Prologue

"And have you been having any difficulty sleeping, Alex?"

"I'm taking so many painkillers that I sound like a set of bloody maracas."

"I'm talking about non-medicated sleep."

"I'd need a non-medicated night to know."

"Do you feel anxious about the idea of going to sleep without medication? The hospital said that you had nightmares."

"I've had lots of nightmares in my life. Once I had a nightmare that Simon was going around posting pictures of Kryten through everyone's letterboxes. I woke up screaming from that, too."

"Alex, I sense you're being defensive."

"Dear god, whatever gave you that idea?"

"I know that you would rather not be here –"

"Finally a suggestion I can agree with."

"But you understand that your superintendent has insisted that you and your colleagues attend these sessions."

"Yes, I'm well aware of his request."

"You've all been through a very traumatic experience. Some more than most."

"You don't need to hide behind words. Or your clipboard. We both know who you mean and what you are insinuating."

"You went through a very traumatic experience and a serious sexual assault.

"Pointing that out to me isn't going to make me want to discuss it with a complete stranger."

"Is that why you refused the advice about sexually transmitted diseases?"

"That's a very personal question and I'd prefer not to answer."

"It would help me a lot if you would decide to answer at least some of my questions."

"Ask me one worth answering and I'll answer it."

"Alex, I know that you know what you are doing right now. I know you are a psychologist too –"

"Well what do you know, a second thing we can agree on."

"If you wanted to you could just tell me what you think I want to hear…"

Alex stared at her hands. That was one she didn't have a response to.

"…But you're not doing that. You're being defensive and rude and making it quite clear that something isn't right..."

Alex took in her breath and listened to herself exhaling. It was preferable to listening to the psychologist.

"…So that tells me that on some level you'd like to talk more. Perhaps not now… but soon."

Alex blinked.

"Now I'm starting to understand why my patients hated me so much," she mumbled.

The psychologist looked at her seriously.

"You do need to talk, Alex. What you've been through is more than anyone should ever have to deal worth and if you don't face it then it will begin to eat you up inside. Perhaps if you won't speak to me there's someone else you would rather talk to?"

Alex closed her eyes.

"I have no one to talk to," she whispered.

"What about your fiancé?"

"What fiancé?"

"Your fiancé… Gene?"

Alex stared dead ahead.

"I don't have a fiancé," she said flatly.

"You filled him out as next of kin," the psychologist reminded her but Alex simply swallowed.

"I am not," she began flatly, "getting married. And I do not have a fiancé." She closed her eyes. "Not any more."

~xXx~

"Two decisions. Two bloody decisions I had to make. And I managed to get them both deep in the department of fuck-ed up-edness."

"Both situations were out of your hands, Gene."

"That's DCI Hunt to you."

"DCI Hunt. Although you might find it easier to open up if you relax. You're not in your office now."

"That's because me office is in seven million pieces, and the only thing I'm likely to open up is me gob to finish yer complimentary beverage before it goes stone cold."

"I see. And have you ever spoken to anyone about this latte compulsion before?"

"Lay off the latte, Headcase."

The psychologist sighed internally.

"Alright. I'll leave the lattes alone."

"Good." Gene lifted the large cup and took a disgusting, gurgling slurp from it that made him sound as though he was trying to use it to swill out the bad taste that the session had left in his mouth. He gulped half of the liquid down and then closed his eyes. He hated to admit it – fuck, he hated to admit it, but there was something on his mind. "Two decisions, Headcase," he said, taking secret delight in the psychologists' clear annoyance at being called Headcase, "and they both turned out to be smooth moves from the Gene Genie, didn't they? Had a choice. Could have saved either of them. Saved me better half and Simon got a building falling on his head. Then I had another choice – wait with him or escort me long-suffering other half to hospital." He listed his latte, wishing the psychologist would look away long enough for him to slip something alcoholic inside the cup, "and what happens? Bloody four-eyed gorilla gets his filthy paws all over her."

"You said yourself you only had time to save one of them from the building," the psychologist pointed out.

"I'm supposed to be the Manc Lion. When did yer last see the head o' the pride in a stew over which lump o' meat to eat first? When was the last time you saw a lion sitting down to question his morality in gobbling down a flaming gazelle?" the psychologist had met Gene in the past once or twice, usually after counselling traumatised recruits who had developed inexplicable phobias of filing cabinets. But this didn't seem like the same man. His posture was completely different; wrong even. Instead of sitting defiantly he sat defensively; his body hunched, arms folded and with as many barriers as he could possibly put between them. Even on the table he'd lined up his flask, three packets of chewing gum and stood up his Latte Land loyalty card like a wall. His accent had gone up three notches as though it had come fully back as a security blanket, another thing to hide behind, and his hair hung forward although it wasn't long enough to hide his eyes the way he wanted.

"You make hundreds of decisions every day…"

"Thousands."

"Alright, Thousands. You cannot tell me every single one is right, or that they don't come without consequence."

"The consequences don't usually mean I lose me flipping fiancée though."

