I don't own Ashes to Ashes
It wasn't her he wanted.
It wasn't blonde hair he wanted wrapped around his fingers.
It wasn't a black leather jacket he wanted to peel away in the heat of the moment.
It wasn't green eyes he wanted to look into.
It wasn't that rough voice that he wanted to hear.
In every way it could be, it was wrong; she wasn't Alex.
But when his eyes were closed, he could delude himself, temporarily, into believing that it didn't matter that she didn't have Alex's face and eyes and hair, and he could pretend that it didn't bother him that she was as different to Alex as she could be...
Because blonde to her brunette and black to her white, Jenette was the complete juxtaposition of everything he admired in Alex Drake... and above all the physical difference there stood the most important one of all; she wanted him when Alex didn't.
It didn't matter that she paled in comparison beside the woman who ruled his heart, because that woman didn't care; this woman, the woman who responded to his kiss like a moth to a flame, was offering him everything that Alex wouldn't.
If only Alex could have looked at him as Jenette did now...
If only Alex would breach the barrier of touch and allow him to kiss her as Jenette did, with need and fire burning in his belly like he had never known...
If only Alex had trusted him enough to tell the truth, to stand by him as whatever monster they had been fighting against reared its ugly head, without feeling the need to oppose him, to break his spirit and knock him back to the floor...
If only Alex, with her well-educated brain and her perfect arse, would turn to him and entrust him with whatever secret she carried with her, instead of spinning him stories about the future and a daughter he wasn't sure even existed...
If only Alex, whose heart and mind never seemed separate from one another in her policing, could find it within herself to trust in his feelings for her, to reciprocate them and understand that, to him, she should never have to explain herself, never need to fabricate lies and stories to earn his trust and implicit loyalty; she had always had it.
Until today she was perfection, and for as far as the eye could see he never envisioned another woman to compare to her; she was ballsy, she was confident, she was clever and she was sexy, and whatever archaic views he once held about feminism and the women who lead its revolution fast fell away when he looked at her.
Until today, when her lies had acted like a blade through his chest, he would never have considered her a liar, never have dared to imagine that she would deceive him, nor would he allow any doubt in her loyalties to permeate his brain.
And yet now, here he was, pressing a complete stranger down onto the desk of the woman he craved the most in the world, wishing away the images of Jenette's blonde hair and black jacket, replacing them instead with the soft brown curls of Alex Drake, the sleek elegance of her white jacket as it rested over her shoulders, because everything he believed was pulled out from under him, torn away and replaced with bitter anger and despair...
And it didn't help, to possess Jenette this way; she wasn't Alex, and she never could be.
He didn't stop.
But however many times he drove into her body, however many times he allowed himself to believe that by taking her here, in the scene of so many arguments and disagreements, he was displacing his own pent-up desire for Alex, it didn't help.
Because every time he moved within her body an all too familiar face flashed before his eyes, a burning reminder of the leather covered warrant card that rested securely in his left jacket pocket, just above the pounding of his rapid heartbeat...
Because whenever he closed his eyes, Alex Drake stared back at him. And whenever he opened them, he saw past the blonde mimic he was trying to fool himself with, through the charade of opposites, and saw instead the glinting of the silver desk plate from the corner of his eye; DI Drake was everywhere.
She was inside his head, and whatever antithesis to Alex Jenette represented, it wasn't enough to exorcise the demonic, innate need for her that possessed him.
He wanted to believe that he was helping himself, wanted to think that he was getting over Alex in the only way he knew how...
If he could only drive the willing body beneath his to oblivion it would be enough to rid his mind of her; because she wasn't Alex, and so she was perfect.
Because Alex Drake was trouble.
He hated her pushy, gobby, tarty way of bettering him at everything.
He hated the way she swayed around waggling her arse to get what she needed, ignoring his own bitter heartache as he watched her flit around so carelessly.
He hated how she sat there, pissed as a fart, night after night, and spoke in constant riddles.
He hated how she had manipulated his trust, how she had turned against him just when he had needed her support the most.
He hated how whatever he did, the one constant train of thought, the one glimpse of reality and life he could envision and have faith in, was Alex Drake.
Despite it all, she possessed him; even though she gave nothing in return, she had his heart, his mind, his body... Everything.
And here Jenette was, giving Gene the everything he longed for from Alex, trusting in his ability to protect her, allowing him to kiss and possess her as he had wanted to do to his DI since the moment he'd met her.
Here Jenette was, behaving so blatantly like the woman he wished Alex could be, and yet failing to make an impact, failing to even scratch the surface of whatever feelings had built up for the enigma that was his DI.
Because where Alex was tentative, Jenette was blatant and open, ready to give him everything.
Where Alex was caring and tender, Jenette was passionate and lustful, ready to offer him whatever he wanted.
Where Alex was cautious, Jenette was daring, and he needn't worry about hurting her or putting her down.
Where Alex was reluctant, Jenette was willing, a constant stream of readiness pumping through her veins that should have made him jump with desire and move away from the reservations of Alex Drake.
She should have been the perfect distraction.
But even when his mind told him Jenette was the best way to get over Alex Drake, and even when his body responded to his frenzied outlet of pent up passion and rage which he slaked on her body, he couldn't bring himself to believe it....
Because it wasn't her he wanted.
Because it was brown hair, not blonde, that he wanted wrapped around his fingers.
Because it was a white leather jacket, not black, that he wanted to peel away in the heat of the moment.
Because it was hazel eyes, not green, that he wanted to look into.
Because the harsh voice he heard beneath him wasn't the posh voice he longed for.
Because in every way it could be, it was wrong...
Because she wasn't Alex.
Time for bed now :-)
Mage of the Heart