This fic dovetails with my main fic "Hearts & Flowers". If you haven't read that, it deals with certain events that are described in Chapters 30 & 31 – Gene's childhood and the early years of his marriage when it all starts to go horribly wrong for him and the Missus.

This was going to be a one-shot but as usual, the characters have had other ideas and it's now three chapters.

The title is taken from an angst-ridden track about infidelity and self-loathing by "Glasvegas"

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He was grateful for the rain that poured from the sky that night. The raindrops hid the tears that he couldn't keep at bay any longer. He found himself down by one of the canals, more drunk than he'd possibly ever been, crying like some nancy-arsed poof; great tearing, snotty sobs that wrenched up from the heart of him. It was her birthday, her bloody birthday, and where was he?

With his mistress. No, she wasn't even that, she was just some silly tart he'd been shagging for the last few months, and had been stupid enough to get herself pregnant. Or that he'd been stupid enough to get pregnant, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, it was over now, irrevocably over, and he had to learn to deal with it.

Gene lent back against the wall of the canal towpath and groped in his pockets for his cigarettes. Christ! How had he managed to get himself into this fucking mess in the first place? Women, he thought. No, not women – sex. There was a distinction and he hadn't made it. He'd let his dick do the thinking for him and that's what had caused all the trouble.

He'd really let Lillian down this time, not just by cheating on her; that particular shard of guilt was well-blunted by now, but by getting Lizzie pregnant. A bloody baby. His Lillian would do anything for a baby. It was all she ever wanted. Ironic really that the woman he had managed to get up the duff, couldn't bloody wait to get rid of it. Wouldn't even consider the alternatives.

"Bitch"

He began to sob again, sliding unsteadily down the wall, to sit with his head on his knees. All he could see was an image of his Lilly, that last weekend gone, her face so sad and full of longing as she'd looked at her sister Mary's new baby, sleeping in her pram. She'd tried to be happy for her, had joined in with the baby name suggestions that Mary's other two young children had made. She'd knitted the baby a coat and pair of mittens, and a ridiculous bloody hat with a bobble on it, but Gene could see the pain in her eyes as she'd handed them over. He knew damn well that she'd wanted to keep them, to dress her own longed-for child in.

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It had all started when she'd lost the baby. She'd never said anything to him, just kept it all to herself and tried to make the best of it but even he could see how it had begun to eat away at her over the months and the years that followed. Every time they slept together, afterwards, all he could see was her hoping, wishing for it to happen, concentrating only on the desired outcome. She stopped thinking about them, or him, or about how bloody fantastic he was desperately trying to make her feel. Try as he might she wasn't enjoying it anymore, hadn't been for ages. It was as though a part of her was frozen and as much as tried, he couldn't make it better.

It had created such a tension between them that he'd taken refuge in the only things he'd felt comfortable with; work, the pub, and finally, inevitably, when it became clear that somehow they'd grown so far apart that there was no going back, the arms of other, less complicated and far more willing women.

She didn't know about them, and he did his best to be discrete; he owed her that respect at least, though sometimes he wondered why he bothered. She hated him enough anyway for his failure to get her pregnant, for his refusal to agonise about it as she did, for his relieved acceptance of their childless marriage. The stark truth of it all was that nowadays, he was bored. Bored with the tragedy of it all, bored with her misery, bored with a marriage that he didn't understand anymore.

And since he didn't care enough about it, it had all become his fault. She never said anything about that either, but he could sense it in her tight, simmering silence over the dinner table, her hunched defensive back in bed as she lay as far away from him as she could, the sheets and blankets pulled defensively round her. Every so often she would thaw enough to let him slip his arms around her and hold her, her jaw tightly clenched in resignation, letting him use her body in exchange for the slight hope of conceiving a child. He still felt some semblance of love for his wife; at least he thought he did, but he knew that she was gradually falling out of love with him.

He'd lost track of when they'd last had sex. Sometime before Christmas he thought, because he had a vague recollection her complaining about the cold as he'd fought his way through the bed clothes and the layers of her nightdress, to reveal her beautiful, creamy-white curves. He'd been a bit drunk, but not as bad as he usually was.