"But you didn't; she is safe and sound now."

"Don't mean physically."

"What do you mean then?"

Gene shrugged like a sulking child.

"Won't look at me. Won't talk to me. Blames me for everything. Can see it in her eyes."

"How can you see it in her eyes if she won't look at you?"

Gene's eyes finally rose from his lap and so did his glare.

"Think this session's over, Headcase," he said and began herding up his belongings from the table.

"Your session isn't over."

"It is from where I'm sitting."

"We haven't spoken yet about how you're coping with your son's condition."

Gene blinked.

"Son?" he repeated in a warning tone

The psychologist looked at her notes.

"Simon."

Gene's face darkened. Genetics were still a sore point. He was devastated about Simon's continued comatose state but not as the anxious father. He missed his friend.

"Don't have a son," he mumbled.

"The hospital have you down as his next of kin," the psychologist reminded him and Gene began to eye up the filing cabinet.

"I said I did not have a son!" he barked. A split second later a vision of Simon as Gene had last seen him, covered with tubes and wires, flashed through his mind and he flinched. Swallowing hard, he sank back in the chair again and took a very deep breath. He eyed the psychologist. "However," he said, his voice suddenly dark and sad, "I might be prepared to talk about," he closed his eyes, "the grim prognosis of me best friend."

~xXx~

"She's my best friend and I can't do anything to help her."

"Just because you don't have an instant answer doesn't mean that you're not helping her."

"She won't talk to me, she won't look at me, she won't even cry, she just… sits there. Staring."

"We all cope with grief in different ways, Jake."

"I know. But I'm scared. I don't think she's lost anyone close to her before."

"We are here to talk about you, not Marci."

"I don't know why. I wasn't the one kidnapped or beaten or raped."

"You still went through the trauma of being in the building when the devices were triggered," the psychologist reminded him.

"I got away lightly."

"That doesn't mean to say that you won't experience a degree of –"

"I'm fine."

"You may feel fine now but if you need to talk about your experience –"

"Then I've got your number, thanks. Can I go now?"

"N-n-not quite yet, Jake. Some of your colleagues were concerned about the fact that you were… wandering around the wreckage with your shirt undone."

Jake froze as his cheeks turned very slowly from pink to red.

"Pardon?"

"You were quoted as saying the buttons were blown away in the explosion'." The psychologist looked at him seriously. "One of your team has suggested that you have a fetish for fire alarms and got a little carried away when they started going off."

"What?" Jake's eyes bolted, "No!"

"It wouldn't be totally unheard of. People have been becoming sexually aroused by tornado sirens for years!"

"Who the hell are these 'people'?!" he cried then shook his head, "Nope. Forget it, I don't want to know." He shook his head and sighed, "you can rest assured that I have no sexual interest in the ringing of a fire alarm," but his face darkened further as he thought about Robin and the moments before he was called away to the emergency. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, forget all about the shirt thing. It's not like it'll ever happen again." He shook his head, silently adding, I'm out of the picture now.

~xXx~

"She came back."

Robin stared dead ahead, his face as pale as the walls of the drab office. He swallowed as he tried to keep himself together. "I waited for months… thought I would never see her again and then suddenly… there she was." He closed his eyes, "and now she might as well not be."

"What do you mean, Robin?"

"Won't see me. Won't talk to me. Won't answer my calls… my emails… I'd write her a letter but she'd probably burn it."

"Remember that she might be going through as much difficulty as you are, adjusting to what she went through."

"It's not that."

"How can you be sure?" The psychologist noted that he didn't even consider answering that question. He blanked it out entirely, just as he had with several others. They'd all been doing that. This was the most infuriating bunch of patients she had ever had. "It's natural that the arrival of your ex girlfriend will stir up a lot of feelings-"

"She's not my ex," Robin said quickly.

"But you're not together?"

"We are… we were…" Robin had no idea how to explain it without mentioning the whole being-dead part. Damn that world. "She was…. Overseas," he lied, "we hadn't split up but her departure was sudden and we didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't know if I was ever going to see her again. And now she's back… she won't see me at all." He swallowed as he flinched. "Because of her new job." He bit his lip and tried to offer s mumbled excuse. "Loyalty to her new station… difficult position…"

The psychologist could see him becoming increasingly closed off by the second and decided to steer him onto another subject.

"How are you managing to deal with your experience?"

Robin gave a fitful laugh.

"Dealing with it? How can I ever deal with that? How can anyone? I'm still alive… that's as far as I've got for now."

"How are you getting on with the medication?"

Robin looked down.

"the rubbish bin was very grateful for the pills," he mumbled.

"The medication was prescribed for you for a purpose, Robin. "

"Me and the doctor were at odds over that one."

"How are you feeling in general? Emotionally?"

"Delirious. On top of the world."

"It would be in your interests to take this session seriously."

"I am!"

"You're clearly resistant to discussing this, which is understandable –"

"Then understand and let me go."

