." Oh, here we go; considering he'd racked up an almighty tab in Luigi's that he hadn't even started to put loose change towards she knew he was going to hold this over her forever. "Anyway, I'm the one who's gunna stick out like a sore bloody thumb, you'd be right at home with all the Hooray Henrys and Henriettas. Although considerin' how ashamed you are to be seen with me, I shouldn't be surprised..."

Shame was the last thing she felt when she was with him, and it wounded her deeply that he could think of her having such narrow-minded preoccupations. Perhaps if she had a greater grasp on her sanity then she would have had more reservation, but everything that had played out in the past many months proved to her that he was the most noble man she had ever known. She was ashamed of what had come before, or technically after, but never of him.

"Oh for God's sake, I'm sharing a bedroom with you, aren't I? If anyone checked the records they'd see that, and I couldn't care less what they thought of it!"

Her frustration came out in an impetuous fluster, along with other emotions that were only just breaking the surface before she could clamp them down again. He was silent as he stared back at her and she could tell that he was trying to figure her out. She'd worn him out at every attempt to do so, the undefeated champion at her own game; it was just as well that he didn't have persistence in that particular area, drowned his efforts and soothed the ache in his brain with a bottle of wine or several glasses of scotch.

She'd pleaded with him once to let her in. If only he knew how much she wanted to do the same, to confess everything and tell him who she really was without any risk or repercussion. The fear of him finding her out kept her awake at night, hanging by the thinnest of threads.

"I'm just...I'm just tired," she offered as way of a more rational explanation. She was always so tired. "All I want is to stay here, have something to eat and then go to bed. Besides, I look such a fright that I think I'd put everyone off their desserts."

His gaze was intent as it lingered upon her, raking up from the boots she hadn't yet taken off, past her jean-clad legs and her torso up to her face. He wouldn't stop staring, and she felt herself both wanting to disappear and to never escape, to have him looking at her with what she hoped she read accurately as deepest desire for the rest of time.

"Yer kiddin', Bols," he said, eventually breaking the almost painful silence. "You'd be the tastiest thing there. But 'ave it your way."

She had fantasies of him dropping to his knees in front of her, taking her ankles into his large hands. The sound of the zips holding the boots to her feet would be almost sensual as they came undone, and then his fingers would be on her soles and curving around her heels, causing her back to arch like a cat at his touch, steadily taking away all of her aches and pains, those eyes looking up at her as she purred her satisfaction.

Instead he picked up the piece of paper she'd left at the foot of the bed, ordering in steak sandwich and chips twice, seeing to the more essential of needs.

After devouring the food – and staring at Gene as he savoured what was on his plate – there remained just one thing on her mind. She felt grubby from the day but forewent a shower, being too exhausted for it. Not to mention that she had no change of clothes.

Two fluffy robes hung in the wardrobe and she plucked one of them out, glancing over her shoulder as she pinned it against her body. Self-consciousness possessed her, even with the lights turned down low. She took her jacket off, slinging it over the back of the chair that sat at the dresser, and looked at where her hands were resting at the hem of her jumper.

"Don't stop on my account, Bolly."

His voice came out of the blue, which was ridiculous as she couldn't fail to be aware of his presence, particularly not at such close quarters.

She smiled somewhat awkwardly towards him, fully dressed except for his overcoat and those distinctive snakeskin boots that she always imagined he would sleep in.

"I...erm..." she began haltingly, the faculty of speech failing her as she appeared to be completely absorbed by him and all the power he possessed. Natural magnetism, he'd no doubt call it.

They'd been closer than this before. Drenched in sweat as they sat gasping for air in a secret government vault, in a greater state of undress than they were now. It hadn't been a game at the time but she could laugh about it now. You show me yours, I'll show you mine. Perhaps she was lying when she swore she hadn't done anything to keep them trapped there. She couldn't remember the last time she could honestly say she'd been thinking straight.

"It's alright, I'm not gunna perv at you." Everything about him, his eyes and the way he was standing, told of his sincerity. She could trust him completely to be the gentleman. More's the pity. "I'll just..."

He made to turn, not quite leaving the room.

"It's going to be too hot to sleep in this," she explained to his back, "but too cold to just be in my...could we do a swap? If I can have your shirt, I'll give you the robe."

He turned to face her again, his brow furrowed at another of her demands.

"Bleedin' hell. Always thought you'd 'ave the shirt off me back if you wanted it, but I didn't quite expect this."

She counted the seconds turning into minutes in her head, intending to keep staring down at her feet. Why she had become so shy all of a sudden she couldn't quite say. She gazed up to find him stripped of his jacket and shirt, though he still wore a vest that was tucked into his trousers. Another ensemble that she was sure she would find impossible to classify as desirable on anyone other than him.

Her breath became shorter as she looked at him with his head bent forward, hair obscuring his vision, making him vulnerable. She had the pleasure of seeing how broad his shoulders were as they were bared – he always filled his suits so well but now she realised that it wasn't the clothes giving him an advantage. His arms were leaner than she imagined but taut and muscular, and she could glimpse a hint of belly hidden beneath the vest. Not as much of a surprise given his lifestyle, but she found it endearing and attractive. There was something disconcerting and definitely egotistical about men with washboard stomachs. She found herself taken with the urge to pad over towards him, poking her finger just above his navel. It would likely piss him off no end but the image she had conjured up in her mind was enough to give her a fuzzy feeling in all of her limbs.

"Any time you want to stop gawpin', Bols."

He'd caught her off guard again, and she shook herself mentally, reaching out to take the shirt from his proffered hand.

"Thank you," she said, shucking off her jumper and jeans once he had his back to her again, hands stuffed into pockets.

