There were times in his life when Gene Hunt wondered if he didn't have some kind of sixth sense… that was before dismissing the notion as being just a little bit too mad. The kind of thing Sam Tyler might have believed in which made it unthinkable for a normal, beer drinking, Manchester City supporting bloke such as himself. But the facts of the matter were indisputable. Gene Hunt always knew when one of his team needed him … end of. And tonight was a prime example. As he staggered through his front door, Gene couldn't escape the nagging feeling that he shouldn't have left Alex in Luigi's by herself. True, Ray and Chris had still been there but he couldn't rely on that pair of twats to look after themselves, never mind anyone else.

Alex had been drunk. Very, very drunk. Gene couldn't think of any other reason why she had propositioned him… or any other reason why he had turned her down. A couple of weeks ago he would have had no qualms about taking her up on her offer… but not now, not tonight. Even in the depths of his whiskey soaked brain, he didn't want to acknowledge why that might be.

She'd be all right, he tried to tell himself as he stripped off his clothes and fell onto the bed. Alex Drake was a tough old bird. Judging by the couple of slaps she had given him Gene was convinced that she could look after herself … except that he wasn't. Rolling over, he punched the pillow, trying and failing to find a comfortable position to sleep in. The fact that she had come onto him made him wonder if she was upset about something other than that daft prozzie. Then he remembered the way she had acted around that prize prat Danny Moore and Gene was damned if he was going to end up as another notch on her overly expensive bed post. Yet he didn't really think that Alex Drake the type to shag anything that moved.

Sleep. That was the best thing for him now. He didn't want to be getting out of bed and pulling on his discarded clothes. Likewise, walking back to Luigi's in the middle of the night was just stupid… proving that he was just as much of a fruitcake as Alex Drake.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

His mouth was hard on hers; his hands were roughly squeezing her breasts… It shouldn't be like this, her mind cried out. She didn't want him, she wanted… but she didn't complete the thought.

Before arriving in 1981, Alex Drake would never have contemplated a one night stand with a random stranger. Her sexual encounters had all been meaningful experiences. At least that was how she remembered the earnest, serious young men who had appealed to her intellect as well as her libido. She'd never sunk so low as to pick up a man in a bar with the intention of having sex with him. It was supposed to be a liberating experience, a way to escape this life she was being forced to live and she told herself to enjoy it. No strings, no consequences. It didn't matter that he hurt her as he pushed inside her body. Or that he hadn't taken the time to pleasure her first. His thrusts were hard, fast, uncoordinated. Even as she tried to match his rhythm, Alex realised that he was close to finishing. Alex could do nothing but clutch the sheets in desperation, praying for it to be over. Minutes later he let go with a yell, coming inside her even as she begged him to withdraw.

She felt suffocated when he collapsed on top of her, his weight driving the air from her lungs and he didn't even seem to notice that she was struggling beneath him. Eventually, Alex gave up the fight and lay still for the forever it took before he finally moved off of her. Standing he fastened his trousers looking down at her with a smirk on his face, mistaking her breathlessness for wordless admiration of his skills. Alex didn't move. She couldn't move. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her bruised lips.

"Alice, you were ruddy fantastic."

"Alex," she whispered, "It's Alex."

"Alex… we should do this again."

Grinning, he slung his jacket over his shoulder and sauntered out of the door.

Disgusted with herself, Alex slowly climbed off of the bed. She didn't bother to pull her skirt down or button her blouse as she staggered into the living room, trying to ignore the ache between her thighs. Blindly Alex reached for the bottle of champagne that they had brought up from Luigi's and tipped half of it down her throat. She wanted nothing more than to achieve oblivion. Given the amount of alcohol that was already in her system, her goal was quickly achieved and Alex Drake passed out on the floor of her flat.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gene felt sick to his stomach when he met the man on the stairs that led up to Alex's flat. He had seen him in Luigi's earlier that evening and thought he looked like a slimy git. Surely Alex hadn't…

"Nothing left but sloppy seconds, mate," the man grinned.

He would never know how close he came to getting a punch in the face but at that moment Gene was more worried about Alex than his own ego. He didn't even acknowledge the man as he pushed past, taking the stairs two at a time.

The door to Alex's flat was slightly open but Gene didn't walk straight in. He knocked first,

"Alex?"

No reply. She could have been asleep, in the bathroom… his mind came up with half a dozen reasons why she wasn't telling him to buggar off and mind his own business, yet he dismissed each and every one of them. Stepping carefully, he pushed open the door and let himself into the flat.

"Bolly?" he called out to her again. "It's me… Gene."

The addition of his name was almost unnecessary. No one else would call her that. At first the nickname had been meant as an insult but had quickly softened to something different, something more personal.

