A/N I blame a lot of things for this but mostly I hold the never ending wait for series two responsible.

Running Out Of Ammunition

If she was honest with herself she could admit that this had been inevitable from the very beginning. She just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, preferring instead to focus on her parents, or on some vital clue in whatever case was taxing her brain at the time, in the hopes that she would find a way out of this world. During those first few months it had been fairly easy to do just that; stopping Tim and Caroline Price from dying so horribly was going to be her way of going home and she'd been so certain of that, so sure that the timing was far too coincidental for her not to be there for any other reason, that she'd been reluctant to let anything else - especially him - get in her way. But of course fate had other plans for her; those tantalising leads that she'd followed up so meticulously had led nowhere useful and her parents had slipped out of her life once again, leaving her with nothing but a few loose ends and him. And she couldn't keep on fighting against it any longer.

She took the first step onto the landing, her hand snaking inside of her jeans' pocket for her key, managing to rescue it from its confines just as she reached the door to her flat. Coming to a stop outside of the entrance she heard his heavier footsteps nearing her before one of his hands came to settle on her backside, announcing his arrival and his intentions. She swallowed hard at the contact, his hold neither too possessive nor too gentle - just enough to send her stomach into spasms.

Ignoring the contact as best as she could she reached up to unlock the door but her hand shook slightly at the thought of what she was about to do and she had to struggle against both the tremors and those thoughts to get the key anywhere near the lock. It was only his hand, the other still firmly planted on another part of her body, that allowed her to complete the task by guiding her hand and the key it held towards the target but he stopped her movements there, long fingers preventing her from turning the key. She gazed at their hands, at the warmth between them, at skin touching skin, and her thoughts turned decidedly indecent.

"Are you sure about this, Alex?" he whispered over her shoulder and into her ear, his hand still holding hers in place.

Shivering involuntarily at the warmth of his breath she wondered if he could feel her tremble, if he could feel how nervous she really was and how uncertain she suddenly felt at his words. She supposed that her hand had already given her away in that respect - to both of them. When she had finally acknowledged what had been staring her in the face she'd been reluctant to actually do anything about it at first. Acting on it would mean accepting some things, about herself and about this place, that she wasn't entirely happy with and, much more than that, it felt horribly like betrayal. It was only the slow, tortuous passage of time, with her chances of going home seeming to decrease as each day went by, that had persuaded her to pursue this further despite her concerns over the potential consequences of her actions. She'd been so confident downstairs in Luigi's earlier in the evening; drinking with him in their usual corner, flirting with him more than ever before, boldly inviting him up to her flat - she needed to regain that certainty if she was going to go through with this.

She took a deep breath, slipped her hand out of his and, leaving the key sticking in the lock, turned around. Her back now facing the door, and his left hand now resting flat against it, just near her head, she smiled up at him. She had just enough alcohol in her system to convince her that her doubts were unfounded but she hadn't thought that she'd have to convince him any further. He'd certainly seemed to have got the message when they were downstairs, knocking back his pint to swiftly follow her out of the restaurant, but now his eyes were searching hers, silently repeating the question, asking her once again if she really wanted this, and gently warning her that there would be no going back from this point. The latter was something that she was intrinsically aware of - she'd debated the pros and cons for long enough - and she reached out to him, snagging his jacket with both hands, the trembling not so noticeable this time. He remained still, only his eyes shifting briefly to her lips, as she leant upwards slowly, keeping her eyes on his throughout until her mouth reached its goal.

He tasted of beer and cigarettes, not two of her favourite things but combined with the softness of his lips the mixture was intoxicating. She closed her eyes in surrender to the sensation as at first one of his hands, and then the other, came to rest at her waist. She'd thought about kissing him for so long, had idled away more time than she'd like to admit wondering how it would feel to have his lips against her own, to have his hands hold her close, but she'd never factored in how worryingly easily the real thing would make her want to give in completely. And doing so right there and then wasn't part of the plan.

She broke the kiss, pulling back slightly as her hands flattened against his chest to ease him away. She could still see traces of those questions in his eyes and she sought to satisfy him further. "I'm sure," she added on reassuringly, holding onto the last bit of her breath as she waited for his response, her lips still tingling pleasantly. They'd almost been here once before and he'd turned her down back then though she had - in hindsight - been quite pissed at the time. She'd merely been pissed off the next day, almost aggrieved in fact but she'd also been surprised. His actions that night had been unexpected and she'd seen a different Gene Hunt to the one she'd heard about from Sam Tyler. The 'incident' had played in her head for a long time after that; had she simply 're-imagined' him or was there something more to Gene than he ever let on? It was a conundrum that still puzzled her though she hoped to make a breakthrough tonight.

Gene only kissed her in reply, pressing her up against the door before she had time to register that he'd accepted her answer. She melted ridiculously easily under his onslaught, one hand rising to the back of his head to draw him closer into her whilst the other flailed blindly for the key that was sticking out of the lock. Somewhere in the midst of her fumbling his hand raised to hers once more and the key was turned, the door falling open behind her.