It occurred to her as she climbed into the bed that she hadn't exactly thought this through properly. She was draped in Gene's shirt, his scent clinging to her, and yet he was sitting in the chair a few feet from the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. It amused her to see him in the white fluffy robe, as though he was dressed especially for the occasion.

"I didn't expect to be spending Christmas Eve like this," she murmured from the pillow, her head almost edging off the side of the bed.

"Me neither," he replied, leaning back on the chair and stretching himself out even further. "At least Luigi'll be 'appy that 'e got to knock off early for a change."

"Yes," she smiled, and giggled to herself as she imagined for a moment that the Italian was hiding a secret identity, climbing onto the roof of the trattoria and boarding a waiting sleigh. She wasn't sure whether reindeer would be able to feast on pizza and pasta rather than the standard carrots.

Having run out of things to say to one another – at least anything that wouldn't take one of them completely by surprise – Gene turned off the last remaining light in the room, throwing it into darkness. The change always unsettled her but she felt easier tonight, knowing that he was there.

"Night, Bols. See yer in the mornin'."

"Good night, Gene," she echoed back. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"No bloody chance of that, not when I'm kippin' in a chair!"

She let out a soft laugh, turning herself so that she had her back to him. She lay there for a few moments, getting used to the dark and the pillows that were a bit softer than she was normally used to.

"Bolly?" His voice sounded out again. "We're off to church in the mornin', right?"

She shifted around again, taken aback by what he had said.

"Umm, I suppose we could see..."

His deep chuckle gave him away as it erupted from his chest. "I'm pullin' yer leg, Bols. More chance of me bein' at bloody Old Trafford than in the 'ouse of God. Even if it is his kid's birthday."

She slept fitfully, waking when it was still pitch black, able to make out the silhouttes of the objects in the room the longer her eyes focused. Her dreams had been pleasant ones, for once. Molly had been there, she was about six or seven years old. She had been tearing through the presents under the tree, unveiling them with the glow of the fairy lights adding to the pure excitement in her eyes. When the one that was at the top of her list had been discovered she rushed over to give Alex a hug, almost crushing the breath out of her with the force of it. She held her daughter close, sniffing the mint-scent of the shampoo that had covered her hair the night before and still lingered.

"Mummy, this is just what I asked for! How did Santa remember?"

"He has lots of elves to help him. But he also has a special list of all the girls and boys that have been extra good. And he might have let me know that Molly Drake was very near to the top of that list."

Her daughter giggled as she cupped her hands around her little face.

"I hope you get what you ask for, Mummy. Because you're the best Mummy there is."

Then she had been the same age as her daughter had been, sitting more sensibly cross-legged beneath the tree as her mother passed presents to her one by one, her father sitting and watching from the armchair opposite.

"You can stand up for this one, Alex. It's quite big."

She got to her feet, conscientious as she tore pieces from the wrapping paper that covered her final present. She remembered being a bit confused at what it was supposed to be, and asked her mother that much.

"It's a dressing-up box, Lex. You can put all of your nicest outfits in there, or some of your toys if you like."

Her mother's smile was wide as she reached to undo the clasp, flipping back the lid.

"Or, if you like, you can climb in there and pretend that you're disappearing. Somewhere that nobody will ever find you..."

She was gasping for breath when she woke, though she didn't make a sound and the tears had dried from her eyes. She had lay on her back for a while, convincing herself that she wasn't being held captive in that wooden box, until she became uncomfortable in that position and finding herself wanting to seek comfort from another source.

The room was silent so she didn't feel that she would be disturbing him. Unless of course she had been mistaken and he wasn't prone to snoring but instead was as quiet as a mouse when he slept.

"Gene? Are you awake?"

There was no response to her gentle call of his name or her question. After a few moments had passed, she tried again.

"Gene?"

"Yes, Bols."

"Were you asleep?"

"No," he uttered gruffly. "I wanted to see 'ow far you were willin' to go to get me attention."

"You give up easily then," she replied, smiling against the pillow, and trying not to ponder for too long about the lengths she might have gone to.

"Or I just can't take you prattlin' on any longer."

She peered through the shadows that cloaked them, thinking to herself that it couldn't possibly be comfortable for him to attempt to sleep twisted in the chair like that, at least not for the whole night.

"Why are you awake, then? You waitin' for Father Christmas to come down the chimney and jingle his bells for yer?"

She laughed almost too raucously, reining herself in so as to not cause a commotion amongst the other guests.

"I had some vivid dreams."

"Jesus, now I wish I 'adn't asked. Unless I'm still awake in an 'our or so, then you can quite 'appily tell me every detail and bore me to sleep."

Of course, he wouldn't understand the significance. But then she didn't want him to. As silence fell again she pondered whether that was why she was so drawn to him; because he was the polar opposite of everything she'd ever thought she'd wanted. A break from the norm. He was intellectual, as much as he'd fight – quite literally – to deny the fact. You had to be in this profession and especially to succeed in the way he had done. The longer she was around him the more she was able to see underneath the rough surface. It's a shame really; he probably had incredible insights to offer into her state of mind, if he could just let the act drop for longer than a minute. So far from easy to define.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" she huffed, surprising herself at her outburst.

His head had flicked up, and she didn't need the power of incredible sight to know that he was pouting at her incredulously.

"Just get in here."

How very subtle. You might as well have said "I'm begging for you to ravish me, Gene."

"Not sure that sharin' a bed with you is gunna do anythin' to help matters, Bolly."

"Well, I'm not going to talk at you all night, that's for certain." She ran her hand along the duvet, edging it down as further invitation.

"I...er...I dunno."

The Gene-Genie, shy? It was unexpected and yet attracted her even more.

