Big thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and review, it really is appreciated. This one could have gone in several different directions but this was the ending I'd originally planned, so I've decided to stick with it.

Hope you enjoy …

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Chapter 4

On the first day they met he had the glimmer of a memory, some inkling at the back of his mind that he knew her from somewhere. Not when she fainted at his feet, not when he dragged her out of the path of an oncoming car, but when he picked her up and carried her into CID. There was something achingly familiar about it, about her, and in a blinding flash he saw the disturbingly white face of a clown, a red balloon starkly outlined against a blue sky and a little girl in a school uniform clinging to his hand.

He knew from the moment he retrieved her warrant card from the floor that she was going to be trouble with a capital 'T', and how right he was. She annoyed him, irritated him, frustrated him beyond belief from the start. He hated the way she waggled her fingers when she said his name, her certainty that she was always right, the way she ignored his orders and went off on her own, regardless. And more than anything he hated the endless bloody psychiatry bollocks she spouted. He could picture her, the clenched fists and the eye-roll, as she hissed at him through her teeth.

"It's psychology!"

"Same bloody thing …"

She was a thorn in his side on a daily basis, made him want to bang his head against the nearest wall. And he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any other woman. When she stood in his office, all flashing eyes and indignation, he wanted her. When she was swaying drunkenly on a bar stool, looking lost and vulnerable, he wanted her. And when she was wearing leather and brandishing a gun, God, he wanted her.

"You're taller than I imagined."

"I'm bigger in every department."

It was certainly true at the moment with Sergeant Rock standing to attention every time she walked into a room. He found himself hiding behind his desk whenever she was around: it was bloody uncomfortable and highly inconvenient, and he knew something would have to give soon. He was only human, after all.

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There was something in the air, a heightened tension between them lately, like they both knew where their relationship was heading but neither of them wanted to admit it. He'd had to watch her blatent attempts to flirt with Danny Moore, and he hadn't liked it one bit. He breathed a secret sigh of relief when she arrived back at CID later that same night and he realised she hadn't slept with him.

When the bomb went off on the day of the Royal Wedding, his only thought was to get to her, make sure she was safe. He'd felt her hands shaking as she clung on to his, and thanked his lucky stars she was OK. He was slowly learning to trust her judgement now, and even though she still challenged him at every opportunity, he secretly admired her courage and her single-minded determination.

She was in a funny mood from the start that particular morning, though.

"What's up with you today?"

"Just because I'm stuck here doesn't mean I have to pretend to like it."

He shrugged. Must have the decorators in again.

"Fine. Leave yer to it then, Sulky-Knickers."

She wanted to do the interview with Nina on her own, didn't think the girl would 'open up' with him in the room. He had to get a little sexual innuendo in as a retort, it made him feel better.

"Plenty of women have opened up to me without so much as a shandy down their necks."

He did try very hard not to gloat when she failed, despite all her fancy training, but if he allowed himself a little smirk who could really blame him?

Then events took a very peculiar turn: maybe it was her way of getting back at him, he couldn't be sure. There was no doubt he was out of order for what he'd said but the bloody woman was enough to try the patience of a saint. And then to punch him squarely in the jaw like that, as if a slap across the face hadn't been enough. He was still reeling from the force of it. And he had a hard-on that he couldn't beat down with a big stick.

Some instinct made him hold back from drinking too much, and he managed to prevent her from getting completely pissed also. As the evening progressed and they became nicely mellow he began to get a strange sense of deja vu, and when he admitted to her that he sometimes felt lonely he knew exactly what was coming next. He also knew, had somehow known for the last eight years, what his answer would be.

"What would you do, Gene? Last few seconds on earth, anything you want. Right now …"

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Right now?"

She nodded, her sultry gaze dropping to his pouting lips before she met his eyes again, looking at him seductively from under lowered lashes. She was so close her perfume was filling his nostrils and making his head spin, even more effectively than a punch in the gob. He leant in even closer to whisper in her ear.

"I'd drag yer upstairs, throw yer on the bed and give yer the best seein' to of yer life. Trust me, Bols, yer'll be beggin' fer more."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but he saw the flash of desire there before she leaned in to whisper back, her breath warm on his neck.

"Get your coat, Hunt, you've pulled. But I should warn you, it takes a lot to make me beg."

He grinned wickedly. He knew now it was possible to change the future.

"Oh, I think yer'll find there's more than enough, luv."

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And he was right, she did find herself begging. For him not to stop, to do it again, oh God please, that thing that made her clutch the sheets and cry out his name. He drove her to the heights of ecstasy, watching her in awe as he moved inside her and she writhed underneath him, pleading for sweet release. And finally, as dawn approached, he begged also. To be allowed to get some well-earned rest …
He dreamt of her then for the first time in years, reliving the expression of exquisite pleasure on her face when he made her come, delighting in her little sighs and moans of bliss. When he woke, moving up onto an elbow to gaze down into her lovely face, he knew something deep within him had shifted. And whatever happened, whatever the consequences, he was never going to lose her again.

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I know, I know. Soppy old romantic at heart. "Hormones. It's always hormones." Yes, thank you for that, Christopher …
Dedicated to my very good friend East of Fenchurch, who'd have killed me if I didn't give her a decent Galex ending. Phew. *Mops brow*. GH lives to fight another day! ;)
Hope you enjoyed, please let me know or the Gene Genie will come round your house and … well, you know the rest!