It most certainly wasn't something the Manc Lion would want other people to know.

But Gene Hunt was stretched over his sofa, whisky on the table in front of him, slowly nodding off to the sound of Peter Auty singing in The Snowman.

Alone, on Christmas Eve.

And watching a children's film.

Alex, he thought, might well be alone too. He hoped she was with her little girl, perhaps watching the same film as him with her, hugging her, smelling her hair, making sure she knew she loved her. He closed his eyes to block out the pain.

Crouched on the cold ground, warm blood gushing over my fingers.

He shouldn't re-open old wounds, especially with the meet-up at Luigi's in less than an hour. Alex would be able to tell if something was wrong. He wasn't having other people knowing anything about the man behind the shell.

1982 had been shit. Gene had high hopes for the New Year, but the old cynic within him told him not to hold his breath. He found that his hand was resting over his side. Nancy, he scolded himself.

Her begging me not to shoot. Alex's eyes, wide and frightened.

The Chief Super hadn't given him the nod to be back at work yet. Ray had rung him up and told him about the festive get-together. Maybe he should just give it a miss. It would mean a lot of pain if anything happened.

But the thought of just being here, cold and alone, on Christmas, stabbed into his old, tired heart like the icicles decorating his leaky gutter. If nothing else, he could have a couple of drinks and a chuckle with Chris and Ray. Luigi would be fussing over him, asking him where he'd been, offering drinks on the house when someone filled him in about how Operation Rose had ended (if the station gossips hadn't already). And Alex would be there.

His heart leapt, then crashed.

He just didn't know what to say to her.

Although, from what he'd heard in the background when Ray had called him, Alex did want to see him. To talk to him. What was the phrase she'd used? Talk like grown-ups. Maybe he didn't want to be a grown-up anymore. Maybe he wanted to be a little boy again, playing in the snow with his brother, cuddled up to his mother in front of the fire in the lull before his father came home and passed out on the sofa. Gene squeezed his eyes tighter shut, wrapping his arms around himself and scolding himself for being such a poof. He must be going soft in his old age.

A horn sounded outside; someone knocked on his door. Gene frowned, easing himself up slowly. If it was Ray, he wasn't answering the door.

He peeked out through the curtains of his lounge, half-leaning on the ledge to see out properly.

Brown curls, dusted with snow, atop a white leather jacket.

Gene sighed. Get it over with.

"Merry Christmas, Guv," didn't seem to convey anywhere near enough of what she felt, but Alex thought it was a good start. At least Gene actually made eye contact with her, something she'd missed.

"If you're letting me in, you'd better step aside. You can't be out in the cold for too long."

She had a point. Gene shuffled over, taking her coat to hang it up in his doorway, next to his own Crombie coat, thoroughly washed and re-dyed. His fingers brushed against it, and though he hated himself for it he took some comfort from the familiar rough wool.

"Which one's the lounge?"

"Livin' room? Through 'ere."

Forgetting that he'd left The Snowman on, Gene guided Alex through into his little living room, all but diving for the remote as he realised. Alex's laughter tinkled round the room.

"You can leave it on if you want. I love The Snowman. You've got good taste in TV, Guv."

He glanced up at her, sinking down onto the sofa.

"Oh, Gene. What happened wasn't so bad, was it? We've both come through alright."

"Debatable," Gene muttered, leaning back slowly. Alex smiled.

"I haven't had a chance to thank you. You could well have saved my life, Gene… more than once. I owe a lot to you. More than a lot. Everything."

He frowned up at her, unconsciously fiddling with the edge of a cushion. Alex moved over to perch beside him, deliberately ignoring the armchair beside the TV, disentangling his fingers from the cushion and holding them in both of her hands, lifting them up to press a gentle kiss to the back of his right hand. Gene gave the bare minimum of a smile.

"I thought yer'd want ter rip my guts out."

"I made a bad call. I shouldn't have expected you to believe the impossible. We both said things we weren't proud of, Gene… I'm sorry. It all ended up backfiring on you. If we'd worked as a team- if we'd stuck together, maybe it wouldn't have happened, maybe the 50 millilitres would have worked even."

"50 whats?"

Bolly's psycho-babble. I've even bloody missed that.

"Never mind. Just an expression."

Gene ducked his head, clearing his throat. It sounded too loudly in the little room, but all Alex did was smile.