She was never one to back down from a battle of wills between them, not even in the middle of the night.

"You can see the size of it. We won't even be in the same postcode."

Letting her eyes close again, she decided she had given it her best shot. If he was going to be stubborn then it was his own stupid fault, and he couldn't blame her for not offering the option when he had an aching neck and sore back and was even grumpier than usual in the morning.

She was pleasantly surprised to feel the duvet lift and the mattress sag a few minutes later.

"One of these days you'll just let me be, woman."

A smile covered her lips and a fire rose from the pit of her stomach. She blinked in the darkness, the vacated chair in her line of vision. On the floor lay the discarded robe, along with his trousers and belt, which trailed over the floor like a snake.

She suddenly felt hotter knowing that he had shed so much, if not everything.

Then again she was still wearing his shirt, which was creased to buggery – as he'd put it – with all of the tossing and turning she had done. She'd iron it in the morning, feeling as though she shouldn't reduce herself to such obvious and demeaning tasks but wanting to do so all the same. It was so domestic, even if it would be a game of pretend.

Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. She certainly couldn't envisage herself dropping back off to sleep anytime soon. This is what she had dreamed about – quite literally, on a few occasions. She couldn't hear any evidence of him being asleep and it only caused the thoughts to race at a greater speed around her head.

It could be an accident. She'd nudge her foot against his leg, feeling the solidness of his calf. The heat of his skin. She'd lift her head from the pillow and mumble a quiet 'sorry', except it'd do nothing to appease him. He'd move like a shot, looming over her, pinning her to the bed with his arms and legs, allowing her no leeway except to stare up at him. No need to play footsie, Bols. She could feel the weight of him sinking onto her, so deliciously, tearing a wanton moan from her throat as he pressed down gradually. If yer want the Gene-Genie, all you need to do is say...

She turned over, seeing him laid out on the other end of the bed, his back to her. He looked to be as stiff as a board.

Except I only want one part of him to be stiff...

For Christ's sake, Alex. This was the last thing she needed, to be lying in bed with her boss and feeling hornier than she'd ever done in her life. On Christmas Eve, of all times.

If he was going to initiate things, he would have done so as soon as they'd made it inside. She was almost certain of that. Except she'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't as straight-forward as he made out.

She closed her eyes again and told herself to stay put. Count sheep. Remember all of the reindeer's names in order.

Go to sleep, Alex. Her mother's voice was enough to douse the desire that had nearly completely claimed her. Else the morning will never get here.

She'd never told Molly that. One year she remembered staying up with her on the sofa, waking up at gone two o'clock and having to carry her up to bed and then hurry back downstairs to lay out all of the presents.

"What did you ask for, Mummy?"

There she was again, a little older this time, wearing pyjamas with snowflakes all over them.

"I can't tell you that, Molls. You can't say it out loud."

"Write it down then." She pushed a piece of paper and envelope towards her. "There's still time for it to get to Santa."

"Too late..."

"I'll take it there myself. Santa can't forget about you."

"Molls, no...don't go away, please."

She was deep in sleep, succumbed to the illusions her mind had cast. Her little girl, lost to her; her greatest wish still not coming true, no matter if she looked to the brightest of stars.

She was so deep that she didn't feel the hand touching her shoulder, a stroke softer than the fall of a feather.

"Bolly? You alright?"

"Mummy. Don't be sad, Mummy. Not on Christmas."

"I'm not...I mean, I'll try...I can't see you, where have you gone?"

"Eh? I'm right 'ere, Bols."

"I'm here, Mummy. Let's play hide and seek!"

If only she could be in two places at once.

The room was bright with daylight when she woke. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, stretched out in the vast bed. A moment's confusion faded quickly into a feeling of luxuriousness; she had never slept somewhere so plush and doubted she would do ever again, regardless of Gene's endless teasing about her social status.

Gene. He'd slept there too. Of course it wasn't what she had imagined in truthfully saying that she had slept with Gene Hunt; the absolutely innocent definition of the word.

She tipped her chin down, sniffing into the shirt that clothed her. He was always there, so persistent, even when she couldn't see him. She knew that she'd never be able to escape him, wherever she ended up – back in her own time or somewhere else entirely. His 'side' of the bed was still rumpled; she ran her hand over the imprint of where he had lay, an ache setting itself up in her chest as though he had vanished into thin air.

She didn't want to begin to think about what life here would be like if he deserted her. It would be entirely impossible.

"Yer up, Sleepin' Beauty."

As though he had some kind of sixth sense he strutted back into the room, standing by the window.

She felt bashful suddenly, even if he didn't mean anything by it. Running a hand to the back of her scalp she was partly horrified to feel the extent of her bed-head hair.

"Did you get much sleep in the end?"

He shrugged his shoulders, parting the curtains with his fingers. "A couple of 'ours or so. Doesn't matter, I'll sleep when I'm dead."

She liked to think that perhaps the child within him was stirred by the excitement of the season, but doubted that was really the case.

"Snowstorm 'as stopped anyway. Looks like the veritable winter wonderland out there."

She considered getting up to see for herself, but she was just too cosy.

"I bet it's beautiful," she sighed, voice still hoarse from sleep.

"There's stupid sods daft enough to be out in it. Grown bloody men, prancin' about!"

"They're probably caught up in the Christmas magic."

"Dunno about that, but they're on something for sure. It's white and cold enough to freeze the bollocks off yer. What else does anyone need to know?"

She shook her head as he continued to stare at the scenes outside, four floors beneath their warm and comfortable room, snow-filtered sunlight streaming through the crack in the curtains.

A knock at the door interrupted the peaceful silence, making her nearly jump out of her skin. Their eyes met, a hint of a smile coming onto Gene's face as he took his time striding back across the floor, disappearing momentarily while he opened the door.

