I don't own Ashes to Ashes… Unfortunately. If I did, series 3 would have been very different, and I would not have had such difficulty writing this next instalment!

To anyone who has come back after three years – thank you, and apologies for the wait!

To new readers, I would summarise, but it's all a little complicated; 22 chapters of complicated, to be precise!

I hope you'll enjoy this next instalment – let me know what you think!

It was as though the world exploded and crumbled all at once; her mouth was desperate and confident, soft and insistent, firm and tentative, and his head spun with the intensity of it, his heart pounding out a drumbeat against the softness of her chest. He pulled her so close that he thought he might absorb her, drinking in every facet of her existence as he struggled to appreciate every taste and texture that her mouth assaulted him with. His hands became tangled in her soft curls, tugging her face closer to his as he wound his tongue confidently against hers, igniting every heatedly passionate feeling that he had ever harboured for her. She responded so swiftly, so eagerly in his arms, and suddenly she consumed him, assaulting each of his senses all at once. After months of longing, of painfully searching his soul for every scrap of emotion he had ever concealed, of discovering the depth to which they ran, he poured everything he had into her, taking all that she gave and clinging to it almost desperately.

Her hand was wound so tight in his hair there was almost pain, but he barely felt it, conscious only of the warmth of her mouth against his, the rich flavour of her tongue and the feel of her gentle, supple skin underneath his hands as, unconsciously, he slipped them under her silken pyjama top. She was kissing him the way he'd dreamed she would every night since she'd shown up in that hooker dress, with a need and a desire so bright and powerful that his knees felt weaker and his heart pounded violently in his ribcage. His mouth was hard and demanding against hers, his hands tracking up and down her spine, fingers digging into the flesh of her arse – he finally had his hands on Alex Drake's arse! – and tickling the sensitive skin of her back.

It was only when her right hand reached for his tie, and her left reached to untuck his shirt, that he came to his senses, and a moment later he had dragged his mouth from hers, holding her at arms length as their mutually heavy breathing filled the space between them.

"We can't, Bols," he managed to bite out, his voice deep and throaty, emerging as a growl as he attempted to maintain composure. "Not like this…"

"But-!"

"Don't make me argue the point, Bols," he growled it, but his voice was almost pleading, his eyes closed tight as he attempted to calm himself down. "If you start askin' fer it, I'll 'ave as much self control as a fatty in a sweet shop!" He let go of her then, taking several steps back and lighting up a cigarette, his breathing still erratic, heart still thundering in his chest.

Alex, now unsupported, felt her knees begin to tremble, weak enough from three months unconscious, and even more so after the earth-shattering kiss Gene had just returned; she stumbled slightly, the loss of his strength and warmth a shock to her entire body. Gene moved forward hesitantly to help her, but she could see, from the thoughtful, puzzled look in his eyes, that he was struggling to process what had just happened, and she moved herself back to the bed with a deliberate slowness. A glance across at him as she settled herself on the mattress confirmed all that she had expected; the barriers he had always held so stoically around him seemed to jump back into action, his face suddenly closed off as he took a long drag on his cigarette. Alex sighed inwardly, her lips tingling, legs trembling, and it was all she could do not to speak.

Eventually, two cigarettes later and several mouthfuls of whiskey down, Gene broke the torturous silence.

"You ain't from the future, Bolly," he stated in a matter-of-fact voice, his eyes fixated on her with an intensity that set her knees shaking afresh. "I ain't gonna scream an' shout, 'cause you're doped up like a junkie, but when you're off the pills-!" He seemed to hesitate, his fingers clenching on his knee. "When you're Bols again, you best know when to draw the line." He stood up suddenly, his long legs propelling him upwards, and then taking him across the room with a loping stride that flipped her stomach, despite the resolute anger welling up inside her.

"I am not 'dosed up'," Alex stated, wiggling her fingers in the infuriating way he loathed so much. "I'm telling you the truth!"

He seemed to tense, his face twitching as he appeared to bite back an angry, vicious retort; she could see a vein in his throat, and knew he was clenching his teeth to keep from talking. Eventually, when he looked so tense he might snap, he opened the door. "I'll see yer tomorrow, Bolly," he said shortly, barely glancing at her. "When you're off the pills…"

"I am not high, Gene!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet and feeling a sudden dizziness; she barely managed to conceal it from him, but even if he'd noticed, she was certain she'd have refused his help. "I am telling you the truth! How else would I know all of those ridiculous things about you? Why would I bother making up such a ridiculous lie?!"