They stumbled inside, still joined at the mouth, somehow managing to take the keys out of the lock, switch on the lights, and slam the door shut behind them in the process. She was fairly sure that he must have done most of it because in the melee of legs, arms, hands and tongues she could feel her control of the situation slipping further and further away from her, his murmured words of desire against her lips only fuelling a fire she hadn't expected to take flame so quickly.

"Wait," she gasped, parting them once again as they lurched towards the kitchen. He looked suitably surprised, and maybe a little put out, but obeyed her request anyway. Catching her breath, completely unprepared for the overwhelming desire that just kissing him had sparked within her, to the point that she was having to fight with the urge to just abandon all of her plans for tonight because she was in way over her head, she managed to assemble a few thoughts. "Give me one moment," she smiled at him, her hands sliding shakily to his and gently prising away his hold on her. "I just need to... ," she tapered off, unable to tell him exactly what she needed, and indicated behind her instead, figuring he would fill in the blanks with something appropriate.

His curious gaze briefly left hers to follow the directions towards her bedroom door. "I'll come with you," he offered with a smile of his own.

"No," she said firmly, one hand moving to rest on his chest and stop him in his tracks. "There's no hurry," she added on softly. "Why don't you wait here? There's a bottle of wine on the counter - glasses are on the side." He nodded once in disappointed agreement and she swallowed hard at his gaze, his eyes burning into her. She wasn't sure if it was the desire or the understanding in his eyes that was adding to the swirl of emotions inside of her but she desperately needed some time to recover before she could go any further with this. She slowly turned away and headed towards her bedroom, knowing he was quietly watching her every step of the way.

Escaping into the relative darkness of her bedroom her steps slowed and she willed her heartbeat to do the same. She laid one palm flat against the cool wall just inside of the door and closed her eyes against the light that was spilling into the room. She could still taste him on her lips, could still feel his hands on her and behind her closed lids she could see him so clearly, could see the way he'd looked at her. Opening her eyes quickly she shook off the images and stumbled forwards, her leg hitting the mattress of the bed after a few steps. She let out a long slow breath as she eased herself down onto her bed, her hands resting at her sides, fingers gripping at the duvet cover as her thoughts wrestled with her conscience and her desires tried to step into the ring too. It was a fight she'd played out before and it was always a closely fought contest. Whilst there was a good chance that this could be the best decision she'd ever made – and it could very well be her last chance at happiness - there was also the distinct possibility that it could all go stupendously wrong and if it didn't work out she'd be ruining something that was very dear to her.

"Bols?" Gene's voice bounced impatiently through the door.

"I'll be right there," she hollered back with more confidence than she felt, wondering how long she'd been sat there. It had only felt like a minute or two but it could have been longer, her thoughts were in such a mess that it could have been an hour. She stayed completely still for a moment, her heart in her mouth, waiting to see if he would comply with her request and continue to wait for her or if he would come looking for her instead. In the silence of the room she could hear him moving around the flat and she mapped his travels in her head, briefly closing her eyes once more, in resignation this time, when she heard him move from the kitchen to the living room.

In the living room he'd see the mural on the wall, the one she'd been working on since she'd arrived here; the one she'd continued working on even though the countdown to the death of her parents - and to her longed for rebirth in 2008 - had passed. Bringing him up here had not been without its pitfalls but she couldn't think of anywhere else to do this; there were too many people around the station and the same went for Luigi's - plus she didn't want to risk the old Italian interrupting at an inopportune moment. Her flat seemed the best idea despite its unusual decor but right about now Gene probably thought she was a fruitcake. Then again, he'd always thought she was a bit loopy - and maybe she was. Slowly retrieving the item she'd come in for from underneath her pillow, she rose to her feet and stepped back towards the light.

Only his jacket and the now half empty glass of wine greeted her in the kitchen and she held her cargo tighter at the sight. Edging further forward through the kitchen she found him stood, with a glass of wine in each hand, exactly where she knew he would be: in front of the mural.

"Alex..." Gene started to ask as he slowly turned towards her but he didn't finish the sentence as his eyes travelled to the gun in her hand. A flash of surprise briefly crossed his face before he recovered. "You going to handcuff me too?"

When her supposed way home had gone up in flames she'd had to re-evaluate everything she knew - and thought she knew - about what had happened to her, exactly where she was and how she could escape. Doing so had meant going back to the start, to before she'd even arrived here, to what DCI Tyler had told her, to the very thing she'd been ignoring. Sam had spoken vividly of a world that had felt real to him in every sense, stocked with characters that had acted independently and of events that were distinctly plausible but he'd also told her how he'd managed to escape. Only now could she truly understand Sam's overwhelming desire to get home; only now could she appreciate what he'd had to do to get out of here. What she needed to do if she wanted to go home. She had to destroy Gene Hunt.

"No," she whispered over the lump that was beginning to form in her throat, "I'm going to end this."