Alex strained her neck to try and see, even though it was impossible for her to glance round corners, especially in her current position.

"Took the liberty of orderin' somethin' for you. Good job yer woke up when you did, else I'm not sure I could 'ave been 'eld responsible for not polishin' the lot off."

He perched on the end of the bed, clad again in white fluffy robe, presenting her with one of the two silver trays. As she lifted the covering lid she was filled with genuine surprise, touched by the gesture.

"Oh, Gene!" she exclaimed, eyes wide at what was before her. "This is...it's lovely."

The platter was quite something to behold. Smoked salmon, poached eggs, tons of toast with butter and marmalade and jam for afters.

"Tuck in," he ordered. "And if you think yer gettin' any of mine then you are bloody well mistaken."

She smiled at him from beneath her eyelashes, picking up her knife and fork daintly, hesitating, and finally placing them back down and following his lead, tearing a piece of toast between her fingers and poking it in one of the eggs.

"You do know that yer talk in yer sleep?"

A flush of heat rose into her cheeks, not unaware of the habit she'd had for most of her life but always completely oblivious as to what she might have divulged.

"It's terribly rude to talk with your mouth full," she teased him back, thoroughly amused by the grimace on his face. "Hopefully I didn't say anything too embarrassing."

"I couldn't make 'ead nor bloody tail of it. So just the standard, Bolly."

She suspected that he was joking around to spare her feelings, but she was grateful for his doing so all the same.

Here they were again, sharing a meal. In the past twelve hours they'd done arguably two of the most intimate things two people could do together, and there had hardly been any fuss about it.

"Is this 'ow Christmas in Bolly-land typically kicks off then?" he questioned, finishing off the last slice of his toast with a generous helping of strawberry jam slathered over it.

"I wish," she replied, rolling up a sliver of salmon. "It's usually a croissant with a handful of chocolates from the Quality Street tin. Actually, we do presents before breakfast. Always presents first, otherwise Molly wouldn't be best pleased."

His gaze dropped from her to the scrunched-up duvet that was half covering her, and she felt terribly guilty. He was trying to do something thoughtful – something inexplicably out-of-character – and she was just making things awkward.

As if she hadn't done enough of that already.

"I'm sorry, Bols," he uttered quietly, so far removed from his usual bluster. "I know where you'd rather be right now. This isn't much of a bloody substitute."

Tears had begun to prick at her eyes, and she shook her head swiftly to allow them to disperse.

"You don't need to apologise," she said stoically, the sinking in her heart still apparent but not half as bad as it had been the year before.

He raised his eyes to hers gradually and the bolt she received from looking into their silvery steel was almost enough to send her flying forward into his arms.

Her senses calmed themselves, a smirk curling her lips at the corners.

"Anyway," she sighed, "I'm rather used to not getting what I want at this time of year."

It wasn't entirely exclusive, she thought sadly but without feeling too sorry for herself.

He scoffed at that. "I don't believe for a ruddy second that you've 'ad anythin' but yer own way, all the bleedin' time."

"You'd be surprised."

She could come up with numerous instances. All of the presents she'd longed for that her parents had never bought. Evan had gone out of his way but by then everything had lost its shine. Pete had been bloody hopeless. One year she had not only got an iron but a hand-held vacuum cleaner and a sodding foot-spa to match. The holy trinity of truly thoughtless gifts.

"Can't be too 'ard," he commented, depositing both their finished trays on the floor and shifting himself on the bed, inching closer towards where she lay. "Let's see. Lipstick for that unstoppable gob of yours. A new pair of jeans so small that a bloody Barbie doll would 'ave a time sprayin' them on."

She chuckled at his observations; unquestionably he knew her tastes much better in the space of months than Pete had in all their years of courtship and marriage.

He stared at her unswervingly as he went on, raising one hand in the air to count off the items.

"Somethin' to do with psychiatry, obviously."

"Obviously," she only half-mockingly quoted.

He waved his extended hand to the side, clearly thinking he'd done well enough.

"And a crate of Sauvi-whatever it's called when it's at 'ome." He leaned back, planting both fists into the mattress. "There, reckon I've ticked yer entire wishlist off."

She nodded approvingly. "Not too bad at all, DCI Hunt. Your observation skills really aren't to be contested."

He let out a grunt, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "Next year, Bolly. I can put the word about to a few places. Your perfect bloody Christmas, and no need for any bastard snow."

She smiled at him and his earnest expression that lay not too far beneath all the bravado. The breath felt too tight caught within her lungs, her fingers felt fuzzy with static. Almost as though she was close to hyperventilating. All this from simply looking at him, amber caught in a swirling dance with blue. No, Alex, don't let your eyes drop...damn, too late. Those lips of his. Far too irresistible. Downright and positively kissable. So she'd imagined, oh, only a thousand different times.

It was now or never, she considered. Christmas was a time for being honest, wasn't it? Showing how much you cared.

God knows she couldn't wait another twelve months to arrive at the same point, or alternatively to feel even further out of her mind.

"There's only one thing I want this year," she began, resisting the urge to bite down firmly on her bottom lip, feeling his eyes upon her, daring her to continue.

Just let me do this, without any intervention.

"You," she uttered, the word almost being too easy to say. To compensate, she'd make it clearer still. "I want you, Gene."

His expression remained unmoved, his eyes perhaps flashing for a second or two that she could tell. Alex cursed herself momentarily, suspecting that she'd made a wrong move. Blame the change of scenery, the festive spirit urging her on.

She watched the bob of his throat before he spoke, feeling as though she was hanging on a wire with nothing to break her fall.