"Because you're a bloody fruitcake!" Gene replied, his face grim. "Because you seem to look for ways to undermine me an' prove me wrong, but not this time, Alex!"

"Oh, so I should just believe that you didn't mean to shoot me, that it was all an accident, that you'd never hurt me, but you can't believe this one, tiny-!"

"Tiny?!" Gene proclaimed. "Tiny would be tellin' me you'd forgotten to string out yer knickers!"

"So I'm supposed to believe you, am I, Gene?" Alex's voice was high, close to cracking, but she fought against it, anger flooding through her. "You want me to believe that a part of you hadn't wanted that bullet to get me? That you weren't just making good on your threats and-!"

His face was pale, and she could only imagine how much pain she was causing him. "If I'd wanted to kill you, Alex," he said flatly, "I'd have put a pillow over your face by now and made good on the job!" His tone was defensive, but his face betrayed the pain her words had caused him. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself, a vein in his temple throbbing before he looked up, meeting her eyes with a sincerity that cut to her core. "I might have been a sap for you these last few weeks, Alex," he murmured softly, "but I swear to God, if you stick with this future crap, I'll get you committed and dropped from the force faster than a whore's knickers!"

She stared at him as he reached for the door, completely shocked, and stunned, and hurt, with pain thrumming through her at his coarse aggression… Biting back a remark, she changed tact. "How is Alice Tibbett?"

The reaction was instantaneous; first, there was the surprise, his hand freezing in mid-air, his mouth falling slack at the shock of hearing that name, the name she knew he'd repeated hundreds of times in his sleep, the name that haunted his dreams and cast shadows and aspersions on his days. Next, the colour seemed to drain from his face, the angry flush dissipating immediately, replaced with a sickly grey colour that would have worried her, were she not so frustrated with him. After that was the guilt; the pain in his eyes that dulled his countenance and, she knew, stabbed right through his heart. She felt a brief flicker of sorrow, a brief moment where she wished she had not mentioned it, but as much as it pained him, she knew there was nothing else that might convince him.

"How d'you know 'er name?" He asked softly, his voice as anguished as the expression on his face and in his eyes.

Alex met his gaze firmly, her hazel eyes hard as she answered. "You told me."

Gene glowered, his face dark. "Alex, I'm warning you, I-!"

"You didn't let Ray shoot," she whispered quietly. "You went on in, and you took the kidnapper out, but not before he pulled the trigger on Alice…" She waited a moment, watching the anguish that seemed to tear across his face, and then added. "Her father rocked her to sleep, and you carried her outside, and her mother held her until the ambulance arrived…"

He was staring at her, his eyes so intense she could barely breathe for looking at him. His whole countenance was tense, his entire body tight.

"Don't make me do this, Gene," she whispered softly, her voice pleading. "I don't want to make you relive it – you do enough of that yourself!" Her eyes were bright with tears, and her hands were trembling, but Gene was still staring at her, aghast, his guilt and the pain it instilled in him apparently too weighty to bear.

"You can't possibly know that," he said, his voice flat. "Any of it… You can't-!"

"But I do, Gene!" She replied, tears flowing freely from her eyes now and tracking down her cheeks. "I do! I know all about it! Please, Gene, you have to believe me!"

He stared at her, his blue eyes drilling into hers with an intensity that, had she been standing, would have made her knees quiver and shake. Then his hand was on the door, his Adams apple rising and falling as he swallowed, and before she could say another word, he was gone.

She spent the night curled up in a ball, her tears falling freely, splashing onto her pillow as she sobbed endlessly. The nurses came in, offered her food, and water, and painkillers; she turned them away, and drowned herself in misery.

Gene was drunk. More than drunk, really; he was flat out on Alex's sofa, with no recollection of how he got there, and several empty bottles of alcohol strewn across the coffee table. He'd started at Luigi's, he knew that much; Ray and the others had been toasting Alex, celebrating her awakening with numerous bottles of cheap plonk, and, eventually, when they were all a little worse for wear, a token bottle of Bollinger. He'd remained resolutely in the corner, drinking in silence, refusing to partake in the celebrations and ignoring the looks of confusion and trepidation that the team were sending his way. He drank so much, and so quickly, he didn't realise how drunk he was until Shaz had approached him, offering a glass of champagne to him almost tentatively. He'd taken it from her, and thrown it against the wall, terrifying the other diners and forcing Shaz to leap back in fear. Chris was behind her in a second, his expression one of indignant consternation.

