[oom] 3x07 (iv)

[lady_bols]

Whenever Alex needs a moment to gather her thoughts, she writes.  Usually, her notes are disjointed, a noun here, a verb there.  Names, places, emotions.  She prefers to use the tape to keep her journal.  It's easier when she thinks she's talking to someone else. (Molly.  Where is Molly now?  Where is Gene?)

He's down there with his team, but she knows he'll be coming up those stairs soon.  She's left her shoes on, tidied up the place a bit, actually made the bed for once.  Not that she's slept in it for months.  

She feels him before she hears the knock at the door.  Like a change in the air just before a summer storm, or that sensation you get when know someone else is in the room even if you can't see them.  He has a presence about him.  Always has.  

She puts her notebook away in the bookshelf, and crosses the living room to her front door.  For some reason, she checks the peephole at the door, even though she already knows who it is.  She's not sure why, but the butterflies in her stomach feel more like fear than anticipation.

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[the_gene_genie]

His hand stills around a bottle in the fridge. He doesn’t look at her.

‘I know.’

A muscle twitches in his cheek. He picks the drink up, and cracks it open. This is veering back towards uncomfortable, if not there already.

‘You don’ have to tell me about me and Sam. I know.’

He says it softly. There’s no anger. But he doesn’t need outside validation on that friendship.

‘Just like no one would need to tell me about me an’ you.’

[lady_bols]

The tears behind her eyes take her by surprise, and she has to hold her breath for a moment. He gets it. He really gets it. By the time he looks at her, she's half-composed herself again, though it's clear his words had an impact. She's never been very good at hiding her strongest emotions, and right now, she doesn't really want to.

'I know.'

There's nothing to do in here, so she drifts back into the living room, settling into the same place, clutching that pillow to her midriff, and pouring herself a full glass of wine.

[the_gene_genie]

He thinks it probably wasn’t entirely accurate. He needs her to tell him about the two of them, at least at this stage in things. But he smiles a bit to himself as well. This is going to be OK.

‘Be there in a sec.’

By the time he comes out of the bathroom, he brings another beer. Alcohol is definitely helping. He might manage to make a move on her if he keeps this up.

Sprawling back on the sofa feels better this time.

‘I hope he told you about the time we walked into a crime boss’s den to find him sucking off a rent boy.’

Because that was funny.

[lady_bols]

She pulls her chin in, pursing her lips.

'No.' No, that's definitely not something that came up in session. 'Honestly, no. And also? Mmmmno.'

Please, dear God let him change the subject.

[the_gene_genie]

OK, probably not appropriate date conversation. If this is still being classed as a date. He shrugs a shoulder with a smile, and lets it drop.

[lady_bols]

'There was brief mention made of a collar outside a public pool? But I didn't get the details. He couldn't seem to stop giggling enough to get them out.'

[the_gene_genie]

He snorts a dry laugh.

‘That was the first time he acted like a human being. I caught him smiling after it.’

Kim bloody Trent.

‘This twat arranged to meet his pals at the baths. We got a tip-off, so went to wait for him. You can’t hang around the side of a pool in a suit, obviously, so we played the part. Trent clocked me, took off - we had t’chase the bastard half the length of the canal before we got him.’

That was another fun morning. The smile dies a little bit though.

‘He ended up shooting one of our lasses. But we got him bang to rights in the end. I saved Tyler’s arse with a well-timed intervention, if I do say so meself.’

The smugness is mostly feigned, and only faint anyway. But this is the first time he’s been able to talk about Sam in three years, and it feels good. Sad, but good.

[lady_bols]

'You know, your accent gets thicker, when you talk about Manchester.'

She's smiling at him again, and not just because she's amused at the idea of him sprinting down the road in nothing more than his swim trunks. She knows the signs of healing when she sees it.

'I like it.'

Oh look, another glass empty and in need of refilling.

[the_gene_genie]

He takes care of it. If there’s one thing Gene Hunt can always be relied on for, it’s to refill an empty glass.

‘Well, it would, wouldn’ it?’

Manchester. God’s Own Country. Nothing at all like here, and isn’t that a bloody shame? He looks forward again, puts his feet back on the table, toys idly with his hair. It feels wrong, somehow, to go into detail about home. Like he’s in London now, and should only talk about Fenchurch. The thought pulls him back into himself. And then, the situation they’re in.

And tonight. How - if - they’re going to move from semi-comfortable chatting to...more.

[lady_bols]

'Yeah. I suppose.'

She also likes the times when he sounds more like London. (Her home.) When he betrays his everyman appearance, and talks about politics or culture in ways that surprise her.

He's a never ending series of conundrums, and she wishes she had time to stay and -- get to know him better. The real Gene Hunt. The one that only ever seems to come out when they're alone together.

[the_gene_genie]

The weight in his chest had lifted a bit there. Now it’s back. A man has to move on. Can’t live in the past, though he does his best at times. He’s silent a long moment, thinking of all the things that have happened. Will still happen. There’s no point pretending they won’t, at least to himself.

‘So, Fenchurch East lives to fight another day.’

Publicly, he has to put a brave face on. He’s the Guv.

[lady_bols]

'Everyone's rattled.'

And she knows it. She also knows, he needs to hear the truth. And the truth, right now, hurts. She looks to the ceiling, willing back the tears again.