He'd ached to hold her, to touch her, to try and make it all better; for things to be like they'd used to be, but it hadn't worked. The worst thing about it all was that he still physically wanted her so much. Lillian was gorgeous and so she should be, she was only twenty-five, but the way she behaved these days, you'd have thought she was twice that. She'd lain there, tense and unmoving, waiting for him to "get on with it" as she put it, her once pliant and loving body unresponsive to his touch.

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Gene could vividly remember the day he'd first seen her, at the café round the corner from the Station, her big dark brown eyes smiling warmly down at him as she'd asked if he wanted tea or coffee with his fry-up. He'd gone into the café every day that week for breakfast and lunch, just to talk to her.

There was something about her that drew him to her, even though she wasn't the kind of girl he normally set his sights on. Lillian Henshaw was a well-brought up young girl from a good Catholic family and she most certainly didn't go out with young men like Gene Hunt.

He'd managed to find out that she usually worked as a receptionist in the big hotel in the middle of town, the one by the railway station where all the posh people had their wedding receptions. She'd taken a week's holiday from her proper job to help her Auntie Maggie whose husband ran the café. Her usual waitress had just had a baby and Maggie was short-staffed.

He'd preserved with her though, unusually for him, perhaps because she was so different. She was dark-haired for one thing, and he usually went for blondes, the obvious ones, the ones that were bold enough to look him up and down, even as he did the same to them, the ones that pressed themselves against him as they danced. The easy ones.

He couldn't be bothered with the normal rules of the game, what was the point; he'd never wanted anything from them long-term, and to be honest, if you'd always picked a girl like that, there was rarely any need for pretence. It was a safe bet that they'd drop their knickers for him without too much persuasion. It had been so easy it had almost become boring. He'd been getting a reputation as a thoroughly bad boy. Like his old man before him, he was handsome and charming, but all the girls had known that Gene Hunt would love you and leave you if you gave him half the chance.

On Friday morning as he'd ordered his breakfast, she'd let slip that she'd be at the dance hall in town that evening and Gene had wasted no time in rounding up a few of the other lads to go with him.

He'd seen her as soon as he'd walked through the door, standing shyly on the edge of the dance floor, trying to politely decline the advances of some spotty-face nonce who clearly wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd made his over to her to her, his long strides bringing him over to her side in seconds, looming arrogantly over both Lillian and the hapless lad he'd just rendered completely redundant.

"My dance, I think" he'd declared in a tone that brooked no argument and had felt a thrill of elation as Lillian had slipped her hand into his and they'd taken to the floor.

He'd danced with her all night and when they hadn't danced, they'd talked. She'd made him laugh which had surprised him somewhat. He couldn't stand the chattering nonsense that most woman came out with, but Lillian had been funny, with a sharp sense of humour and a clear intelligence that he'd found himself responding to .

At the end of the evening, when the slower dances had been played she'd still danced with him, her hand in his shoulder, her cheek resting gently on his chest over his wildly beating heart. She'd held herself away from him as they'd swayed to the music and when he'd tried to pull her tighter into him, she moved away, shyly but firmly. It would seem that Lillian Henshaw really was an entirely different type of girl from the ones he'd encountered before, and without even realising it, Gene was hooked.

He'd asked if he could take her out and to his delight, she'd said yes. They began seeing each other and pretty soon everyone knew that Gene Hunt had seemingly changed his wild ways, tamed into submission by pretty little Lilly.

He'd been unable to think of anything else but her. He'd even fumbled the arrest of some scumbag pickpocket because he'd been daydreaming about her when the bloke had run past him. He'd got the piss taken out of him badly about that and had been made to apologise for it by getting the first two rounds in, but he didn't care; he was enchanted with her.

They'd kissed, but nothing more than that. She hadn't even known how to kiss with tongues and that had blown his mind. Every time he'd held her, he'd wanted more of her. She was beautiful; soft and curvy with a ripe, peachy arse and a set of tits to die for, but she wouldn't even let him touch them on the outside of her clothes. He could put his hands on her waist, but if he'd dared to move them up or down, that was it, she'd pull away with that shy, regretful smile that nearly made him explode with frustration.

Maybe that was why he'd fallen for her so hard. He'd had to actually think about things for a change and by the time he'd realised that she wasn't going to be won over by his charm, it was too late. He'd wanted her too much.

He'd asked her Father for his permission first of course. It had been a slightly awkward conversation. A few days previously, William Henshaw had taken him to the pub for a drink, intent on making his views clear. Gene had been walking out with his daughter for over six months now and people were naturally beginning to make assumptions as to the permanence of their relationship. William had been adamant that Gene had a decision to make. He wasn't going to have his little girl made a fool of.