"What you doing, Guv?" He asked, a protective arm around Shaz's shoulders as the WPC trembled slightly, her eyes wide as she stared at Gene.

He had to laugh – he honestly couldn't help it; there they were, looking after each other like loves young dream, foolishly believing that it could last, that one or other of them wouldn't bollocks it up, or shoot the other, or turn cock-a-hoop loopy and start spouting off bullshit about the future…

"Think you've had enough, Guv," Chris said firmly, stepping forward and reaching for the bottle of wine in front of them. "I'll call plod and get 'em to drive you home."

"Piss off," Gene slurred, grabbing the wine and pulling it out of Chris' reach. "I live upstairs you twonk."

"It's DI Drake's flat, Guv," Chris answered, and Gene was certain he saw him swallow nervously before he went on. "She's awake now – maybe you need to go home."

He didn't know where it had come from; everything Chris said made sense – he shouldn't be at Alex's flat anymore, and he probably had had too much to drink – but a moment later, Gene had lurched from the table and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, lifting him slightly off the floor and staring down into fearful but resolute brown eyes.

"Listen to me you little scrote," he growled, tightening his grip and drawing the other man slightly closer to his face. "I've been watching your back fer years makin' sure you don't trip over yer idiotic size nines, keepin' an eye out an' coverin' up shit when you mess up; if I say 'jump', you say 'how high?' remember? So if I tell you ter piss off and leave me alone, I mean it!"

"Guv, let 'im go!" Rays voice interrupted, but Gene didn't turn to look at him.

"Piss off Carling!" He growled, still glowering at Chris, his face barely an inch from the DC's as he gripped him all the tighter. "I'm teaching DC Skelton a thing or two about authority; don't tell me I 'ave to do the same fer you an all, or-!" He was cut off as, suddenly, two strong pairs of hands grabbed his arms, forcing him to loosen his grip on Chris's shirt as they dug fingers into his wrists. Another set of arms was under his shoulders, pulling him forcibly backwards; he struggled, attempting to lash out with his fists and legs, but he was too drunk, and his aim was off; his foot connected with a table and he felt a sharp pain travel the length of his leg, and his arms were held too firmly for their feeble lashes to hurt anything. He struggled repeatedly, for a few minutes, until, with a sudden rush, his frustration and anger melted away, dissipated into nothingness, and he slumped, suddenly aware of Viv at his back, his strong arms supporting his upper body as Ray and Poirot let go of Gene's arms. They fell to his sides, and Viv lowered him to the floor, his dark eyes full of concern as he took a few steps back.

"Guv," Ray said, shaking his head. "You've been waiting fer this for months; we all 'ave. Drake's awake now – she'll be back soon, an' you two can go back to wantin' to kill each other, and everyone'll be happier…" He paused, and Gene took the opportunity to spit half-heartedly on the floor at Ray's feet. He hadn't seen his Sergeants face, but he could hear the pain, the misery, and the note of defiance in his voice as he spoke again. "Chris might be a twonk, Guv, an' we might 'ave all let yer down at some point, but we're yer team; not yer punchbags."

Gene had looked up then, had met Rays resolute gaze for a few moments, before he sighed, slumping uselessly against the bar as he felt all strength leave him, felt all of his pride slip away as he realised that never, in fifteen years of working together, had Ray undermined him before. The DS turned away, leading the rest of the team back to their corner, and Gene saw Shaz eyeing him warily, Chris rubbing his neck and assuring her he was fine…

"Luigi!" Gene had shouted, his voice slurred. "Another bottle of yer house rubbish. Now!"

That had been hours ago, Gene thought, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was almost four in the morning. Long before closing time, if everyone was still there… He knew he'd drank the other bottle against Luigi's insistence, and that Ray had been watching him with disappointment in his eyes... He flinched, unwilling to remember the teams' faces, the expressions that embodied everything he'd always feared… With a physical shake of himself, Gene stood up, stumbling through to the bathroom and shaking his head in disgust.

It was early morning – seven thirty, going by the clock on the wall of her hospital room – when Alex, still awake after a long and restless night, was surprised by a visit from none other than Ray, sporting the trademark turtleneck jumper and leather jacket that he always wore to work. He brought with him the smell of cigarettes – not the same as those that Gene smoked, Alex now noted – and it was clear that he had been up a long while, his eyes tired and his hair slightly more mussed than usual. Upon seeing him, Alex felt a surprising surge of affection, and despite herself, she could feel her face light up in an unexpected smile, and was just readying herself to stand up when Ray held up his hand, shaking his head and glancing awkwardly at the floor.

