L'esprit de L'escalier
by Hikaru

Foreword: EXTREME SPOILERS FOR THE END OF SERIES 2.

Gene woke up with a start. Lost, for a moment, trying to remember where he was. He quickly assessed that he was in a hospital room, sitting in a very uncomfortable chair. Then he remembered. His back was killing him. The sun was shining into the window behind him. Had he spent all night here? It wasn't the first time, but it was starting to rage war on his body. He would have to sleep in a proper bed, and soon. He had snuck into her flat once or twice, and slept on the couch. It was better than nothing. He couldn't go back to his own flat, could he? He'd thought about taking up at some hotel, but in the end the only place he could bring himself to stay was where she had been. It was the last place anyone would look for him. Not even a panda parked outside.

Stretching his back, he looked over to her as she lay on the bed. She looked as if she was quietly sleeping, if it weren't for all the tubes rammed in her nose and the numerous wires coming out from everywhere. It had been a week since it happened. A very long week. Surely, by now it was time for her to wake up?

The first time he went to the hospital, he had snuck in. Screamed, pleaded with her to wake up. He was caught by a nurse, but she assumed that he was the patient's husband. He said nothing to correct her. In his state, even if he had, she wouldn't have believed him. He was too upset. The nurses even tried to comfort him, offering to bring him tea and lunch, letting him know that his wife was very lucky to not have anything vital pierced by the bullet, and reassuring him that yes she should be waking anytime now and for him not to worry.

It was the perfect cover.

Everyone was looking for Gene Hunt. No one was looking for Mr. Drake. So long as no one visited her, there would be no one to inform the hospital otherwise. Every day he expected someone to come waltzing through her door. A handsome man perhaps. That Boris fellow or that Evan bloke, even. He would be carrying flowers or some nonsense that people give to coma patients to make themselves feel better, and demand to know who Gene was. And then Gene would have to leg it. But no one did visit. Not even that daughter of hers, wherever she was. He had never realized just how alone Alex Drake was in this world until now. Just as alone as he was. So the least he could do was be here for her, so she wouldn't be alone. But it was more than that. He wanted, needed, to be there when she woke up. Needed to watch her as her eyes fluttered open. When she would have that inevitable maddening look of confusion on her face. He needed to see that. There were things he had to say. Apologies. He tried practicing in his head over and over what he would say then.

Nothing seemed like it would be enough.

Heaving a sigh, he leaned over to her bed, anchoring his lower arms for support as he looked at her. "Come on, Bolls. You need to come back."

He felt a hand on his shoulder then. He assumed it had been one of the nurses again, trying to give him more unwanted support. But then he heard a voice he knew quite well. "'ow's she doin'?"

Gene's head whirled around to see Ray. He jumped back from the touch, as if he had just been burned. He quickly jumped out of his chair and leaned against the close-by floral curtained wall. "Jesus Christ, Ray!"

Ray put his hands up defensively. "Sorry, Guv! I didn' mean any 'arm!"

Gene's breathed heavily as he tried to get over the surprise. Ray muttered another apology, and took a step closer. Gene avoided eye-contact with his DS, finding the floor much easier to look at.

Obligingly, Ray didn't look at him. He instead looked at Alex, laying there on the bed. But even that was too hard, so he stared at the heart monitor. "She looks like she has some color back in 'er cheeks."

Gene turned his back to the bed, to everything. He closed his eyes and sniffed. "'ow'd you know I was 'ere?"

"I came last night to check on 'er." Ray quickly added, "You know, because Shaz has been askin' nonstop about 'er-- but the nurses said that she could only 'ave one visitor after-hours. So when I asked who was 'ere, they said Mr. Drake was."

Snorting, Gene shifted the weight on his feet. "It could 'ave been, you know."

"Christ, Guv, the whole bleedin' department knows she's not married! Everyone knows she-" Ray cut himself off before he said the thing that had been deemed unspeakable, but known by everyone for a year now. Frustrated, he turned his back to the Guv, to Alex, and muttered to himself.

Pushing his lower hip out, Gene glanced over to Ray. "Come to take me in then, eh? Catch the bastard that did this to 'er?"

"No," Ray said, turning to face Gene again. "Mr. Drake was 'ere to see 'er, just like the nurse said."

Gene nodded, holding back a swell of gratitude to his subordinate at the moment. "Thanks Ray," he said quietly. Gene turned his attention back over to Alex. He took the few steps over to her bed and stared at her again. Willing for her to open her eyes. It would be even better now that Ray was here. She could wake up and tell him, so he could tell everyone, that it was an accident. That he didn't mean it. That he-

Ray interrupted his train of thought by speaking. "'ow could you, Guv? She only was trying to 'elp."

"I didn't shoot 'er, Ray," he said, leaning towards Alex again. He made sure not to get too close while Ray was watching. Gene didn't want him to assume things.

"Yes, you did."

Gene closed his eyes as he let out a frustrated grunt. "Yes. I did." More quietly he added. "I shot her." Gene shook his head, trying to shake out all of his emotions. Not bloody now, not while Ray was watching. "But it was an accident. I told you-" He locked eyes with Ray, his expression almost fearful. "It was an accident." Gene looked back at Alex in that horrible bed. "Christ, why did this 'appen?" Gene breathed as he pushed both of his hands over his face and through his hair.