"I'm sorry too. I should've trusted yer more. Shouldn't 'ave blamed yer…"

"I don't blame you."

"I don't blame you either."

"Clean slate?"

She dropped his hands and held her own out, making to shake his hand. Gene huffed a smile.

"Polished clean, Bolls."

He took her hand, relishing its soft warmth in his palm. Alex squeezed his fingers, and then pulled him in for a hug, leaping back as he gasped, both hands at his side.

"Oh God, Gene, I'm sorry, I just wanted to hold you so badly… I'm sorry! Is it hurting?"

"Little bit," Gene murmured, cursing himself. Ponce. Idiot. Fairy. Nancy. Weakling.

"Let me see?"

He didn't have the strength to refuse her. He nodded, lying back on the cushions and watching her as she eased his jumper and shirt up, her fingers stroking the pale skin over his now visible ribs as they peeled the surgical dressing away. The wound flexed with his breathing, a dark blemish over his pale English skin, still red about the edges. Alex winced in sympathy, bending to press a kiss to the skin above it, her lips hovering for a second longer than necessary as she breathed in his smell.

"Bolly," Gene whispered, reaching down to cup her cheek. "Why-"

"I feel like it's my fault, that I told you those things and then you abandoned me and then she shot you while you were trying to save me- Gene, you were ready to lay down your life for me and I was a stupid, stuck-up bitch too blind to see that I had to apologise to you."

"Yer apologised enough at the 'ospital. The sister said yer were there every day while I was- asleep." He couldn't bring himself to say in a coma. He shuddered at the thought of himself lying still and unresponsive, a machine breathing for him, completely oblivious to his visitor.

"But I could never really apologise to you. I apologised to a beautiful man who was too deeply asleep to hear me. A man who was somewhere else completely. You know who you were then? Eugene Hunt. That's what I thought of you as. Eugene Hunt, patient sixteen, Intensive Care Unit, Royal London Hospital. There was… barely any life left in you…"

Her voice broke. Gene didn't miss a beat in scooping her up, resting her against his body, making sure she could feel his warm breath on her shoulder, his hands rubbing her back. Alex sniffed, clinging to him, and just for a second it was 1981 again, as he carried Alex Price away from the burning wreckage of her parents' demise.

"Don't you ever call me bloody Eugene again, or I might just 'ave ter stamp on your pretty little 'ead," he murmured in her ear. She laughed onto his chest, hugging him closer, giggling until he found himself chuckling along, the both of them falling back on the sofa so that he lay half on top of her as the tiny scrubby Christmas tree's baubles winked in the light from the fire.

"You bought a Christmas tree," Alex murmured, playing idly with Gene's hair. He smiled sheepishly.

"Somethin' ter do. The doc insisted I couldn' do anythin' strenuous."

"I didn't think Gene Hunt obeyed doctors."

"Gene Hunt wants ter get back ter CID, an' the Chief Super'll only let 'im do that when the doc gives 'im the all-clear. So 'e 'as ter be'ave."

He paused, his gaze resting on the fire, the TV still flickering beside it.

"Did you ever believe in Father Christmas, Bolls?"

Alex stroked Gene's neck, unable to resist finding the strong pulse beating within it, stable and smooth. Unseen by him, her mouth curved into a grin at his question.

"Oh yes. I believed right up until I was fifteen. Then I caught E- my godfather with one of my stocking-fillers. He shattered my illusions. You?"

"My dad told me 'e didn' exist when I was six. Ter convince me 'e was lyin', my mam dusted the floor of our bedroom with icin' sugar an' put a bootprint on it, sayin' Father Christmas 'ad been in there ter check we were fast asleep. Didn' quite work, though."

"Why not?"

"No chimney in our room. An' the snow tasted sweet."

Alex chuckled, shaking her head.

"You tasted the snow?"

"I was six, Bolls. There's nothin' yer won't do when yer six."

"Bet you were cute. All messy blond hair and big blue eyes."

"Was too." Gene sounded almost smug. "Mam used ter take me ter the church services, 'cos all the old ladies would look at me, no coat an' cuter than a bloody puppy, an' give me ha'penny ter spend at the sweet shop. Used ter spend it on a decent Christmas dinner."

"Trust you. Any photos?"

"Somewhere. Can't be arsed ter find 'em."