'Viv's funeral.'

[the_gene_genie]

He breathes in, acknowledging it. Lets his hand drop away from his head so he looks comfortable.

‘Chris stepped up to the mark. Wasn’t sure he had it in him.’

He’d had to push it though. It was for his own good.

[lady_bols]

'We'll be all right?'

No, that came out as more of a question than she'd intended. 'We'll all be all right.'

There, that's what she meant.

[the_gene_genie]

He looks down at the bottle in his hand, watching his thumb brush over the label. He lets her words settle over him, and can’t help a twist of his mouth. He wishes he could believe it.

So he looks over at her, right in the eye. His tone is openly plaintive when he asks,

‘Will we, Bols?’

[lady_bols]

She holds his gaze, wishing she had an answer to that question. There's a moment when she wishes he would believe her if she just said yes. But he is a man of action, not words. So, again, she tries to speak his language, albeit in her own way.

She takes in a breath, and starts to rise.

'Let's have a dance.'

[the_gene_genie]

That wasn’t what he was expecting her to say. He pauses to make sure he heard her right. And then;

‘No! Gene Hunt does not dance.'

He sits around and drinks. If she needs a demonstration of that fact, he’s doing it right now.

[lady_bols]

'No,' she answers, looking for the right tape. 'He doesn't hug Christopher Skelton either, does he?'

She finds the tape, and pops it in the cassette deck, pressing the play button firmly. The sound of Spandau Ballet quietly fills the room, and it takes her a moment to gather her courage again. He's still seated, and that just won't do. It feels like she's crossing a country mile to get to him again, but she holds out her hand, making it clear she won't take no for an answer.

[the_gene_genie]

He’s still seated because he’s drinking. But as soon as the music comes on, everything shifts. Because this is what happens on dates, isn’t it? Dinner, drinks, dancing, and then...

‘OK.’ He plants one foot on the floor. ‘Let’s get the dancin’ out of the way.’

As if this had been a foregone conclusion all the time. As if his throat hasn’t gone a bit dry, despite the amount of beer he’s poured down it.

He takes her hand, and follows her to the middle of the room. Her hand is warm in his. There’s a brief moment when they arrange themselves; he’s wondering if this is the slow dance it should be. But she seems to have no qualms about them sharing space, and he sure as hell doesn’t.

He’s been dreaming about holding her this close for three years. The butterflies inside ramp their action up a bit, but he’s not complaining.

[lady_bols]

She can't help but step in close, taking his left hand in her right, leaving the other at his waist. Letting the rhythm take over, as they rock in time to the music.

She leans into him, unable to keep from glancing at his expression, wondering if he's just as desperate for this as she is. She's shaking, and it doesn't matter. This close, she can smell his cologne, the beer on his breath. His scent catches in her throat, and a wave of emotion causes her to inhale, as if she could take him into her and hold him there, safe from the rest of the world.

[the_gene_genie]

The conversation they just had melts away. The nightmare of today fades to black. This whole awful year - doesn’t matter. She’s holding his hand, she’s pressed against him, her mouth is an inch from his cheek. And she’s looking at him. He glances at her, then away. But he can’t help looking back, and she’s still there. She’s leaning in so close he can feel her breath on his neck - and then their eyes catch, and he can’t look away.

He doesn’t know what to do with the tension. He’s always backed away from emotional stuff, and he doesn’t know how he should act here. So he does what he always does.

‘You got any Herb Alpert?’

[lady_bols]

She holds his gaze, steady and calm, and shakes her head.

'No.'

She knows what he's trying to do, and it's past time for that. They're here, finally. After all they've been through, they're in each others arms.

Her forehead drops to his temple, and she closes her eyes, nuzzling against his cheek. Only for a moment, and then she gives in. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder, her nose tucked up against his throat. She sighs, letting the smell of his skin fill her lungs. The hand at his waist pulls him closer, as if that were possible.

[the_gene_genie]

He’s glad she doesn’t fall for his deflection. Because when she says ‘no’, he gives in. This is what he wants, and it’s OK to let it show. It’s the most natural thing in the world to tilt his head to the side, and give her room to rest on his shoulder. It’s the most natural thing in the world to let her settle on him, and then lock them together with his cheek nearly brushing her hair. The nerves subside finally, turn to excitement because this is right, and it’s OK to listen to the music, and enjoy her body against his. Just as, a long moment later, it feels right to turn his head, and press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

[lady_bols]

She feels that kiss, and it aches, somewhere down deep in her heart. It feels like hello and goodbye all tangled up in one, and she doesn't want it to end.

But it has to, because that's not the kind of kiss she wants from him. She doesn't want chaste, and safe. She doesn't want comforting. She wants so much more, and after a moment, she decides she's done waiting. Her eyes open, and she lifts her head again, seeking out his gaze. Willing him to feel this, too, before it overwhelms her.

[the_gene_genie]

He feels it too. Just before her head comes up, there’s a moment when his cheek rests against her forehead and he just breathes. Relief, and desire, and then she looks into his eyes and he looks back. Their movement slows, almost stops, and his gaze falls to her lips, her breath ghosts across his mouth and he lets his eyes close because this is everything he’s been waiting for, everything he’s hoped for for three years and it’s finally happening. She’s an inch away, and it’s finally happening.