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Alex lets her eyes rest on the door for a moment after Evan has closed it behind him. The smile that his visit had brought on slowly fades as she hears his retreating footsteps and, at the same time, can feel a chill creeping into the room.
“Not tonight,” she mutters under her breath, refusing to turn and look at what she is sure will be some manifestation of her constant tormentor.
She wraps her robe around herself more tightly and is about to make her escape to the kitchen when her ear catches the sound of returning footsteps just as she feels the coldness suddenly lift.
Without waiting for a knock, she steps to the door and yanks it open, certain that Evan must have forgotten something.
“Did you…” she starts and then stops mid-sentence, the smile dying on her lips as she finds herself face-to-face, not with her godfather, but…
“Gene,” she breathes, unsure in that moment whether she’s glad to see him or not.
But the one thing she is sure about is that she’s glad not to be alone.
“Expectin’ someone else?” he asks gruffly, and it’s almost as if he is bating her to mention Evan. Given how short a while ago he left, it seems almost impossible that the two men would not have crossed paths somewhere outside her apartment.
Alex chooses not to rise to a response but instead steps aside and motions for Gene to step in. She can smell the alcohol in his breath - would have been surprised if she didn’t - but he doesn’t appear drunk, or at least not too drunk for conversation. And even if he were, she would invite him in anyway just to ward off anything else that might still be lurking in the shadows.
“That Evans bloke…” he starts, looking back as Alex shuts the door behind him.
“Evan,” she corrects him tiredly.
“Whatever,” he retorts. Alex can see his piercing, blue eyes focus on her face, and for a moment the air that only a moment ago had felt cold seems to sparkle with heat. “You and ‘im…” he says, eyes suddenly withdrawing, dropping first to her chest and then wandering off her entirely. “...’s there something I should know about?”
Alex almost lets out a laugh but swallows it back when something in the turn of his expression suggests to her that it must have cost him something to even ask. There’s no mocking in his tone, no bravado or accusation. In fact, his whole demeanour is distinctly subdued.
“It’s not really any of your business,” she says at last, following him to the kitchen which he has entered without further invitation.
“No, I s’pose not,” he mutters, opening first one cupboard and then another. “Now, “ he suddenly sounds more like himself again, “are you going to tell me where you keep the good stuff, or am I gonna have to turn this entire kitchen upside down to find it?”
He opens another set or doors for good measure and slams them shut again before looking at Alex expectantly. She raises her eyebrow and then trots to the sink and points at the cupboard under it.
“I’m not going to bend over,” she says, a hint of challenge in her voice as she presses her back against the nearest counter and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Damn shame,” he retorts before swinging open the cupboard door and leaning down to fish out the half full bottle of Scotch she keeps there for emergencies. Without pausing, he unscrews the cap and takes a swig before looking at Alex again.
“Sure, help yourself,” she says dryly.
“Don’t get all grumpy about it, I’ll buy you a new one,” he replies, offering the bottle to her. “Wouldn’t ‘ave come empty-handed, but wasn’t exactly planning this, was I?”
Alex doesn’t reply but she takes the bottle and brings it to her lips, lets the liquid burn its way down her throat and spread its warmth inside her even though she no longer feels cold. She wants to say there’s no need to bring another bottle because she won’t be here much longer, but somehow the words don’t come out. It’s not that she doesn’t want to leave - oh, she wants nothing more than to get back to Molly - but for the first time it strikes her that there might be elements of this strange reality that she might miss when it’s gone. Perhaps even Gene.
Perhaps especially Gene.
She stares down at the bottle and the amber liquid still swirling in it, and frowns. None of this, she reminds herself, is even real. It cannot be, and yet…
“What is it now, Bols?” he asks gruffly.
She barely hears his question, lost in her own thoughts. 'Why are you even here?' she mutters to herself, still looking down at the bottle. Gene was the product of Sam’s imagination, so how could he appear so real and alive in hers? So real and alive and so...hers.
“Are you talkin’ to me or that bottle?” This time Gene’s words penetrate her consciousness and she looks up, still a little dazed.
“I came ‘ere to…” he starts without waiting for a response but then falters midway. “What I’m saying is…oh, give me that blasted drink.” He reaches for the bottle in Alex’s hand and their fingers brush against one another briefly before he yanks the bottle to himself.