Staring back at the Guv, Ray let out a long breath as he looked to his side, as he often did when he was uncertain of something. He was dying for a fag. "The 'igher ups insisted that we start a criminal investigation. Scotland Yard an' all."

"Ray, I don't need this."

"I think you do." Ray said with a raised voice. He shook his head. "After what we all 'eard you tell Drake that night... things look bad, Guv. Real bad."

"You don't know-"

"I 'eard the tape." Ray said, glaring. Gene looked up at him, bewildered. "Yeah. The one in your office. And never does she say a word about bein' bent. All she talks about is 'ow she 'ates this place and 'ow she 'as to fight you. Well," Ray shrugged. "Sounds a bit like someone we both knew, don'it?" Ray sighed, letting his words hang in the air. He knew bringing Tyler up wouldn't help this situation. Christ, if only he was here, he'd know what to do.

Gene glared. "Let it alone, Ray."

Shaking his head, Ray reached for something inside his jacket pocket. "Fine, Guv. Whatever you say. Anyway, that's not why I came," he said, placing something on her bed next to Gene's left elbow. Gene looked over to see a white envelope with his name written on it. "We found that while we were cleanin' 'er desk..."

Gene nodded in acknowledgment. It was her letter to him. The last thing he wanted in the world was to open up that letter. Lord knew what would be in there. What confessions she made about him. He might as well squirt lemon juice into his eyeballs.

"Well then, now that's sorted, I'm going back." Ray tried to sound cheerful, but it failed. "Goodbye Mr. Drake," he said playfully with a melancholy smile on his lips. As Ray turned to leave, he paused and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, Shaz uh... is plannin' to visit 'ere around tea time. I wouldn't be 'ere if I were you."

Shallowly shaking his head, Gene dismissed Ray. Before Ray could leave though, Gene shouted out, "I thought you said Shaz sent you 'ere?"

Halfway out the door, Ray froze. "She did," he replied, gruffly.

After Ray was visibly gone, Gene slammed his head against the bed, his arms shifting as he did so. For a moment, his hand brushed up against hers. But he jumped back instantly. He couldn't touch her. He wouldn't allow himself to. Not after what had happened. No, the next time he would touch her, it would because she asked him to. When she was awake. After she forgave him. If she forgave him.

In his hasty movement, he knocked the envelope to the floor. As he heard the paper brush with the tile floor, he looked down at the letter. He was torn between opening it and burning it. The former because part of him thought he deserved to be tortured further. If it was filled with wonderful things she thought about him, then it would make him feel like even more of a bastard, which he deserved. The latter because it would have been easy to forget she had even written it.

Sod it, he told himself as he reached down to the floor. He wasn't careful in the least as he opened it. The envelope was in ruins, and he had torn part of the letter itself. But it was still readable.

Gene,

I could fill this letter with all of the problems I have with you and your life. With suggestions, an alternative outlook to your future, words of wisdom towards your dressing habits. But I won't. Because as I sit here writing this letter, I've realized that there are things more important to tell you.

All this time I have been here, you have held me to the ground--the gravity that binds me to this earth. You've saved me in more ways than you know. There are things that I should tell you, need to tell you, but when I think of how I should put them into words, I can't. I'm afraid of what might happen if I did.

I hope, no I know, you understand what I mean.

Please don't hold a grudge against me now that I am gone. Because as hard as it might be for you, know that it will be twice as hard for me.

I will miss you.

- Your Bolly

A petite nurse, in her late fifties, walked into the room. She carried a mug of tea and a plate of pink wafers. "All of those raised voices, what's going on in here?" She placed the plate on the small end-table to the right of Gene. When Gene said nothing, she placed her hand on his shoulder. "You all right?"

His shoulders jumped as he snapped back into reality. "Oh, yeah Felicity. Fine." He crumpled up the letter and stuffed it into his pocket. "Fine," he repeated, still glassy-eyed.

"I brought you some tea. Thought you could use a bit of soothing after that bloke walked out the way he did." She jerked her head towards the door. "Who was he anyway? Said he was a policeman."

With a deep breath, he shut everything away again. Gene closed his eyes tightly and then stood up. And the Manc Lion was back. He gave Felicity a smirk and nodded. "That 'e was. 'E just 'ad some questions about the shooting. Nuthin' to worry about. Just didn't really want to talk to him, that's all."

"Well, anything that might help catch her shooter, they need to know, Mr. Drake." Felicity said, shoving the mug of tea into his hands. "You should tell them."

"I know. Just wasn't up for a chat at the moment, that's all," he replied, talking a swig of the tea. No sugar, and too much cream. But it helped clear his head. And that was what he needed. He looked up at the clock hanging on the wall. It was an hour to tea. "Look, love, I need to uh... go out for a few hours. Get a bit of kip, you know. You'll watch over her, won't you?" He took another huge gulp of tea.

"Of course, dear."

"Thanks," Gene nodded as he reached for his jacket.

He took one last look at Alex before he left. Leaning over her bed, his fingers hovered over her face, her lips. But he didn't touch. Couldn't touch. Not yet. His hand curled into a fist, which he then brought to his side. "I'll be back soon, Bolly," he tried to say in a way that a husband would.

Nodding again to Felicity, he briskly walked by her. His jacket flaps billowed as he left the room. Digging his fists into his pocket, his hand curled around the ball that was now her letter and squeezed it tightly.

I hope, no I know, you understand what I mean.

He did understand. He understood it too well, in fact.

And that was the hardest part of it all.

fin