"Don't get up Ma'am… Drake…" he swallowed, scratching his head slightly before carrying on. "I mean, yer legs might not be upto it, yet…" He was glancing around, clearly distracted, but Alex couldn't help but smile, sitting up in bed and obeying his instruction to stay there as she spoke.

"It's good to see you, Ray," she said, smiling. She was certain she saw a small twitch of his lips, but he schooled his expression carefully before looking at her, nodding almost imperceptibly.

"You look better," he said plainly. Alex laughed slightly, shrugging.

"Well I'm awake; I suppose that's a start…"

Ray watched her for a moment, and Alex was suddenly aware that he was not here to make small talk, not here to find out whether she had slept last night or if she was feeling peckish; whatever the reason, this wasn't a purely social visit. "You'll be back soon, though," he said, lifting his eyebrows questioningly. "Ain't that what the doctors are sayin'?"

Alex sighed, shrugging again. "I can leave in a few days, they say, if I don't show any signs of regression; I'm not sure I'll be back at work in the immediate future, though."

"What d'you mean?" Ray asked, looking surprised and, if Alex wasn't mistaken, a little fearful. "The Guv- I mean… I mean, we - we need yer back, Alex!"

"I'm sure you're managing perfectly well without me," Alex smiled back at him, attempting to ignore the mention of Gene, and the sharp blade of pain that shot through her stomach at the thought of him.

"Not really…" Ray said, voice hesitant and uncertain. Alex was about to question him, but he beat her to it. "The Guv- he's… well… he's been all over the place… He thought you were gunna die – went mental, started hiding out in yer flat…" Ray shook his head, apparently still baffled by Gene's behaviour. Alex nodded, well aware how hard this must have been for Ray, to see Gene – his Guv and his friend – falling apart before his very eyes… Ray looked at her, apparently considering something, before saying, "He's been here every day, you know? Without fail – twice a day if he can help it…"

Alex nodded, sadly, blinking back the stinging sensation of tears in her eyes. "I know," she answered softly. "I know."

There was a brief silence, a moment of further hesitation, before Ray spoke again. "He attacked Chris," he told her bluntly, and Alex's head snapped to attention, the shock evident on her features as she stared at Ray in disbelief.

"He did what?" She asked, stunned.

"Last night," Ray said, his eyes dark, jaw set tightly, expression grim. "We were all havin' a drink, celebratin' you wakin' up, like…" He looked slightly embarrassed, then carried on before Alex could say anything further. "He didn't join in; sat there in the corner gettin' more an' more pissed, then when Shaz went over to give him a drink, he threw it up the walls…" He shrugged then, looking uncomfortable. "Well, y'know what Chris is like; bloody twonk – stuck up fer Shaz, told the Guv to go home…" A shadow passed over his features, and Alex didn't need to imagine Gene's reaction, well aware of the strength and brutality that the man was capable of if the mood struck him. "He'd 'ave done it an' all, if we hadn't pulled him off," Ray said, and there was a hint of guilt in his voice, a nervousness and trepidation that Alex could tell was hurting him.

"You did the right thing, Ray," she assured him. "Gene would have hated himself if he'd hurt Chris; you did the right thing, I'm sure he'll see that…"

Ray nodded uncertainly, his expression still grim.

"He needs you back, Alex," he said suddenly, avoiding her eyes. "He 'asn't been the same since he- since you- well, since…"

"Since I got shot," Alex finished for him, nodding her head softly. "I know, Ray; I know. I want to come back to him – to all of you, I mean…" She flushed slightly, and Ray looked decidedly uncomfortable. With a glance at the wall, he seemed to decide that it was time to leave.

"Well, I best get off," he said, grimacing slightly. "Working on a jewellery blag at the moment and-!" He stopped suddenly, shaking his head. "Nevermind…" He seemed to hesitate, glancing at the door, and at the clock, then at Alex. After a moment of indecision, he stepped forward and pressed his lips to Alex's cheek, leaving her stunned and embarrassed.

"Get better, 'ey, Drake?" And with that, he was gone.

