Gene Hunt had no time for fairy tales.

During his somewhat turbulent childhood any urge for flights of fantasy had been systematically beaten out of him. His mam had been too busy working herself to death to read her boys stories and there had never been enough money to allow them to see the whimsical stylings of Walt Disney. Gene had naturally grown up with the idea that such stories were for freaks and weirdos.

And then Alex Drake had told him she was from the future.

Now he was standing over her bed, watching her sleep and wondering exactly when his world had fallen apart.

Alex was restless, tossing and turning under the red silk sheets.

"Gene."

His name. Whispered not in the throws of passion as he might have hoped, but torn from her lips in fear. Gene knew that his threat to kill her had been an empty. He hadn't meant to frighten her. It was the kind of thing he said when he wanted to intimidate scum but he'd never thought of her that way. He couldn't help wondering what had gone wrong? What had caused her brilliant mind to snap.

"No!"

She screamed the word and Gene took an involuntary step backwards, convinced that she was about to waken and see him. He hardly dared breathe until she seemed to quieten, moving from a nightmare into what must have been a more pleasant dream.

The delights of the lovely Jeanette had been, quite literally, laid out on the table waiting for him but Gene had found himself backing away and he had no idea why. Instead he'd come here. Letting himself into Alex's flat, walking silently through the empty rooms so he could stare at the woman who hated him. The Gene Genie was going soft in the head, and the heart. He'd thought they'd had a connection, that they trusted each other but now... his jaw was still aching from the slap she'd given him. Gene had the nagging suspicion that he might have deserved it. He should have realised long ago that Alex Drake had lost the ability to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. He'd often suspected that she was as nutty as the proverbial fruitcake and the story she'd told him had obviously been another symptom of her illness. His anger had evapourated and now all he felt was a profound sympathy for the sleeping woman.

Was the daughter she'd spoken about also a figment of her injured mind?

It wasn't a question Gene could ever hope to answer. She needed help, that much was certain but he didn't know how to give her the support she so obviously desired. The thought of mental illness terrified him.

He could think of nothing worse than ending his days in a nursing home trapped within his own mind. Looking down at Alex, he wondered what her fate would be. It hadn't been long ago that a Soho stripper had died in his arms. He could still feel her body pressed close to his, the life ebbing out of her. But now when he closed his eyes he could only see Alex, and it was her blood that stained the ground.

He couldn't say how long he stood there but when dawn's first light crept through the window he knew that it was time to go. Gene realised that he couldn't let himself see her again. For the moment his heart belonged to her and it was a weakness he couldn't afford to expose.

Unable to help himself, he moved closer. There was one last thing he had to do.

"Goodbye Alex," he whispered before pressing his lips against hers.

***

She felt it. In the depths of a dream someone kissed her.

Alex Drake awoke with her fingers pressed to her lips wondering why she could smell Gene Hunt's aftershave.