William had still been a little unsure of Gene's suitability as a son-in-law, but was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. He'd known all about his reputation, and his family history, but that said he'd been seeing Lillian for over six months, had never appeared to behave like anything less than a gentleman, and he'd seemed to be serious about his intentions towards her. He had a good career ahead of him and if there was one thing that William wanted for his children, it was progression, socially as well as economically.

William himself was the proprietor of a Tobacconists & Newsagents. A police officer for a son-in-law, especially one that was already tipped to do well, could only be a good thing, couldn't it? Even if the officer in question was known to have a temper and to drink a little too much? William had put it all down to youthful high spirits. After all, he'd been young himself once. He'd been sure that Gene would soon settle down.

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Gene had gone home from the pub with his mind in turmoil. Did he even want to get married? William certainly thought he should. At times like this, that Gene wished he had a father that he could talk to about it, but no such luck. Even if he'd still been alive, his Dad would have sneered at him for even considering marriage. His dad had only married his mam because she'd been pregnant with him. The threat of dismissal from his job had been enough to make him reluctantly do the decent thing, although he'd made Mam pay for it afterwards.

Maybe that's what had finally made his mind up for him; the fierce determination not to be like his old man. He knew Mam thought Lillian was a lovely girl, and Lillian definitely wanted to get married. Her elder sister Mary had got engaged a couple of months ago and he'd seen the wistfulness on her face as she'd admired the ring. More than that, he liked being part of Lillian's family. As well as Mary, she had three brothers and the house was always full of laughter and people. The Henshaws had proper mealtimes where they all sat down together, talking to and teasing each other as they ate. Gene loved it, the atmosphere, the warmth, the welcoming feeling that he got from them all, despite of his background and his old man's reputation as the local drunk.

He should have seen where it was all going, should have realised how emeshed he'd become in her life, but he'd pushed the thoughts away. A couple of the other lads were getting married. They'd seemed to have no real worries about married life. It was what everybody did and Lillian was beautiful, so full of life and laughter. He'd known she'd make a good wife, but did he really love her? He hadn't known. He'd never been in love before in his life, so how could he have known if this was the real thing?

Did it matter anyway? He'd known that he liked her; he'd liked the way she looked, nice arse, good tits and he'd been proud to have her on his arm, but more than that he'd wanted her desperately, wanted her with a hunger that had made him so hard it hurt.

He'd found himself proposing to her one evening in the front parlour of her parents house. His Mam was delighted at the news, as were Lillian's parents and the wedding date had been set for five months time, with William proudly announcing that the reception would be held at the hotel where Lillian worked.

The day itself had been bright and sunny and Gene had been uncomfortably warm in his new suit, standing nervously by the altar, suddenly desperate for a drink of water. Stuart was no help either, swigging whisky from his hip flask and dropping the ring on the floor, so that it bounced on the flagstones, the noise startlingly loud in the expectant hush.

When she'd appeared on her Father's arm, the music swelling from the organ loft as she walked slowly down the aisle, Lillian had been a vision of white lace and tulle. He could remember the tears of happiness in her eyes as he'd carefully lifted back her veil, the overpowering scent of the roses in her bouquet as they'd kissed.

They'd gone to Scarborough for their honeymoon and Gene had dug deep into his pockets and splashed out on a week in a hotel rather than a Bed & Breakfast. They'd stayed in their room for the first two days, lost in wonder of each other's bodies, only emerging at mealtimes, eating hurriedly, unable to think of anything else but falling back into bed again.

Gene had been patient with her, taking things slowly and gently, teaching her what loving was like, and my god, she'd been a revelation to him, her pale skin so soft against his body, her long dark hair spread across the pillow, her dark eyes gazing trustingly into his as he'd taken her virginity. He'd been exultant as she gasped and moaned with pleasure beneath him, her body responding so sweetly to his.

She'd been so eager to learn from him, not resenting his obvious experience in the slightest, although she'd been shocked when he'd suggested that she might like to take him in her mouth and in six years of marriage it had still only happened a dozen times. Even more shocking to her, had been his request to let him put his mouth on her and taste her. She'd refused point-blank to grant his wish, blushing furiously with embarrassment.