"If this is your idea of returnin' the favour," he began, shifting himself atop the sheets, "then you don't 'ave to bother. I didn't really buy you anythin'."

"No." Before she was aware her hand had reached out, grasping onto his wrist and causing him to flinch for a moment before he softened to the touch of her skin against his. "It's nothing to do with that or today...or anything, other than the truth of it. I want you, Gene."

After the first time it was so much easier, and she almost felt like that she'd never be able to stop saying it.

"I really do."

She felt the start of a giddy smile upon her lips as she had finally confessed her deepest desire, which she had first fought against and then pretended she did not possess, until she had resigned herself to keeping it a secret – as well as remaining incredibly frustrated.

It was amazingly liberating. For the first time since she'd found herself here, she felt like she could take on and do anything.

Gene included. At least, she bloody well hoped.

The same couldn't be said for him, although she often wondered whether the varieties of pout he wore came as a substitute.

"Well, you might 'ave bloody said so sooner! All this arsin' about, I could 'ave been in all of your frilly knickers ten times over by now, Bolly."

If she was in a better state of mind then she would have slapped him for being so presumptious. As it was, she couldn't stop herself from grinning.

"There never seemed to be a right time."

He huffed incredulously, clearly thinking otherwise. "You mean a time when you weren't as pissed as a fart. Lucky that one of us knows when to stop."

She glanced down, self-conscious. She couldn't remember all that much after a certain point in proceedings of last year. Surely he would have let her know about it if she had come onto him after one or two too many bottles of wine, he'd have spent months making sure that she hadn't forgotten. Instead there had been no digs or smutty remarks, only sympathetic glances whenever someone happened to mention the upcoming season.

It occurred to her that he'd never been anything but a gentleman towards her, even if to the rest of the world it appeared that he was wearing a carefully-crafted disguise, enough to fool anyone.

He was still staring at her, holding her with his gaze as though she was the only thing that mattered. When he looked at her like that she didn't need elaborate words or heartfelt confessions. It took all of her resolve not to drag him by his hair towards her and kiss the life out of him, leaving just enough left to sustain them both.

"This isn't exactly what I'd planned, either," she uttered, thinking of the lengths she had gone to to make this year better.

His brows raised. "You crafty mare, Bols. I can bet you 'ad a whole operation planned."

"Oh, certainly. Operation Tinsel," she smirked. "Cheese and wine. A tree in the corner of the room. Turkey with all of the trimmings."

"Includin' a good stuffin'?"

The rasp in his voice sent shivers careening all over her.

"That's my favourite part," she chirped, knowing that they'd gone way past the point of pretending to play it cool, even if a part of her still couldn't believe what she was hearing from herself.

Gene nodded in lascivious approval, eyes burning a fierce blaze.

She let out a small chuckle, breaking the sultry mood for a moment.

"Although if you ever told anyone..."

He interrupted her swiftly. "You'd what? Stamp on me 'ead? I'd like to see you try, Bollykecks."

"I'm only trying to protect your male pride," she said with another coquettish smile.

His hair appeared to glisten in the muted sunlight that fell against the still-closed curtains, exaggerated to her as he shook his head. "They all think we've been at it for ages. Suits me to let people believe you lured me with your tarty ways."

He took on an innocent expression as he feigned helplessness.

"Oh, the poor defenceless DCI. How could anyone fail to believe you?"

"Not such an unlikely story when 'e's got a downright bloody irresistible DI for company."

Alex felt her breath hitch as he moved closer to her, his arms planted either side of her, their noses almost touching.

"Dressed like a prossie. What did you expect, Alex? If the rest of them 'adn't been around I would 'ave carried yer straight into me office and ripped the ridiculously skimpy clothes off yer."

Her heart could have burst from her chest at that very moment, the fantasies wild in her mind as she thought about how very differently their first encounter could have gone. She remembered vividly being overwhelmed by him then and it was a thousand times more powerful now, now that she had got further to really knowing him.

She heard their hearts beating in tandem, the sound filling her ears and giving her reason to keep living. His breath upon her face, making her pulse race even harder. Though she wanted desperately to hold on, to keep the battle up until the very last second, she couldn't stop her eyes from fluttering closed, waiting in desperate anticipation to feel his lips pressed to hers at long last, purely because they both yearned for it. She half imagined that she might need resuscitation if it was left any longer.

"Bolly."

The two syllables were uttered like an apology, and she searched his face with her gaze as he pulled back from her. Whatever had made him hesitate whilst they were on the thinnest of precipices, she imagined that it must have been her fault.

"Gene," she said his name as though it were a prayer, and she supposed that he had been that for her, amongst many other things. "What is it?"

He sighed heavily before he looked at her again, eyes still hazed with lust but tempered with something else too.

"Nothin'," he replied, not entirely helpfully but neither was it unexpected. "You know what the trouble is with you, Bols? You make me think of stuff that's never occurred to me before. I blame that ruddy brain of yours, it's so big for your 'ead that it's got to lean on me an' all."

She giggled softly. "I can only apologise. Now, do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"Bleedin' hell, so this is what it's gunna be like?" He paused, taking a steadying breath before deciding to unburden himself, to some degree. "What you were sayin', about me and Jackie..."

"Oh, god," she couldn't curtail her outburst, "there was something between you, once."

"Stop bloody jumpin' to conclusions, woman!" He sounded dangerously close to being very pissed off with her. "No, there was never anythin' goin' on. I mean, she is a woman of good taste so obviously she fancied me, but it never would 'ave worked. She's mouthier than you, and that's bloody sayin' somethin'."

Alex shook her head, pretending to be offended but the smile she could barely keep hidden gave the facade away.

