She is ferocious will, an indomitable hurricane at once drained and surging, clutching his coat and scraping her nails against his skin and breaking his heart.

"It's over, love. Bols, it's over. Nothing here for you now."

"There's you."

She says it over and over, a prayer for every choking sob as though she's swallowing her rosary beads one by one. There's a madness in her, a desperation to own something, to come through this a victor, to not lose all she hoped to clutch between fingers that could never even contain herself.

"There's you, Gene. Me and you. Together. A team. You can't - you can't m-make me go in there, you can't force me! You can't make me, Gene, you can't make me!"

He wants her to scream at him again. He wants her to tear the flesh from his bones, strip him down to his bleeding heart and let him disappear among the dust and grit of this loathed world. The way she sags against him is so much worse, her body limp against his as she clings to him as though in a storm, sobbing, pleading, cursing him.

"Alex, love, you have to go."

She quiets against his chest and he feels her stiffen, can almost hear the snap of her spine as it straightens. And just like that Alex Drake returns, fierce and composed, resolute as fire and beautiful as ever. The madness gives way to determination.

"I made a promise, Gene. Back at the station. I said I wouldn't leave you. I keep my promises."

It is now he who feels like sagging, his muscles wavering about his bones, too tired to support him upright. "Please, Bols," he says, and his voice is scarce above a hoarse whisper. He is scared. Scared that she'll stay. Scared that she'll leave.

"Just this once, do as I tell yer."

She shakes her head. Sliding her hands to cradle his face, cold fingertips damp against his temples, she leans her forehead against his, allowing her breath to brush his lips before speaking again. He closes his eyes, allowing her proximity to overwhelm him one last time. He can feel her beneath his skin - suspects she's been there since the very first day.

"You need me, Gene," she murmurs. "You need someone to stop you...stop you from going too far. You need someone to stop you from becoming lost. Like last time, Gene…last time when Sam…"

"Alex - "

"You were that for me."

He can feel every whispered syllable against his lips and beneath his ribcage. He feels, for the first time in a long time, the beating of wings against that cage, a song some part of him long ago forgot to sing.

"You were my anchor, Gene, my compass. My east and west, my true north. You stopped me from becoming lost, stopped me from losing...from losing focus."

She kisses him then, a warm blessing against his lips that ends too soon. Already, against his better judgment, he craves more. Craves her.

"Let me be that for you. Let me look after you, Gene."

Her fingertips are threading the hair back from his face, amber eyes molten in the streetlight. The rage in her has died. She is only hope and promises and pleas unfulfilled.

She whispers against his lips, "I won't leave you here alone in the dark."

He is aware of the light from the Railway Arms fading behind them, the gradual unpicking of the pub from the fabric of this world and the feel of her in his arms, warm and solid and achingly real. She is tense, waiting, always waiting, for his approval. He nods imperceptibly against her forehead, pulling her closer as he lets out what he realises is a sigh of relief against her lips.

When he kisses her back, she tastes like stardust and iron and all the points of a compass at once.

It's short, and nothing wildly original. It was about 3am and I felt like stretching my writing muscles, I guess, and these two are always there in my mind – never resolved no matter how many different endings we all write :( Thoughts are always appreciated though!

All the usual disclaimers apply.