Gene woke up at gone two, head pounding and mouth cotton-dry. He instinctively glanced at the phone to make sure it was still on the hook, and he immediately knew that his presence, or lack thereof, at the office, whilst not unnoticed, was not required or, more likely, wanted. He stood up, walking unsteadily through to the kitchen and pouring a large glass of water, which he glugged down whilst waiting for the kettle boil. He felt awful, partly due to the hangover that was currently tearing shreds into his existence, but equally due to the guilt currently gnawing at his gut; he remembered the look on Rays face, the firmness of Chris's gaze as he had gripped him so roughly, and he resisted the urge to throw the glass he was holding at the wall. He was a mess, and a useless, drunken mess at that. He'd never been good at holding his temper, but it was very rare for him to direct it at his team; he usually reserved the most savage beatings for the worst kind of scum, but he knew that, had the others not been there to intervene, he'd have lost it, most likely pummelling Chris into the ground before he'd come to his senses… He shook his head, overwhelmed with guilt, and headed for the shower, hoping to scrub away every vestige of pain.

Alex sat in her room for some time, staring at the door through which Ray had left, contemplating all that he had said, and all that it might mean. It was not like Gene to turn on his team; she had seen him beat criminals to within an inch of their life, had scalded his temper and intervened when necessary, but never had he hurt his team in front of her. Always, without fail, Gene protected them – all of them, she considered. Even after Chris' betrayal, she had watched Gene fighting to believe in him again, to protect him, to ensure that nothing would come back to hurt him. It was unlike him, she thought, to turn on his own; she remembered Sam's tapes, recalled that on occasion the two of them had tussled and fought, but she had never witnessed it herself… She could not have imagined Gene raising a hand against Chris, any more than she could imagine him raising one to her or Shaz.

She wrapped her arms around herself, suppressing a shiver, even though she was far from cold. She had to help him – to bring him back to himself, to her, to the team… She had to help him, as much as she could; if that meant pretending that 'the future' she had talked about were unreal, so be it; she wouldn't be the one to cause him any further pain.

With a sigh, she pulled the blanket around herself, staring into space as she recalled all that she had witnessed, all that she had learned about Gene in the future, in her past… She would pretend that it had never happened; she would pretend that he had never shared those things with her, that it had all been some elaborate dream, a comatose projection that she had fabricated for herself…

She nodded resolutely, ignoring the tears which pricked at her eyes as she tried to forget the Gene she had known, and focused instead upon the Gene that she knew now.

He stared at the door to her room with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach; he'd ended up here almost habitually – this was where he came to clear his head, to talk to someone without the fear of them judging him. It hadn't really been until he pushed through the first set of double doors that he considered the fact she might not want to listen any more.

Gene glanced around, nodding his head at the nurses who passed by, but disinclining to speak to them, simply staring at the door, inwardly goading himself to simply step up and go through. He could see the foot of the bed through the small glass panel, was aware that she was still lying down, because he could see the shape of her foot beneath the blankets. He waited there for a few minutes, his breathing slightly uneven, before suddenly he stepped up, taking a deep, ragged breath and pushing through the door.

He expected her to turn towards him, to meet his eyes and scowl darkly at him, maybe even to tell him to get out. When she didn't move, he breathed a brief sigh of relief, stepping into the room and allowing the door to close behind him. He walked forwards, eyes on the bed at all times, waiting for the smallest perception of movement, for a sign that she had heard him enter, that she was about to turn around and start screaming, shouting, spouting cock and bull… There was nothing, and he frowned, stepping closer to the bed.

She was lying on her side, facing away from the door, and her hair had fallen into her face. The sheet was pulled up to her waist, and the red silken pyjamas covered her arms and shoulders. He watched her carefully, seeing the rise and fall of her chest, hearing the familiar, gentle lull of her breathing, and for a moment he stood still, watching her, drinking her in, wondering how it was that he had not had his fill of this yet, of staring at her, of appreciating her, of-

He froze suddenly, blood running cold. "Bolly?" He said, loudly. She didn't stir, and his heart began to race, pulse thundering in his ears as he moved around the bed. "Bols?" He repeated again, louder this time, panic rising in his throat as she remained stock still. "Alex!" His voice was loud, and his hand was on her shoulder, shaking her, the other one pushing the hair out of her eyes.

"Alex, don't you bloody dare go back to sleep you daft-!"

He was cut off when her eyes opened suddenly, and he found himself frozen, one hand on her face, the other on her shoulder, as Alex stared at him in confusion and bewilderment, her eyes flickering over his face. He felt a wave of relief crash over him, and he could say nothing, do nothing, not able even to explain the fear that had gripped him so forcibly for those few seconds. She was looking at him still, though he could not read her expression, could not tell whether it was fear, or hurt, or pain, or concern; he realised, a few moments later, that he didn't really care, that all he was interested in was the fact that she was awake, alive, and responding to him, however baffling the reaction might be.