"Why not? It's OK. I won't bite," he'd joked, but she'd shaken her head at him even more vehemently and had clamped her legs together.

"No Gene. I can't. It's not right."

He'd asked her again, many times and she's always refused, except for the one occasion when she'd had too much to drink at Christmas. When she'd realised what he was doing she'd been horrified.

"What's so bad about it?" he'd asked her in bemused frustration. "That fact that I did it, or they fact that you actually liked it?"

She hadn't answered and he'd put it down to her background. He sometimes forgot what a sheltered up-bringing she'd had compared to him. She was uneducated about sexual matters and inexperienced too. He'd just have to bide his time with that particular pleasure.

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They'd moved into their own place on their return from honeymoon. It was a neat little maisonette with its own small garden, in a nice part of town. Gene hadn't given much thought as to where they'd live, assuming, wrongly, it now seemed, that they'd stay with his Mam for a while. He'd liked the idea of still being able to see her every day and Stuart had needed a close watch kept on him, too. Gene had started to worry about him. That was the year he'd started drinking more and more, hanging around with the wrong crowd.

However, William as usual, had other ideas and had put down the rental deposit on the flat as a surprise wedding present and as such, Gene hadn't had the heart to tell Lillian that he didn't like it. She'd been so happy, washing up their new china, making up their bed with the new sheets and pillowcases that she'd chosen. If she was happy, he'd reasoned, than so was he.

He remembered the day she'd told him that she was pregnant as if it was only yesterday. He'd been late home, pleasantly drunk from drinks with the lads to celebrate a successful arrest. She'd been waiting for him at the door; pinny on, her hair in a ponytail, lipstick painstaking applied – the perfect little housewife.

Dinner had been ready and she'd watched him expectantly as he'd eaten it, waiting for him to finish before she'd told him her news. As she'd talked about it excitedly, Gene had begun to feel the first stirrings of panic, a claustrophobic feeling clutching at his throat.

"Pregnant? You sure?" he asked, sitting down on the sofa, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.

She'd smiled, totally missing the edge in his voice. "Yes. Of course I'm sure. The doctor confirmed it this morning. I'm at least six weeks gone." He face had clouded slightly. "You are pleased about it, aren't you, Gene?"

He'd swallowed convulsively, before hurriedly reassuring her. "Yes, yes of course, I am, love. It's just a bit soon, that's all. I thought we'd have a bit more time together, you know, just you and me."

She'd laughed shyly, the blush creeping up her cheeks. "We've been married nearly a year, Gene. It's not that soon. Pamela Travis got pregnant on her honeymoon," She'd caught his hand, snuggling into the crook of his arm. "It's not like we don't get enough practice at making babies. You can't keep your hands off me. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

He'd laughed then, leaning down to kiss her. "Well, it's all your fault then, because you are so bloody gorgeous, it's true. I can't keep my hands off you. I just thought it would be later, that's all."

His fingers had edged their way under the waistband of her jumper, stroking slowly upwards, unclasping her bra. She'd whimpered in delight and soon she'd been naked underneath him, moaning with pleasure as he'd eased himself inside her.

He'd let her climax build slowly, teasing her to a peak, his fingers working gently against her clit, his mouth on her breast. He'd felt her start to come, rippling and pulsing around him as she'd cried out in ecstasy. He'd watched her face, loving the fact that he could do this to her. This was one of the best parts of a shag in his opinion.

He'd never been like the other lads, only concerned for what they could get. He'd always paid attention to the girls he'd gone with, triumphantly reducing them all to whimpering, tremulous wrecks, who could think of nothing else but the feeling of him inside them. He'd loved the contrast between a girl's controlled, buttoned-up neatness before she'd let him have his way with her, and the reckless, wild abandon that he could induce in her at the height of her passion. It was power indeed.

He pulled back as Lillian came, and began to thrust with long, powerful strokes, working his way towards his own release, pushing up into her hard. He felt her start to come again for a second time, before her first orgasm had even finished and the feeling of her drove him on, faster and deeper.

Lillian's eyes flew open in alarm and he felt her wriggle under him, tipping her hips back away from him instead of urging them up to meet his as she normally did.

"Gene! Stop! It's too hard!"

