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Her world turns upside down the moment Gene kisses her.
It's nothing like she has imagined, and she has imagined plenty. His lips are dry and the scratch of unshaved whiskers adds more spice than annoyance. It's gentle, and that's not an adjective Alex ever thought she would apply to this caricature of a man. It's quick, they are at work after all and it wouldn't do at all to be that indiscreet. But he withdraws and, with a wink and a leer, promises much, much more. Later, after duty has been done.
There's something missing. There always is, but Alex is used to that. This absence gnaws at her, surprising her occasionally with its bone-deep ache.
It's dismissible, of course. There's yet another killer on the streets and a distraction is always a distraction. But how much of that distraction is tailor-made, is question Alex still doesn't think to ask, even knowing how much she is living inside her own head.
There's a lead, someone to go and interrogate and she scrambles to follow Gene out of the station, always one step behind, always not as quite in the know. That, more than anything, scares her. How can a figment of her own imagination hold more answers than herself?
Part of the brain's defence mechanism, she thinks to herself. Hiding knowledge that would hurt. But the thought doesn't unlock that knowledge, 'knowing thyself' still not being the cure-all for self-delusion.
Passing the front desk, she nearly bumps into two fat men, similarly dressed, who are arguing with Viv, and each other, about a case of criminal damage. Tripping on a small object and briefly wondering where the baby is, she flees before she can be drawn into the argument herself.
They miss the suspect-cum-snout, which causes the Guv to swear somewhat. They don't manage to miss the pub-fight though, which causes the Guv to swear even harder.
It's a triviality that kicks it all off. The wrong colour bread being served to a patron of the rival pub down the road, all camped in the 'Horny Horse' on account of their own local establishment being 'closed for refurbishment'.
Already riled up with losing valuable information, Gene takes it personally and calls for uniform before breaking a few heads himself.
Alex shivers, each thump of flesh on bone echoing strangely in her head. She's standing at the sidelines, out of the way of the brawl, her earlier attempts to drum some sense into the Guv failing miserably, and avoiding the odd low-flying glass or chair.
She absent-mindedly nibbles at the sandwich in her hand, not at all sure how it got there. It's not so much the wrong colour, as completely inedible. The bread is dry and curled at the edges, the cheese pale and sweaty. She puts it down with a sigh and steps outside to find out where the back-up is.
Finally, it's later.
She sleeps with him, more out of confusion than lust. The emptiness is growing and she's terrified.
It's nothing how she imagined and there's fundamental truth there, if she is minded to grasp it, but he's moving his hand just there and sliding in so slowly, so slowly, and thoughts scatter to the four winds.
It's not gentle, but it's not rough and all Alex can do is just hold on, fingernails marking white half moons on his back, arching up into his touch, her body begging for 'just a bit more, just a bit more' until her orgasm crashes over her in waves. Gene chuckles against her neck and speeds up just that little bit more before following her down in to the dark.
It's moments or hours later before she can collect her thoughts together. Gene's sprawled on the other side of the bed, heat from his body warming hers and it's so quiet. She slips out of bed and into a robe, padding through to the living room.
It's the quiet that does it. There's something ever-so-lonely about the absolute silence.
"Molly?" she whispers, turning around the room, arms open wide.
There's no answer.
"Dad?"
She hugs the television, willing it to speak, to show her something, anything. Gene startles her a few minutes later when he wanders through from the bedroom, stark bollock naked. She really had forgotten he was there.
He sits on the sofa and lights a cigarette, staring at her.
"Sam used to do that, you know," he says, conversationally.
Alex raises her head from the black screen. "Really?"
"'e stopped in the end, of course."
"Why?"
"I suppose it was because he knew, eventually, that it wasn't going to speak back."
"Loss of faith?"
"Faith? I don't think he ever had faith. He had a second chance and tossed it away. Stupid bugger. At least you're decisive." He takes a drag on his cigarette. "It's better this way, you know?"
"What way?"
"Ya takes ya choice and ya pays the price. At least it's settled now."
"It's not settled. It'll never be settled."
Gene sniffs. "It is, you know. You just need to realise it." He finishes his cigarette and drops it into the dregs of the tea he'd had earlier. "I've got to go. Villains won't catch themselves. I'll see you in the office later, eh?"
Alex nods, still unsure and he returns to the bedroom. She doesn't move from her knees while Gene is getting dressed, or when he lets himself out of the little flat. She doesn't move until the dawning light starts to illuminate the room. Finally, knees protesting, she manoeuvres herself onto the sofa.
She scrubs at her eyes with one hand, unsurprised to note her cheeks are wet.
It's still quiet. There's no dripping water, no heart-beat, no Molly pleading with her to come back home. She's alone in her head for the first time since this all happened and it's as silent as the grave.
Well, it would be. Wouldn't it?