Ok, so this isn't the sequel I promised, direct all complaints Gene's Gilly. It's all her fault for saying that she didn't think we'd seen the last of Geoff 'the creepy weirdo' Potter. My hope is that this little story will bridge on to the final part, but then I'm done with the pervy freak.

I will eventually write that other thing that I promise to write next, no honest really will! Look I told you people not to hold your breath; I just knew that inspiration would dictate otherwise. Besides, have you seen the weather, you can hardly call that 'Summer' so until I get some proper sun I don't have to write or post a bean!

Anyway, this is a continuation of my story 'Nobody loves you the way I do' so probably best to read that first if you haven't (if you have then thanks!) otherwise this may make very little sense.

A very big thank you to Bronze Cortina for her tireless efforts as my loyal Beta, m'dear I don't think I'd get anything posted without you. Also a big thank you to Gene's Gilly for her inspiration and knowledge of grammar , I owe you one mate, I thought we had seen the last of him!

Alas the concept of Ashes to Ashes isn't mine and neither are the characters. Nor can I take any credit for the poem in chapter one 'Music, when Soft Voices die' by Percy Bysshe Shelly.

Reviews and constructive criticism greatly received! After all they are the internet version of 'a hug in a mug' (gotta love those crazy blue arms)!

Cheers, Leakybiro!

He is standing on the other side of the road, just watching her, on a Friday evening at the height of summer. He knows it's a risk to be there, but she is too beautiful not to chance it, even for just a moment of observation from afar. Greedily he drinks in everything about her, unable to ration himself in his study.

She is standing alone, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs to the Trattoria she likes to frequent. Dressed simply in the prettiest corn blue summer dress, a soft white cardigan is draped over her shoulders. A picnic basket and rug rests by her feet, which are clad in delicate summer sandals. Her face is tilted to the sky and her hair is gently ruffled by the cool breeze. He notices subtle differences about her since the last time he saw her. Eighteen months is a long time not to see someone, particularly when you love them as much as he loves her. Her hair is longer and blonder; the curls have become softer and looser. Her face is relaxed and open. To him she looks like a beautiful summer rose blossoming and the way she stands bathed in sun reminding him of a Grecian Nymph playing at the waters edge.

He thinks back to the last time they were as close as this, and how it had ended so badly, with them at loggerheads thanks to her bastard DCI. He hadn't understood why then, still didn't understand now. Hadn't he shown her only love and devotion? The look on her face the last time they'd locked eyes felt like a knife in his heart, the memory of her expression seared into his soul. She had stood there, her skin as pale as her leather jacket, eyes red rimmed and ringed by the dark circles of many sleepless nights. Her features had remained stoic through out the entire trial, the only time she showed that he'd had any effect on her was when she was in the witness box giving her testimony. Sobs had racked her body as she told of her shattered life and the terror she had felt at his mercy; he recalled how he had revelled in every detail of the way she described his presence as infecting her life. He'd luxuriated in the angry and fiery words she had used, some relationships, just like his and Alex's, were all passion and sadism. Memories of that day in Court was the only thing that kept him warm on those long cold lonely nights in prison, the thoughts that he had an affect on her the same way as she had affect on him.

Her boss had almost been in direct contempt of court, his behaviour bordering on psychotic as he shouted at the defence to leave Alex alone. At him to stop being such a twisted sick bastard and enjoying her agony. The joy had been short lived though as he remembered how it had felt like a punch to the gut as he watched that bastard boss of hers hold her so close as the verdict was read out and then lead her out of the court room, his fingers intimately entwined with hers.

Finally he brings himself to look at her left hand. Oh the blessed relief at its nakedness lifts his heart; maybe she is alone after all and not waiting for him but waiting for someone else... dare he think it might be him?

His observations are interrupted with the squeal of brakes and he sees the bastards Red Quattro - he can't bring himself to say his name - pull up in front of her. He sees him get out and his insides writhe with vitriolic anger as he walks towards her.

Gene is late and still dressed in his work suit, although he's discarded the jacket; the top two buttons of his shirt are undone and his tie hangs loose. He tries to explain to Alex but she's not fooled by his excuses, so he just apologises, handing her a bouquet of flowers. Alex smiles at him, shaking her head with a look of amused exasperation before Gene sweeps her up into his arms and kisses her. When their kiss breaks he leans in and whispers in her ear, she laughs and playfully hits him in the chest. He grabs her by the hand and picks up the picnic basket, pulling them both to the car with a sense of rushed excitement.

As he watches the scene unfold before him he remembers, he murmurs:

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

He wonders if she is as happy as she seems - the hunted look has gone from her face and her eyes dance with a sparkle but without doubt she has to have missed him. Surely her happiness isn't because of his absence; it must have been such torture for her as it was for him. Perhaps she is happy because now he is free, she can be with him and he with her; they can be together, for ever.

There is only one dark cloud on the horizon; she is still with him, that bastard, DCI Gene Hunt. As he watches them embrace he feels a pain stab in his chest, he just wishes she was less of a public slag. It was hardly appropriate to grope a superior like that in public, whether he was your lover or not. The thought of him in her bed, taking his own rightful place next to her makes him sick to the pit of his stomach. She can't love him – no, it is merely a relationship of convenience of course; she is using him to get ahead in the game. Oh, what a clever girl his Alex is.

The one thing he can't fathom though is why she rejected him in private; it's one thing to do it in public to keep up the pretence, but why do it when they were alone, why? After all, hadn't he shown her only adoration and devotion? Why did she reject him? Why couldn't she just love him, as he loved her? Why? Why? Why? He had felt so cheated it made it him feel sick with anger when they ended up in court. But he hadn't let their love be sullied by the sterile court proceedings and he never stopped loving her, not once.

The prison beatings he endured were merely the price of loving such an angel. If they were his cross to bear then, like all those martyrs before him, he would nobly accept his flagellation for her. Whilst imprisoned he could no longer watch over her like her seraph or worship at the altar of her, walk among her things, stroke where she lay at night or place his lips on her clothes where they touched her most intimately. Instead he created a tome devoted solely to her and after each time it was destroyed he would go back to the prison library and painstakingly rebuild it. Reverently transcribing every article, like a medieval Monk illuminating a biblical scripture. His scrapbook became his bible, charting her successes, her commendations and her bravery.

He becomes aware of eyes on him as he still stands there, the sound of the engine long gone and her with it. He looks around and sees them, the band of people who accompanied her on that fateful day. The beginning of 479 long desolate days without her. It's only the girl that has seen him but she is staring intently and tugging on the arm of the young idiot. While the girl turns to her companions, the idiot and 'mini Guv' as he like to call them, he feels it's time to beat a retreat and slips away down the street. While she turns to point him out, he wonders where she has gone tonight, what she is doing, as tonight is Alex Drake's birthday. Will the presents she gets tonight be as special as those he plans for her?

When Shaz, Chris and Ray look back to the spot where Geoff Potter had stood just moments before the space is empty.