It was Saturday… 1 AM to be precise. Standing in his office, staring out of the window, Gene sipped his whiskey and realised that Fenchurch East didn't need him anymore that night. The paperwork was done. The scum were locked up in their cells … there was really no reason for him to stay. It was hot, humid. Even if he did go home, Gene doubted that he would sleep. The truth was he didn't know where home was anymore.

His tiny house had never been more than a place to rest his head and keep his stuff. Sometimes he was more comfortable sleeping in his office. And Manchester? That wasn't his home, not anymore. Then there was the flat over Luigi's. The place he had been living for the past five days. It wasn't perfect. He knew that but nothing in this life was and it was confusing the hell out of him.

There was a knock on the door and Gene turned away from the window to see Alex standing waiting for him.

"I'll be along in a bit," he told her, moving away from the window and sitting down at his desk. He pulled some paperwork towards him, bending his head in an effort to look like he had some work to do.

"No you won't," she replied with brutal honesty.

Gene didn't bother to reply. She was probably right. It was the kind of night when he would find any excuse not to go back there. Reminded him of when he'd been married. There had been times when he'd spent the night in the office rather than go home and face the missus. It was usually when she wanted to 'talk' and Alex had that look about her tonight, as if she wanted to tell him something that he didn't need to hear. He wanted her. That was the problem. It didn't matter what she said or did … and he hated himself for it. Especially tonight. In the still and the quiet, when it would be so easy to give in to her.

"Go home," he told her.

As usual she ignored him and perched herself on the desk. Resigned to the fact that she wasn't going anywhere, Gene got up and poured her a glass of whiskey. He watched as she took one sip, then another.

"That's the thing… I can't go home, Guv. I don't know how."

She tipped the rest of the drink down her throat and held her glass out for more. Gene poured them both a refill.

"How much have you had?"

"Not enough."

They drank.

"This… us… it didn't work, did it?" she said.

"No. It didn't."

No blame. No recriminations. They had both lost, he realised as he sat beside her.

"Some of it was alright though… seeing you every morning running around in that skimpy nighty certainly got my days off to a good start."

Alex rolled her eyes in exasperation but there was a smile on her face.

"And just for the record, Guv, you would look so much better in boxers."

"There's nothing wrong with my pants, Bolls. The birds are always more interested in what I keep inside them."

She laughed, and Gene felt a momentary flash of annoyance, tinged with a disappointment he didn't really understand. He'd never had any complaints and he certainly didn't need Alex Drake to confirm or deny his prowess as a lover.

"Wouldn't have been that bad, you know," he grumbled.

"What wouldn't?"

"Spending the night with me."

He could tell by her raised eyebrow that she didn't believe him. Slowly, deliberately, Gene put his glass down and placed his hands on the desk either side of her. He leaned in close, invading her personal space.

"You'd have been screaming."

"Really?"

"Begging for more."

For one breathless second she met his gaze and then she whispered,

"Bet I wouldn't."

/\/\/\/\/\/

The End