"Sorry I woke yer," he muttered eventually, suddenly all too aware that he was kneeling at her bedside, that her face was in his hand and that her mouth was a mere few inches from his own. He could feel her ragged breath against his face, could smell mint on her breath and vanilla shampoo in the masses of hair surrounding her face, and he swallowed, unable to drag himself away from her gaze, frozen in place.

"Sorry I woke yer," she heard him say, and she could only stare at him, perplexed, assessing the flood of emotions that ran across his face as his grip on her gentled slightly, the hand on her shoulder now a soft touch, as opposed to a vice-grip, and the palm on her cheek a gentle caress that she longed to lean into.

She could smell whiskey on his breath, and the distinct tang of cigarettes, but also the fresh, clean smell of soap and shaving foam. His hair was slightly mussed, as though he had been running his hands through it, and he appeared to have forsaken his tie, leaving his shirt open at the top. She drank him in, staring at him, revelling in the crystal blue depths of his gaze, and the intensity with which his eyes drilled into her own. He rooted her to the spot, fear and concern at the forefront of his gaze, and she remembered an evening not so long ago, and yet many years away, when Gene had not wanted them to sleep, had been scared that she might not wake up… Alex swallowed, lifting her hand shakily, almost hesitantly, to Gene's face, cupping his clean-shaven cheek in her hands. He seemed to flinch slightly at her touch, but it was not pain, or disgust, only surprise, and she allowed her fingers to gently caress the line of his jaw.

"You were scared," she murmured understandingly, her voice soft, eyes fixed upon his. She expected him to deny it, to shake his head and storm out again, but instead he nodded stiffly, his gaze dropping from her eyes to her lips, and she was suddenly aware of his proximity, of the pounding blood in her veins and the sudden dryness of her mouth. His smell overwhelmed her, and she felt dizzy just looking at him; she longed for him to dip his head, to capture her lips with his own and kiss her, wished she had the nerve to do so herself, to claim his mouth and share herself with him… She couldn't.

Gene rested his gaze upon her lips, upon the delicate fullness that had tempted him more times than he could count, which had haunted his dreams and brought him back from his nightmares. He could feel her gaze on him, feel her gentle hand upon his cheek, and he leaned into her touch almost reluctantly, his eyes closing as her tentative fingers eased back a lock of hair from his forehead, as her fingers appeared to trace each line of his face, every wrinkle, every crevice, as though she were committing it to memory. He was gripped with longing, seized with desire, and it was all he could do to stay still, to resist her, to stop himself running out of that door and away from every intimacy that her gentle touch offered…

Her fingers ghosted over his eyelids, delicate against his brow, gentle down his nose, soft against his chin… And then he felt their presence against his lip, a delicate, gentle whisper, her touch sending shivers down his spine; she was soft and tentative, tracing against the corner of his mouth, over the rough surface of his lips, and then they stopped, two fingertips rested gently but insistently against his mouth…

His eyes flew open, and he stared at last into the caramel eyes that he had spent months dreaming of; he saw the tenderness, the warmth, the genuine emotion in her gaze, and his heart stopped.

His hand was still on her shoulder, frozen in place until now, but he lifted it, his movement slow, and tentative.

He reached out to her, cupping her cheek ever so softly now, her face cradled in both of his hands, and for a moment he was seized with a nearly paralysing need to kiss her, to take her mouth with his and wash away every fear that had ever plagued him. He wanted to claim her, to possess her, to worm himself into her existence as firmly as she was woven into his… But he didn't.

Instead, he did what he had wanted to do for months, what he had told himself he could not do while she was sleeping…

He touched her cheek with gentle fingers, the tips dancing across the smoothness of her make-up free skin…

He moved his fingers, tracing delicately down the elegant line of her nose…

He reached out gently, the pad of his thumb caressing the line of her mouth with a tenderness he hadn't known that he possessed…

He cradled her face once more, his heart pounding erratically in his chest before he leaned forward, his hot breath teasing across the flesh of her face before he pressed his lips against her forehead, his eyes closed and mouth both hard and gentle against her skin as he whispered softly into the dark.

"Stay."

This is not over yet, I do have a few more chapters in mind to finish it, and I do hope that I won't take 3 years to write the next one. Having said that, I can't make any promises! However, any reviews are welcome encouragement!

Apologies and thanks to anyone who began reading so long ago and has come back – I do hope it was ok!

Mage of the Heart