Steeling himself, Gene glanced into the bedroom. The red sheets were rumpled but the bed itself was empty. The whole room reeked of sex, turning his stomach far worse than any dismembered corpse at a crime scene.

He checked the bathroom next, again knocking on the door before going in. No sign of Alex which meant she had to be in the living room.

Gene nearly walked out when he saw her, wanting nothing more than to beat shit out of the bastard who had left her this way. But he couldn't leave Alex… not like this. Her skirt was hitched up around her waist, stockings on display. Gene could see that her knickers hung from one ankle. Her blouse had been ripped open, even from a distance he could tell that the buttons were missing. There was a discarded bottle of champagne lay close to her head, its contents fizzing out onto the rug, soaking her hair.

The only sound in the room was her hoarse breathing and that of his racing heart. He was transfixed in horror at the sight of her. Guilt pushed him forward, even though he had no idea what to do Gene knew he couldn't leave her in this state. She might throw up, choke on her own vomit… the thoughts were running through his head as he knelt by her side. The first thing he had to do was cover her up and he gingerly pulled her skirt down and her blouse across her breasts. Only then did he attempt to wake her up.

"Alex… come on Alex love," he spoke gentle words at first not wanting to scare her. "Bolly! DI Drake!"

In the end it was his shouts that roused her. Alex's eyelids fluttered open and she looked up at him with fear. Gene didn't know whether it was him she was scared of or something else but ten seconds later she started sobbing incoherently, her words making little sense. When he reached out to calm her, she tried to crawl away form his touch, falling flat on her face as she did so.

"Bolly, you stupid tart, it's me!"

Again, it was his harsh words that seemed to calm her down. Gene found it somewhat disturbing that she only acknowledged him when he raised his voce to her. It was a sad condemnation of the type of relationship they had forged.

"Gene?"

Her voice sounded so small, so lost, that he barely recognised it. Somehow that scared him more than anything else.

"Yes Bols," he told her as he moved closer, reaching out and grabbing her by the shoulders. She flinched at his touch.

"This is very important," he pushed, "Did he hurt you?"

A slight nod was her only reply.

"Did… did he rape you?"

Gene could hardly bring himself to say the word. After everything that had happened that day he never thought he'd be here, with Alex, wondering if some bastard had forced her. He was almost relieved when she shook her head.

"No … I wanted it."

But he didn't believe her, not for one second. If Alex had continued drinking after he'd left her then she must have been paralytic. She couldn't have said yes or no. Technically, it might not have been rape but Gene knew that the bastard should never have touched her, not in the condition she had been in.

Gene Hunt wasn't a stranger to one night stands. He would never admit that it was a way of staving off the loneliness… to find warmth and companionship … even if it was just for a little while. Yes, Gene could understand what she had wanted and was kicking himself for not staying with her. At the very least, he should have walked her upstairs and made sure that she went to bed alone. Gene wouldn't have slept with her but he could have been her friend and that was where he had failed.

"Alright Bols, you should get yourself to bed," he said, removing his coat and jacket. He suspected that he was going to be here for a while yet.

"No… don't want to sleep in there," Alex replied.

"Okay … how about the sofa?"

She nodded and Gene took that as his cue to help her stand up but he couldn't stop himself from noticing the way she walked and how uncomfortable she seemed.

"Er … you might want to get yourself cleaned up first?" He suggested.

Another nod.

"Right … Okay…"

Still supporting her weight, Gene led Alex through to the bathroom, sitting her on the toilet whilst he ran the bath. He even managed to find some kind of girly concoction to go in it. He felt extraordinarily proud of himself for that. There was no way she would be able to stand unsupported in the shower and he was dammed if he was getting in there with her.

"I feel sick," Alex said suddenly, distracting him from the mountain of bubbles that were forming.

Gene barely had time to turn around before she was throwing up in the sink. Mostly red wine, he noticed with some distaste. Hadn't she eaten anything today?

As carefully as he could Gene held her hair back, trying not to wince as spots of liquid landed on his shirt. But he stayed by her side until she had emptied her stomach, until all she could bring up was bile.

"Alright Bols, it's alright."

He doubted that she understood his words, but his voice seemed to soothe her as she leaned weakly against him. Gene wondered how the hell he was going to get her into the bath.

"Do you want to get them clothes off?"

Her hands fluttered to her top and she started to take off her ruined blouse, causing Gene to exit the bathroom as fast as he could. As much as he would have loved to see Alex Drake naked he knew that she would hate him for it… That was assuming she could remember anything about this in the morning. Standing outside the door, he waited until he heard the splash of a body in the water.

"Give us a shout if you need anything?" he called out but she didn't reply.