He cleared his throat, beginning again. "Anyway, what you said, about us bein' friends...well, y'see, the thing is...fuck's sake."

His hand was twisted tight into his hair; baring his soul in such a way was far from easy for him, and she understood this too well.

"It's okay," she said in a soft, low tone, moving her hand across the duvet so that it brushed against his long fingers. "Take your time."

Her eyes were as gentle as her voice and her touch, and after a few moments of silence he visibly relaxed.

"I've never really 'ad friends, Bols," he admitted, looking rather shameful at the fact. "I mean, yeah there's Ray and Chris but most of the time they're takin' orders from me, and usually because they're shit scared of what'll 'appen otherwise. And there's people that I drink with from back 'ere, but that means sod all."

She smiled empathetically, feeling that she wasn't too far from being the same.

"First person I could ever really call a friend was Tyler. Not that I ever said as much to 'im. Bloody fairy, didn't want 'im to get the wrong idea. Gene Hunt is not into blokes."

"You don't need to reaffirm your sexuality to me," she uttered, and then thought that she wasn't going to do anything to stop him if he did have the sudden urge.

As though he was able to read her thoughts, he flashed her a mischievous smile.

"And now there's you, Bolly, and you 'ave the honour of bein' the second."

Somehow that affected her deeper than any other suggestive remark or searing look that had ever passed between them.

"I'm flattered, Gene. I really am."

He managed a brief twitch of his lips, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the curve of her hand.

"But I don't want to fuck it up. Feels like there's too much at stake, Bols. Even if I do 'ave the ragin' horn every time I so much as look at yer."

She smiled, thankful for the unexpected confession of his innermost emotions, feeling that such instances would still be rare.

"Please, don't worry," she said, doing what she could to reassure him and unable to bring the wild fluttering in her chest and stomach to a standstill. "I've always considered that the best relationships are rooted in friendship first." She laughed a little, breaking gaze with him for a couple of seconds. "That's why my ex-husband and I never stood a chance."

"Good," he said simply, eyes flitting from her lips to her eyes and back down again, causing her to feel completely hypnotised. "If you breathe a word of what I've just said then I really will 'ave to stamp on yer 'ead."

She suppressed a giggle in the back of her throat, hooded eyes turning as serious as she could make them whilst she was so enflamed with desire.

"Understood," she lengthened the word on her tongue, pouting her lips deliberately. "I can play at being your 'bit of stuff'."

His gaze darkened, a frown momentarily marking his expression.

"Yer so much more than that, Bols." He moved closer to her again, whole seconds seeming to vanish into thin air. "Believe me."

"Always," she whispered as their foreheads touched, his hand claiming her cheek. She looked up, taking in one last glimpse of those eyes, even more dazzling at such close proximity, before she simply had to surrender.

His touch alone caused sparks to rush through her, the temporary loss of sight heightening her other senses. The caress of fingertips so tender upon her skin that it made her want to cry. Nothing had ever felt like this.

And then there was his kiss. Lips pressing lightly, experimentally against hers. It wasn't like she had fantasised so many times that she had lost count, but it was wonderful. He let her feel every moment and she yielded to him immediately, opening her mouth in invitation. He accepted gladly, tongue teasing against her lips, testing that bit further. She heard herself moaning in appreciation as the kiss deepened and he smiled against her mouth in response to her wanton reaction. Breathless, utterly so, but she didn't care. If she was going to die then she had little choice in the matter, and the agency she did have screamed that she wanted to spend her last moments kissing Gene, wrapped in his embrace as she fell into sweet oblivion.

Every fibre of her body was pulsing with life as they drew apart, somewhat reluctantly. She hadn't completely realised that she had tangled her fingers into his hair and smirked at the outcome of her actions, finding it ruffled every which way. God, he is gorgeous.

Feeling far too warm, she shucked the duvet down the bed, feeling his eager gaze on her body.

"I think it's time for unwrapping now," she uttered huskily, placing her arms by her sides, leaving everything up to him.

His hands landed upon her after a moment or two of silent appreciation, sweeping up from her hips, tracing her body through the fabric and leaving soft static in their wake. Alex bit down on her bottom lip, suppressing a moan as Gene's fingers mapped her collarbone, dipping to open the buttons on his shirt one by one. Her stomach tightened as he brushed newly exposed patches of her skin, turning more sensitive the lower down he journeyed.

The shirt fell to the floor and he hissed through his teeth.

"Sweet Jesus, Bolly," he muttered, drinking in the sight of her in bra and knickers. "Best bloody present I've ever 'ad, bar none."

She wished for a moment that she would have had the foresight to pick out something better, the ivory set not being anything particularly spectacular. Though really, she had very little reason to fret.

He got rid of the robe hastily before placing his hands back on her, and she was very happy to discover him naked underneath aside from a pair of black boxers. She couldn't resist a peek downwards and her mouth went dry at the healthy bulge that filled the front. Oh Alex, seems like you're in for quite the treat yourself.

"You" – he caught her lips with quick kisses as his palms covered her encased breasts – "are" – his mouth moved to her throat, nipping gently – "absolutely fuckin' beautiful."

The rasp of his voice, the feel of his lips and tongue trailing the column of her neck, his hands stroking at her back were almost too much for her to handle in combination but at the same time nowhere near enough.

He unclipped her bra with ease, sliding the straps from her shoulders and casting it to his side without a second thought. His mouth rained kisses down on her, leaving no place untouched, allowing his hands to wander to her hips, her thighs, getting closer still.

"Oh, Gene," she gasped, her back arching and her head lolling as he refused to let up for even the briefest of moments.

She reached out blindly, touching his burning skin, hands roaming him. As much as she tried, as eager to please as she was, it was nothing compared to everything he was doing to her.