Alex watches her DCI down a considerable portion of the remaining drink as she starts to piece together the reason for his late visit. It has been a horrible night for all of them, but she can guess that its events and his own actions might weigh heavily on him in particular. She knows him well enough by now to know that behind the bravado and the biting words and fists, there is an unwavering sense of honour and duty that permeates all his actions, even when it sometimes catches up with him only after the fact.
“What are you trying to say?” she prompts, deciding not to make it too easy for him by putting any words in his mouth.
He looks down at his boots and puts the bottle on the counter. Then his eyes shoot to Alex again and she can see a pained expression that he usually keeps well hidden from anyone who might suspect he has feelings.
True to his form, though, when he finally speaks, he arrives to the point with no detours.
“I failed my team tonight, Alex,” he says bluntly. Alex, not Bolly, or any other variation of the theme. Not even just Drake. If she hadn’t already thought he was serious, the use of her given name would have clued her in.
She also knows he is not here to be coddled, and instead of replying with empty assurances, she says nothing to contradict him.
“You shouldn’t have let Chris and Ray beat Gil to a pulp,” she replies quietly. “No matter what he did.”
Gene looks down again. “Maybe I shouldn’ ‘ave,” he mutters. He pauses, glances at Alex and then turns to look at the wall. “Shouldn’ ‘ave given up on Shaz either,” he adds in a hoarse voice. “If you hadn’t been there…”
“But I was,” Alex cuts in, her tone softer than she had intended. That one had been her battle, not his.
“That’s right,” he replies, turning again to look at her. This time his penetrating gaze lingers on her. “I’ve not ‘ad a DI for a while and your fancy pants is not what I was expectin’ when I was told I would be gettin’ one but…” he pauses again, picks up the bottle, takes a sip and then offers it to Alex. “You an’ I...we’re a team now, Bolly.”
Alex meets his gaze for a moment and feels a jolt of something almost like regret rush through her. She takes the offered bottle and drinks until the liquid burns in her throat.
She cannot talk of leaving now. Not tonight. Not after what they have just been through. Not after Gene has just opened up to her. But she cannot lie and tell him otherwise either.
“Steady on,” he grabs the bottle from her. “I don’ need you passing out on me.”
Alex can already feel the numbing effect; the warmth that spreads inside her body and the fog that descends on her brain. It’s enough for tonight. She watches languidly and without protest as Gene screws the cap back on and slips the bottle, and what little remains in it, into the cupboard under the sink.
“Will you be okay?” she asks. She doesn’t mean just tonight, but to elaborate further would be impossible.
Gene looks at her oddly, perhaps sensing the unspoken depth in the question.
“Me? I’ll be right as rain,” he then replies briskly, pushing aside whatever inkling of understanding might have passed between them. “But you look like my old nan on her dying day. Go get some rest before you expire.” He weathers her withering look and adds: “And that’s an order, Bols.”
Alex rolls her eyes, but acknowledges privately that he has a point. She feels exhausted and she knows she doesn't have much time left. She needs rest and a clear head because the next few days could decide not only the fate of her parents, but also her own.
“Well, if it’s an order,” she says, hiding her fear and uncertainty behind a mocking tone. “I must do what the Guv says.”
“If only you would,” he mutters grumpily, but there is no bite in his words.
Without further conversation, Alex leads the way out of the kitchen back into the hallway and Gene follows close behind until they reach the door.
For a moment, there’s an awkward silence as neither quite knows how to part ways. This late night call is the first of its kind and, if Alex has her way, probably the last.
“You will apologise to Viv?” It comes out as both a statement and a question.
Gene grunts. “S’pose I must,” he mutters, as if he probably hadn't already decided to do so.
She smiles despite herself, feeling a sudden rush of warmth inside that has nothing to do with the alcohol she has just consumed.
“You’re a good man, Gene Hunt,” she says and stops just short of reaching out to straighten the lapels of his coat.
He looks away and Alex enjoys seeing the flustered look that briefly crosses his face before he manages to conquer it.
“Don’ go all mushy on me now, Bols,” he huffs. Then he shuffles towards the door and opens it almost too quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work."
Alex nods, fighting back another smile as she watches him make his hurried exit. Then the doors closes and she hears retreating footsteps echoing in the corridor again.
She braces herself for the cold wave that had followed Evan’s departure, but this time the warmth persists. She turns around and looks at her apartment but sees nothing lurking in the shadows, and for one fleeting moment, in a world that doesn’t make sense to her, she feels completely safe.