"Oh, well, that's a shame. I was going to give you a lift to Luigi's party, seeing as a little bird told me you're not allowed to drive yet, but if I don't have a suitable reward I may just leave you here on your tod."

He craned over to look straight into her eyes, seeing the teasing in her green-brown orbs, the crinkles at the edges of her eyes and the smile that could make Gene Hunt's heart do a somersault and pirouette with his stomach.

It's as though nothing happened at all, they both thought at the same time.

"Well, can't be alone fer Christmas now, can I?" Gene said quietly, giving Alex one last glimpse of his rare and extraordinary smile before hoisting himself up carefully and pulling his shirt and jumper back into place, loping out of the room.

Alex cuddled into herself, watching his shadow rummaging in the room opposite, and let the biggest smile possible slide onto her face, giggling with pure happiness and surrounded with Gene's smell, presence, company.

She had missed him so bloody much.

"GUV!"

"You made it! Guv!"

"You alright, Guv?"

Gene would never admit it to a soul, but the looks on Chris, Ray and Shaz's faces as Alex drew up outside Luigi's and held the door open for him just about made his Christmas.

Until Ray and Chris hoisted him up, that was, grinning like Cheshire Cats as he fought to be put down again, calling Ray and Chris every CID insult he could think of in between pouting like a petulant child. Alex and Shaz stood by and laughed, the tears running down their faces as Gene grabbed a handful of perm as a last resort and yanked hard to make Ray drop him, with the end result that the three of them ended up in a squirming heap of Mancunian cursing and bad 80s clothing.

"Tradition, Guv!" Ray complained, struggling up and offering Gene his hand. "Remember Shaz? Yer not goin' in unless yer carried!"

Gene's pout increased in size, adding to the appearance of a sulky ten-year-old as he remained sat on the pavement, ruffled and covered in a light dusting of snow.

"I 'ave legs, DS Carling!"

"Oh, go on, Gene, what harm can it do?" Alex giggled, bending to help him up off the ground. "Just close your eyes and think of Maine Road, you'll be inside and being presented with the biggest tumbler of scotch in Luigi's history before you know it."

Gene huffed, brushing himself down and fixing Chris and Ray with his trademark glare; it didn't quite have the desired effect, as the two men simply grinned harder at the return of their Guv. Gene looked quite perturbed.

"You drop me, an' yer sorry arses will be back in Uniform before yer can say 'sorry Guv', yer understand?"

It was amazing, Alex thought, how much two fully-grown men could look like eager puppies when nodding and thoroughly over-excited. Even the handful of dislodged perm on the top of Ray's head (too close to a quiff for comfort) couldn't shake the illusion.

"Right then. Be bloody careful!"

Maine Road. Maine Road, Genie boy. That tumbler of scotch. Hmm… isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Ray even put on some deodorant this mornin'.

And then he was surrounded by cheering and clapping, the chant of "GUV, GUV, GUV!" echoing round Luigi's as he opened his eyes, being greeted by the entire of CID and what looked like the majority of Fenchurch East (and those from West who weren't currently in prison or hospital). Alex slipped in beside him, reaching up to take his hand in front of everyone, and although Gene knew he would pay for it later he grasped hers back, fighting to keep a nancy smile off his face at the sight of the seething mass of people welcoming him back to the real world. Even the Chief Super was in the corner, lifting his glass of wine as Gene's eyes met his in a silent toast and standing up to welcome him back.

"I'm sorely tempted to buy you a drink, Gene," he called as Gene was eased down, a chair appearing by his side almost immediately for him to plop into. Gene made to reply, but was cut off by Ray bellowing "You'll 'ave ter get past me first! Luigi, a scotch, an' make it generous!"

The whole room dissolved into laughter, and then more whooping as Gene downed the tumbler of whisky in one and shook Ray's hand in thanks.

Christ. All these bloody people!

Alex was tugged away to the bar, harangued into telling her tale once again by the WPCs and gathering quite an attentive audience; Gene remained sat by the entrance, slightly self-conscious in the absence of his normal suit, steadily draining another tumbler of whisky as several people plumped down in the seat opposite to talk to him. Most of them had opened the party booze early, he noted drily; the WPCs Alex was holding the attention of so successfully were most definitely just a pinch wine-sodden already, and most of Fenchurch West was teetering on the edge of drunkenness, but that wasn't so surprising, given that most of their superiors were appearing before the courts sometime in the near future or had already been sentenced. Below the solemnity, however, he could see a definite sense of optimism. They'd better cultivate that. They'll be needing it. But without their corrupt senior officers, Fenchurch West's officers could get back to doing what they did best and the general public would be a whole lot safer, and that was what he'd been shot for, after all.