"Lie back, love," he rasped in her ear, half pushing her down against the sheets before his hands rediscovered their previous path on her body, ridding her of her underwear as well as his own.

Alex could do nothing but happily obey, electricity dancing on the surface of her bared skin and the ache between her legs almost unbearable. His body pressed the length of hers, his lips branding her and his right hand reading her utmost need. Starlight mingled with tears in her eyes, her very soul feeling radiant.

"Glad we waited now," he uttered, dotting kisses over her before rearing upwards, pinning her underneath him as their foreheads met, "seein' as we're up 'ere, you're gunna get the full Gene-Genie experience. No holds barred."

Never in her wildest dreams would she have conjured up the Christmas Day that she ended up experiencing. It couldn't have been further away from the last; the only similarity was that she had been in Gene's arms at some point, except this year she had been crying in ecstasy rather than sorrow.

She half-imagined that she would never recover, her breath taking considerable time to even out after they had reached their blissful ends. Her mind felt separate from her body, her nerves fizzing as she stared at him through hazy eyes. The full Gene-Genie experience had certainly not disappointed – it had been more than well worth the wait – and she decided that she would allow the smug bastard look to linger on his face, considering how amazing he had made her feel.

It was half an hour later that she realised with some panic that they were due to check out of the hotel in the space of not much longer. Gene told her in no uncertain terms to calm down, pulling on the robe he had discarded before passion took hold and said he'd sort them out for another night. Not for the first time she was astounded, the question of where he was getting the money he'd previously complained about shelling out stopped before she could ask it with a fierce kiss to her lips, a thrilling reminder of what had not long passed.

"It's Christmas, Bolly. I'll worry about it later. Anyway, after that, yer bloody well deserve it."

She snuggled herself down beneath the covers while he disappeared downstairs, pondering how it should be possible that lust could so quickly move into something so much deeper. What she had felt within, the connection between them as they came together, had been entirely new to her but also completely undeniable, and she found herself bathed in the glow that had been created by it.

The day only got better as it went on, to her absolute delight. They decamped from the hotel to return to the pub they had left behind the previous night, offering the craggy barkeep wide smiles and ordering two Christmas dinners, plates overflowing. A good couple of hours spent doing nothing more than sitting, watching the flames dance in the hearth and listening to the merry singing of the gleeful occupants who did a rather good job of the three carols they repeated to infinity.

After that they walked, Gene sacrificing his coat so that she could wear it instead, retrieving the Quattro from her overnight stop-over. Though there had been no more of it falling, a blanket of snow still covered everything and the streets she imagined to be worn away and washed out at their edges instead looked perfectly picturesque. He whisked them through the city, taking her on a tour of Manchester in the snow which culminated on top of a hill, the horizon stretching out in front of them while they shared a hip-flask's worth of scotch in little sips.

The serious drinking was left for when they made it back to the hotel for the night, but not so much that they'd be useless. She giggled, full of joy as she managed to pull him to his feet for a dance in the empty hall, only the barman left to look on at their tipsy swaying to terribly cheesy Christmas songs. Her head rested on Gene's shoulder when the music took a slower turn and she felt wonderfully safe in the circle of his arms as he held her tight to him, silently vowing never to let go.

# Peace on Earth, can it be?
Years from now, perhaps we'll see
See the day of glory
See the day when men of goodwill
Live in peace, live in peace again #

It didn't take long for them to retire back to their room, arms round one another and lips meeting before they'd even closed the door. They made love several times, turning and twisting, kissing and caressing, absolutely lost in one another. Ending up in each other's embrace in the dark, the lightness in her heart was interrupted by the worry that this would all fade once they headed back South, the barriers put up between them once more. She needn't have fretted for long. Her murmur of his name against his chest - much softer than it had been a couple of hours previously - was met with his hand caressing her arm and his lips burrowing in the crook of her neck.

"Don't worry, love. I never do things by 'alves, and I'm not about to start now."

Alex was daydreaming about it all as she sat at her desk, her mind and her heart some two hundred miles away though her body was back in London. It was the day after Boxing Day and Fenchurch East was back in business after the brief break to observe the season. As Gene was so keen to tell them all, scum didn't give a shit about turkey sandwiches and leftover mince pies. No rest for the wicked, at least not for too long.

She stared towards the closed door of his office, singing festive melodies to prevent herself from moaning aloud, thinking of Gene on top of her, covering her head to toe in kisses, his hands skimming her body like an instrument only he had the skill to play.

"Ma'am?"

There was a soft voice and a tap on her shoulder, shaking her out of her self-imposed reverie. Shaz's smile was as polite and unimposing as ever, well-used to her superior's strange turns.

"You looked a million miles away."

"Not quite that many," Alex replied, lifting her chin from where it had been propped on her palm and straightening her stance. "Did you have a nice Christmas, Shaz?"

"It was lovely, thanks," the younger woman replied with an enthusiastic smile and her tone rising. "We were at my mum and dad's, and it was just dead traditional, like it was when I was little. I brought Chris round."

They both looked across the room to see Chris and Ray engaging in a rubber-band fight. It might have been blamed on the hangover from the holiday that had just been, but Alex knew that explaining all of their childish behaviour away was perhaps a little too kind. Still she had no problem believing that DC Skelton had played the part of the respectable boyfriend perfectly well just days before, and he always doted so thoroughly on Shaz. Having dodged a band that had flew towards his face he grinned over towards her, the look of love clear in his eyes.

"What about you, Ma'am? I hope you had a good one."

She wasn't doing much better than Chris at putting on a poker face at that moment in time, a flush of colour reddening her cheeks as she just about managed to keep looking at Shaz straight.