"Your session isn't over yet –"

"You holding me against my will as well?" Robin snapped before he could stop himself. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Look. I understand why we're supposed to see you. But we all cope with things differently. Maybe some of the others will get something out of this but I'm not one of them."

"You've been through a highly traumatic experience."

"Yeah.I have. I have. I know what's helping and what's not. Winning two hundred quid on the result of Eurovision helped. Talking to you is just making me feel worse." He shook his head. "I'll deal with it when I'm ready. At least I have that opportunity," he looked down. "At least I'm still alive."

~xXx~

"If we hadn't been…" Marci swallowed, "he'd still be alive now."

The psychologist looked at the sad girl in the tall shoes with the big hair.

"How long had you and –" she checked her notes, "Eddie been close?"

"Not that long," Marci admitted, "but that makes it worse." She breathed out, "thinking about what might have been." She put her head in her hands. "It's like he was supposed to die that day."

"Marci, no one is 'supposed' to die," the psychologist told her, "Eddie's death was tragic and clearly it's going to affect you and his friends and colleagues for a long time but it wasn't 'fate'. It was the wrong place at the wrong time."

But Marci shook her head.

"He was almost blown up hours earlier and I saved his life," she whispered, "he died saving mine. That's not tragedy. That's a bloody movie script."

"In time you will understand that this was just a very sad coincidence," the psychologist told her, "and although you have been profoundly affected by his death you'll understand that you cannot rationalise it. Eddie wasn't 'supposed' to die. It was a tragic loss that he did"

Marci shook her head. She couldn't believe that. Coincidences didn't come in extra-large. Suddenly it was time to question everything.

~xXx~

"She won't stop thinking about it. She thinks it was fate or something. She's got it in her head that he was supposed to die that day and now she's having some sort of," Shaz hesitated, "existential crisis."

"You seem more concerned about your friend than about yourself," the psychologist observed.

"Sorry, miss?" Shaz said distractedly.

"Every question I've asked, you've turned it around to Marci."

Shaz looked down.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"Then why have you been doing it?" the psychologist looked at her questioningly. "are you having trouble associating the experience to yourself? Do you find it easier focusing on someone else's version of the events?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Shaz said quietly.

"Then why?"

Shaz had a very sad smile on her face.

"It's just… it brings it all back," she said quietly, "seeing Marci go through that. Losing someone." She swallowed, "It brought it all back."

"You… lost a partner," The psychologist looked over Shaz's file, "you had some counselling last year. Is that right?"

Shaz swallowed.

"No offense, miss, it never really helped."

The psychologist almost sighed.

"Perhaps you should think about having some additional sessions."

"No, Shaz shook her head "It's not really my kind of thing. I deal with things in my own time."

"It doesn't sound as though you've dealt with it at all."

"Oh, no, I have, I was starting to do better." She let out her breath, "but now… seeing Marci grieving… it's brought it all back." She closed her eyes. "I miss her so badly."

~xXx~

"And the woman who came to your aid…"

Alex looked up, her eyes open wide.

"What about her?" she whispered quickly. She'd been silent for a full minute before that.

"She's a detective at Fenchurch West, isn't she?"

Alex felt her heart give a jolt in her chest.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Perhaps it would help you to speak to her," the psychologist suggested, noting the awkward expression on Alex's face. "An important step to acknowledging what you've been through is talking to others who shared in a part of the experience with you."

Alex closed her eyes and turned away.

"I can't do that."

"It will be difficult to face her, I am sure, but if you –"

"I mean, I actually can't do that," Alex swallowed, her voice starting to tremble, "because she won't speak to me. Won't talk to anyone." She shook her head, "she won't take our calls. She won't see us. She's shut herself away."

"Perhaps she's suffering aftereffects from the night as well," the psychologist suggested, "she may be traumatised too."

Alex felt tears threatening to form in her eyes as she thought about Kim, stuck in Fenchurch West with Keats. She didn't know what was happening beyond the doors of the station. She only knew that she would have done anything to save Kim from the darkness she had been thrust into.

"Yes," she whispered, "I suspect she is traumatised too."

But not as traumatised as Alex was by the thought of Kim being so close and yet so far away.

One jump and the woman was trapped in the darkness forever.

One night and the world had changed. Picking up the pieces was going to take somewhat longer.

~xXx~

A/N: This is the sequel to Perfect Day. In a contrast to some of my other fics this one actually starts off dark and gets lighter as it goes on instead of the other way around! I don't think it will rise higher than a T rating this time but there's always a chance so keep that in mind! It does of course deal with the consequences and aftermath of the events in the previous story.

Big hugs, thanks and a round of fishy biscuits to everyone who is still reading and I hope you'll enjoy this slightly different and off-beat story. I have a *lot* of feels for 1997 so I'm enjoying writing about this particular year – which was of course the last tie the UK won the Eurovision Song Contest (and the last time we ever will!) This fic is named after one of my favourite songs of the year and its connection with the story will become apparent in a couple of chapters.

Usual disclaimers apply, I don't own A2A or any part of it. I have adopted them for a short time, that's all!