He'd slowed, looking at her confusion, his breath ragged in throat, teeth gritted as he'd tried to hold himself back. All he could think about was the feeling of being inside her, her hot tight flesh surrounding him, enveloping him. His cock had surged again with desire and he'd moved in her instinctively.

"Gene! NO! Go slowly!" She'd pushed her hands against his shoulders to stop him.

He'd frowned "What for Lilly? I thought you liked it like that."

"I did, but it's different now. You might hurt the baby."

And that was it – with those five words, it was over for him. He'd felt his erection wither away and die inside her. He'd slid out of her, kissing her briefly on the lips.

"Sorry Lilly" he'd muttered, but he hadn't felt sorry. He'd felt angry, cheated of taking his pleasure with her. The baby was tiny; a fuck wouldn't hurt it, for god's sake. How bloody long did pregnancy last? He'd taken himself back down to the pub again, leaving her to go and break the news to her parents by herself.

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After that, she hadn't let him touch her for the next three months. She'd done nothing but throw-up and hadn't wanted him anywhere near her. When she'd woken him in the middle of the night, his first half-coherent thought had been that maybe his luck was in at last, but then as she'd clicked on the bedside lamp, he'd blinked himself more awake and had seen her sitting up in bed, grey-faced and sweating with pain.

They were lucky, in a way. They had a telephone because of the Station needing to contact Gene at any time, and had been able to call the Doctor out immediately. He'd taken one look at Lillian and called an ambulance. Gene had been shaking by the time it had arrived, terrified by the sight of his wife's blood as it pooled between her legs, the bedsheets soaked and sticky with it. He could deal with any amount of blood and guts if it was to do with his job, but it had been Lillian, his Lilly who'd lain there sobbing inconsolably and he'd felt useless, powerless to help her in any way.

They wouldn't let him go with her in the ambulance, so he'd made his own way to the hospital, waiting anxiously in a corridor until the early hours of the morning when they'd eventually lost patience and told him crossly that he was only in the way and should go home. One of the more kindly nurses had let him look in at Lillian, lying pale and sedated in a bed near the door.

"And the baby?" he asked, hesitantly. No one had said anything about it.

"No good, I'm afraid." the Doctor on duty had told him, briskly. "Still, not to worry. Your wife's young. Just because she's lost one, it doesn't necessarily follow that it will happen again. Wait a couple of months and then have another shot at it. She'll soon forget all about this one."

He'd walked to his Mam's house, unable to face going home yet. It had been raining then, too, and he'd arrived soaked to the skin and shivering. She'd cooked him breakfast without a word, know him well enough to realise that he'd tell her what the matter was when he was ready.

Afterwards, he'd gone into work as usual; he hadn't known what else to do. His Governor had sent him home later that afternoon, having found him asleep at his desk when he should have been completing arrest forms. He'd been all set to give him a bollocking until Gene had explained that he'd been at the hospital with his wife all night.

"Well, if you can't stay awake, you no sodding good to us here, sonny. Bugger off home and get some bloody sleep. I want you back in tomorrow, and no more fuck-ups, Hunt. Is that clear?"

When he'd gone home to the flat, he'd found his mother-in-law there, scrubbing at the mattress. She'd given him a look of disapproval.

"I think I can get the blood out of this, but the sheets are ruined. I've had to throw them away." He'd nodded, blankly and she'd compressed her lips together before she'd spoken again. "Where have you been all day? Lillian was asking for you." Her tone was clipped and tight with anger.

"Work" he'd told her. "The team's one short without me."

Mrs Henshaw threw down the scrubbing brush in disgust. "You should have been with Lillian, Gene! You should have been where you were needed."

He'd gone straight out again to visit her, forgetting in his exhaustion that visiting hours hadn't started yet. He'd snatched some sleep in his car, before making his way to the ward in trepidation. He hated hospitals; didn't know why he'd even bothered to come as Lillian had been sedated again, and so had no idea that he was there. He'd felt vaguely foolish sitting silently next to her bed on the hard wooden hospital chair, his long legs sticking out at an uncomfortable angle.

He'd made a bed up on the sofa that night; the mattress was still wet and, despite Mrs Henshaw's efforts, the bloodstains still showed. He'd lain awake for ages; it felt strange not to have Lilly sleeping next to him. He'd tried hard not to think about what had happened; not because her losing the baby had upset him, but because it hadn't and he'd known that wasn't right. He shouldn't feel that way, should he?