He was in danger of becoming maudlin when the Chief Super plumped down on the chair in front of him, pushing a new scotch into his fingers with a smile.

"You bloody deserve it. I think you'll be fine to come back to work in the New Year, Gene, judging by how you're looking. Have you got the doctor's all-clear yet?"

"Not yet, but 'e didn' whinge at me so much last time I saw 'im. Must be a good sign."

The Chief Super chuckled, taking another sip of his wine.

"Good to know, then."

His eyes travelled over to Alex, leaning against the bar chatting with Shaz as Chris turned Wizzard up on the stereo. Gene rolled his eyes.

"Chris! Turn that down, everyone'll 'ave enough of an 'eadache tomorrow without you makin' it worse!"

"Sorry, Guv!"

"They respect you, you know. They'd crawl over broken glass for you," the Chief Super said gently, smiling half at Gene and half to himself. Gene frowned.

"They 'ave ter respect me. I'm their superior officer."

"Don't be dense, Gene. You saved multiple lives by doing what you did. You ferreted out a nest of corruption in Fenchurch West and you faced Mackintosh head-on and won. You've made the Met very proud, all of us. Each and every officer can stand a little taller because of you."

Gene cleared his throat awkwardly, taking another sip of scotch. It didn't help that he was starting to feel distinctly sleepy.

"Someone would've done it eventually."

"No, they wouldn't. Give yourself some credit, Gene."

He stood up, pulling something from the inside pocket of his jacket and putting it down on the table in front of Gene.

"I've managed to get them to put it back a week so you can be there. Metropolitan Police Bravery Awards. You're the guest of honour."

Gene opened and shut his mouth, huffing as he tucked the envelope into his jacket. The Chief Super frowned.

"I thought you'd be pleased, Gene."

"Awards ceremonies, trophies- doesn't mean a lot ter me, sir. I just did my job."

The man stood for a second, simply staring at Gene, and then pulled him into a one-armed hug, patting his shoulder as he stood up, a grin on his face.

"DCI Gene Hunt, you are an incredible asset to the Metropolitan Police. Remind me to write to Manchester and have a little gloat."

With one final smile and another pat to the shoulder, the Chief Super headed off, a spring in his step that Gene was fairly certain he'd never seen before.

The rest of the evening had passed fairly well, apart from Ray dressing up as Santa Claus and Chris dressing up as an elf and getting the costume on back to front, but on balance Gene was glad to be home.

Especially as Alex Drake was spooning him from behind, dressed only in her bra and knickers and sound asleep, her breath ruffling the hair over his crown. He was in no fit state to be doing anything strenuous yet, but that could wait; he was perfectly content, no, supremely happy even, just to have her lying here with him, her arm draped over his stomach, her warmth and scent all around him as the snow fell outside.

The clock downstairs chimed midnight. Gene smiled to himself, the small secret smile that saw the light of day so rarely it practically merited a news bulletin when it did.

He hadn't been a big fan for many years now, but maybe this Christmas thing wasn't so bad after all.

The snow outside gradually grew heavier, as Gene's own eyelids did. He craned sleepily up to get a better view, snuggling back into Alex as soon as he'd glimpsed the sparkling white piling up on his window.

Nowmally he hated snow- all it meant was worse driving conditions and having to clean it all off the Quattro the next day. But right now he was so supremely content that he actually admired how beautiful it looked. Bolly in my bed and everyone survived. Let it snow.

He wondered if he should revise his new-found opinion of Christmas a few hours later, when he opened his present from Chris to find a jack-in-the-box. Did the div ever grow up?

A/N: My humble little Christmas offering is complete! Dedicated to the A2A team for creating such an amazing show, XTimeGirlX for being a massively awesomelich friend to chat to while writing this and ever since I joined this category, and my dogs for coming in and nuzzling my hand off the keyboard at every possible opportunity. :D Merry Christmas, everyone! Jazzola :D