A/N Months later and I still hate *that* ending - for many reasons but mostly because its tarnished the whole damn thing for me. My muse seems to think that writing an alternative episode eight will help and I'm willing to try anything that might stop me feeling bitter at just the sight of the series one boxset, never mind actually watching any of the episodes.

Door To The River

Chapter One ~ Dancing With Ghosts

She'd remained composed when he'd placed his hand in hers, his grip light but firm as he'd risen to his feet; had remained calm when she'd stepped into his arms, blurring the boundaries between their respective personal spaces; had faltered only a little when he'd questioned, his voice felt as much as heard, her choice in music. But it was the feel of his lips, unexpected but not unwelcome, against her forehead that was finally her undoing. A swarm of butterflies tried frantically to escape from her stomach in response to his kiss and she revelled in the sensation as it spread throughout her body. Her mind however, because she really could not stop analysing everything, drifted towards the fact that he was touching the very spot that had given her so much trouble when she'd first arrived in this world. She'd endured the most awful, drilling headaches at times, courtesy of that bullet burrowing its way into her head, and nothing - not drugs, or alcohol, or lying down in a dark and quiet room - had made much of a dent in them. Vaguely, as his mouth broke away from her head as gently as it had arrived there, she wondered if he would have had more success taming her headaches; being with him, like this, was just heavenly - she'd never felt so serene.

Slowly, and as the patch of skin he'd just kissed continued to tingle, she raised her head from his shoulder, leaving the rest of her body firmly against his. The small movements they'd started out with had dwindled to an almost complete stop; they were no longer dancing - though they'd hardly been waltzing around the room to begin with - they were just holding on to each other. Her eyes landed on his lips first, a desire to feel them against her own stirring violently in her belly at the mere sight and thought. It came as no surprise to her - she'd come to accept that she was more than a little bit in love with Gene some time ago - but the intensity of her reaction, and the certainty that it was entwined with, managed to catch her breath. A little hesitantly, her gaze wandered from his mouth to his eyes, to the beautiful blue framed by long lashes, and her stomach fluttered again with the confirmation that, at that moment, he wanted exactly the same thing as her. Up until tonight she hadn't been so sure of either of those things.

For some time now she'd been struck by a crippling hesitancy where Gene was concerned. Deep down she knew that she could trust him, especially with regards to his integrity; he was the man who'd been as determined as herself to bring down Super Mac and his corrupt little dealings regardless of the consequences; he was the man who'd let the chance to collar a notorious criminal pass him by in order to shield an old lady from the truth; and he was the man who'd destroyed a video tape to protect a little girl from the truth about her parents. She'd never had any doubts, as others had, about the day he'd shot her and if DCI Jim Keats hadn't insisted on hanging around, a wooden spoon behind his back to stir things up, she most likely would have arrived at this moment with Gene months ago.

From the start her instinct had been to dismiss the D&C man as the slimy twat that Gene kept insisting he was but it wasn't as if Keats was asking her, as Summers had, to be corrupt or to betray Gene and the team; he'd just suggested that she dig a little further into something that might possibly help her to get home - and she'd never stopped wanting to go home. But there was more to her ambivalence than just Keats' stirring. Maybe if Gene hadn't been so reluctant to tell her the full story surrounding Sam's death, or if she hadn't received those visits - of whose relevance she still couldn't fathom - from a dead Police Constable, she might not have looked any further into Keats' inferences, upsetting both Gene and her relationship with him in the process. And if she was being completely honest she could admit that a small part of her had been looking for a reason - any reason - not to give in to her feelings for Gene; in case it stopped her going home; in case she did go home; because it meant putting her complete trust in him and that was a gift she rarely bestowed upon anybody. But she was willing to risk her heart with Gene.