"Yes," she said, sounding as calm as she possibly could, "it was...different. But it was very nice."

"Me and Chris tried to phone, but we couldn't get hold of you or the Guv," Shaz said, a crafty smile breaking through on her face. "It was like you'd both disappeared off the face of the earth."

Alex could read the look in the younger woman's eyes and knew that she wouldn't be able to do much to dissuade her from the thoughts that she'd obviously already conjured up.

"Well, we're both still here, so no need to worry."

It was at that point that Gene emerged from his lair, making a characteristic entrance.

"Right," he barked, "I do not believe for one bloody minute that all of London's criminals 'ave sodded off to the North Pole on their bastard holidays. There's got to be somethin' 'appening out there and I want to know about it. Raymondo?"

Ray turned his head, lowering the rubber band between his finger and thumb.

"Umm, there's nothin', Guv. Reckon they 'ave all buggered off, at least until after New Year."

Gene shook his head in disbelief, planting his hands in his pockets and pausing for a moment or two before a lightbulb moment occurred.

"Perfect time to catch up on the backlog of paperwork, then."

A collective groan went around the CID office, everyone hoping that the lack of action would mean that they could all slink off to Luigi's to let the Christmas spirits flow once again, belatedly.

"DI Drake," Gene's voice rose up again, his eyes blazing as they set towards her, "you can do the worst of it. Get your scrawny arse in my office, pronto."

She let out a little sigh as she got up from her desk, determined that she would keep a show of pretence in place. Business as usual, as if nothing ever happened; at least that would be the case in front of prying eyes.

And yet a chorus of calls and wolf whistles rang out around the room as she arrived underneath the frame of the door. Both of them were momentarily perplexed, looking at one another in puzzlement, before Alex noticed Ray pointing upwards with a lascivious grin on his face.

"Ah," she said faintly, directing Gene's attention to the sprig of mistletoe that was pinned above the opening to his office.

Considering she was the only one who was ever specifically summoned there, there was little doubt as to the reasoning behind the adornment, the only remotely Christmassy thing in CID aside from a couple of garish red and gold foil stars that hung from the ceiling.

"Which one of you dippy sods put that there?" Gene demanded to know, and Alex was only surprised that he hadn't torn it down with his bare hands seconds after discovering it.

The room stayed silent, nobody wanting to own up in case they faced the wrath of the Guv.

"It's tradition, that is," Ray concluded helpfully, looking round to the rest of the team with a knowing look, "bad luck if you don't do what's expected."

Alex held her hands behind her back, side-eyeing Gene as he looked out disparagingly to the collective, pout firmly in place on his lips. He turned towards her, impassive for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders.

"If it'll bloody shut the rest of you up," he exclaimed. "I'm game if you are, Bolly."

Before she could do more than tentatively nod her response he had grasped her by the waist, pulling her bodily to him and crashing his lips to hers. The whoops and shouts of "get in there, Guv" went round again, but Alex was a little too preoccupied to pay much attention to them.

She had been expecting nothing more than a peck, enough to please the crowd for the rest of the afternoon. Instead Gene went on, kissing her fervently and reminding her of what had happened in the hotel room that had been like a makeshift home for a little time. His tongue slipped into her mouth and his hands moved down to her arse, giving it a firm grope.

The noise in the room had gradually lessened, until there was stunned silence as he finally relinquished his grip on her, smirking a little at her dazed expression.

"Well, you're all detectives, aren't yer?" he said, breaking the echoing absence of sound. "Work that one out, while there's nothin' else doin'."

Alex leant her back against the door after he had slammed it shut behind the both of them, her cheeks burning. He, however, was the picture of nonchalance, reclining in his seat and taking a casual sip from the tumbler at his side.

"So it's hardly a secret anymore," she said, walking to his desk and perching on the edge, still somewhat surprised he had decided to be so forthcoming.

"There's a difference between sounding like a right ponce and takin' matters into yer hands," he offered, his gaze dipping down less than subtly. "I don't do well at hidin', Bols. Anyway, it's New Year's Eve soon enough and I wanna give yer a proper snog when Big Ben gives 'is bongs, without any of that lot kickin' off about it."

A smile crept onto her lips, finding that she couldn't exactly stay annoyed with him for such a flagrant display, not when she could barely keep her hands off him as it was.

She stood up briefly, only to land in his lap after a few seconds, draping her arms about his neck.

"That's all very well and good, DCI Hunt, but I hope you're not planning on keeping us at Luigi's all night." She toyed with his tie, lacing it between her fingers and loosening the knot, her fingers creeping beneath the collar of his shirt. "Because I was thinking that we might create some fireworks of our own."

His eyes lit up as he glanced up towards her, a delicious smirk written clear upon his face as she wriggled against him.

"Careful, Bolly," he warned her, "I've got a rocket right 'ere that's in danger of goin' off if you carry on much longer."

Alex peered down, straining to stop a gratified smile from emerging. Her hand moved to the nape of his neck and she leaned her mouth to his ear.

"And I still owe you a rummage through my stockings."

"Jesus..." he growled deep in his throat, his hand smoothing up the hem of her skirt to the lacy hold-ups that lay beneath.

She giggled, capturing his lips again before he could get any naughtier – though she was rather hoping that he would regardless.

If Christmas had been anything to go by, then 1983 was going to be quite the year indeed.

A/N: Well, that was fun! I'm sure there are many fireworks in store for those two, regardless of the time of year.

The refrain from Peace On Earth/Little Drummer Boy written and sung by the one and only David Bowie. It was released in November 1982, so I had to use it, aside from the other obvious reason. Everything is relevant, after all ;)

Hope you enjoyed, and a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all A2A and Galex fanatics :)