He left her to it and busied himself cleaning up the champagne from the living room floor, stripping the sheets from her bed… very glad that there were no witnesses. Gene Hunt didn't do domestic. He found fresh bedding and made up a bed for her on the sofa. It was only then that he checked on Alex, sticking his head around the bathroom door ready to duck out again if necessary. She was lying in the bath staring up at the ceiling with no expression in her eyes, her hair was still sticky with champagne and vomit and Gene doubted that she had made any attempt to clean herself up.

"Do you want to wash your hair?" he suggested, feeling like a bit of a girl for mentioning it.

In reply, Alex let her head slip under the water staying down for so long that Gene almost hauled her out again. When she finally emerged she pulled her knees up to her chest, bending her head forward in a gesture that was unmistakeable. Gene convinced himself that it was just his own culpability that made him step forward and pick up the bottle of shampoo. Kneeling next to the bath, he squeezed some into his hand and quickly rubbed it over her head. Although he was desperately trying to ignore the fact that she was naked, Gene couldn't stop himself from looking down at the long expanse of skin on her back. The bubbles clouded the water but he could still make out the tantalising swell of her buttocks. He had to fight the urge to slide his hand down her spine and into the water. She seemed to be leaning into his touch and he deliberately slowed his movements, wanting to extend this moment of intimacy. His fingers lightly danced across the back of her neck, sweeping up the fine tendrils of hair which lay there. It was disturbing to realise that he still wanted her… even like this. But it was a different kind of need, still sexual but coupled with an urge to look after her which, quite frankly, baffled him. He didn't want to stop touching her… until he remembered that Alex was still too drunk to know what she was doing. Not to mention the fact that half an hour ago she had been shagging another bloke. He stepped away and she slid back down into the water to wash the soap from her hair.

"Get yourself out of there." He spoke more harshly than he'd meant to and she stared at him as if he'd been the one who hurt her. Unable to meet her eyes, Gene turned his back on her and walked out of the room.

He should have left her then, let her sort herself out but for some reason he waited, watching the bathroom door until she emerged wrapped in her dressing gown.

"Right… okay … I'll be off then," he said.

She nodded and went to the drinks cabinet, pouring herself a large whiskey and downing it in one.

"You've had enough of that," he told her and removed the glass from her hand.

"Piss off."

"Fine. See you in the morning and you'd better not be late."

But as he started to walk away Alex put out her hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay," she said.

There was something about her touch that terrified him. She was close… far too close to him.

"I can't."

"Please."

He tried to protest as her lips suddenly crashed down on his, stumbling backwards a few steps from the force of the kiss. His hands instinctively clutched at her hips to keep them from falling. The kiss was devoid of grace, of passion, of all of the things that he had come to associate with Alex Drake. He could taste the stale wine, the acrid vomit and his stomach heaved.

"No," he hissed as he pushed her away.

"I need this Gene, I need you… I need you to make it good for me."

She reached for him again, and Gene found himself backed up against the wall, completely at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She'd somehow managed to unzip his trousers and was reaching for him… stroking, massaging. Despite himself, Gene moaned. He didn't even want to think about how long it had been since anyone had touched him like this.

"Big boy," she breathed.

And somehow her slurred words brought back the reality of what she was doing and gave him the strength to shove her away. He hadn't meant to push her hard but she tripped and almost fell before rounding on him with hate in her eyes.

"Get out!"

"Alex…"

But he was cut off by her hand making contact with his cheek.

Fuck it. Gene Hunt wasn't going to apologise because some random wanker had treated her like shit. He tried to walk away again, but she kept on hitting him, punching and slapping until he was forced to catch her hands in his.

"Stop it!" he ordered and she burst into tears. "Shit… Don't cry Bols…"

This was turning into the longest of long nights but Gene held her until she stopped crying, until she grew drowsy in his arms. Just as he had that first day, he picked her up in his arms. This time she made no protest as he carried her to the sofa and tucked her into the makeshift bed. He stroked the damp hair from her face, soothing her as if she were a child. Gene had no idea what kind of demons Alex Drake was face but she seemed hell bent on self-destruction. At that moment he made a pledge with himself that he was never going to let her get in this state again. He'd sit with her in Luigi's until the last dog was hung rather than let another bastard get his hands on her. He'd make sure that she got home safely every night… carry her up the stairs if he bloody well had to.

"Gene…"

"Yes Bols?"

" 'm sorry."

He didn't reply.

"Gene?"

"Yes?"

"Stay until I go to sleep."

That much he could do. She reached out and he held her hand.

"I miss her," Alex said.

"I know… I know."

Gene couldn't think who she meant at first and then he remembered Alex speaking about her daughter on that first night they had spent together in Luigi's. She had been pissed then too. He wondered where the little girl might be.

"I want to go home."

"I know," he repeated, and for perhaps the first time Gene admitted to himself that he didn't want to let her go.