Her eyes strayed back to his mouth, to the lips that felt as if they were still pressed against her forehead. He'd finally told her the truth tonight; she'd pleaded and pushed for months with little success but today he'd finally relented and told her all about Sam's 'death' and the part he'd played in it. Whatever the reasoning behind his change of heart she was inordinately pleased that he'd trusted her with the truth; for one thing, it made her less cautious about returning the favour but, more than that, to glimpse behind those walls of his, to see inside his soul even for just a few minutes, had meant the world to her. Gene Hunt kept the world at a respectable distance but he'd chosen to let her in. But his confession hadn't been exactly what she'd expected; it wasn't so much that she'd thought he'd killed Sam - though a small part of her had feared that outcome - but more that she'd presumed that whatever fate Tyler had met would eventually befall herself, too. That theory now seemed highly unlikely; she had no reason, could not foresee any either, to fake her own death though she couldn't quite understand why Sam had felt the need to do just that. Right then, she wasn't sure that she even cared.

With a small movement of her head, she met Gene's eyes briefly - in desire and in silent agreement - before refocussing her gaze upon his mouth. Edging forward, she kept her gaze low, transfixed by the sight of his slightly parted lips and the gentle caress of his breath against her own. She let herself slide slowly into the moment; after years of dancing around him - and her desire for him - there was no need to rush now that she was finally ready to surrender. Her heart started to pound in anticipation, and appreciation, of what was to come; it thudded so loudly in her chest that when the door to her flat took a sharp pounding for a split second or two she was quite sure that it was only the sound of her own heart breaking free.

Realisation quickly set in when she felt Gene tense against her, his hand slackening in her own even as the rest of his body froze, and she closed her eyes in frustration. He'd told her once that this life was all about timing; having just failed miserably to prevent her parents' death she hadn't quite believed him at the time and she felt justified in that assessment once again. It might have been the anger that was starting to swirl in her veins - or it might have been there for much longer, perhaps from the moment Gene had wrenched her from her coma-induced return to the future - but she overwhelmed by the awful feeling that they weren't going to have many more chances to be together. With her blood starting to boil with irritation rather than desire she decided that this time she wasn't going to let the opportunity go without a fight and whomever was at the door could just bloody well bugger off. She opened her eyes, determined to ease away any doubts that Gene's posture seemed to hint he might now be having, but only froze herself in surprise at the sight of the man stood in front of her.

With her limbs refusing to co-operate, she focussed on taking calming breaths as the ghostly copper who'd been stalking her for the last few months stared quietly back at her, that same inscrutable expression etched upon what remained of his face. In the beginning she'd been a little apprehensive at the young constable's appearance; it wasn't so much the horrific injury that had been inflicted upon him but more that she'd been stalked by a dead man once before - in the guise of a clown that previous time - and his intentions towards her had been anything but benign. But she'd soon come to realise that she wasn't in any kind of danger when he'd appeared. As time had went on she'd started to suspect that the young PC only wanted to show her something - because speaking obviously wasn't part of his repertoire - and, as he'd persisted with his visits, she'd hoped that it was something of great importance. She was quite taken with the idea that, if she could just figure out what he wanted from her, he might even be her way out of this world.

She felt reasonably calm as she stared back at the dead man in her arms, his sudden presence in her flat, and at the expense of Gene, only briefly troubling her thoughts. His hand felt icy cold in her own and his thick overcoat - with the familiar number that had haunted her as much as he had done these last few months sitting proudly on each of his shoulders - was infused with a damp chill that she could almost smell. He remained deathly still against her, his cold touch slowly seeping into her own bones, yet she felt inexorably safe with him. For the first time since he'd started to appear in her life, she took the time to thoroughly map his sad and bloody features; she was so close that she could clearly see the hole in his head, could see the blood - and other matter - that had oozed from the gaping wound during the last minutes of his short life, and she could see his eyes, the left one peeping sadly at her through all of the mess. Two beautiful blue eyes. Her breath caught in her mouth at the familiar shade as her heart started, for entirely different reasons this time, to thump loudly in her chest again. A light suddenly flicked on in her mind just as an opposing darkness enveloped her, wiping out the world around her and pulling her down into its inky depths. As she fell further and further down, one thought tumbled through her head.

'Gene'.