Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes or any of its characters. Depressing, isn't it?

AN: At the time of posting, I haven't quite finished this fic. I know how the plot wraps up, it's just what I do with the character(s)… ah, you'll see what I mean soon…

Kicking and Screaming

The door to the Guv's office was burst open to reveal a furious Guv.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

His words were directed at Detective Inspector Alexandra Drake, ordinarily a picture of health but who was now bent over her desk coughing and spluttering. Her forehead was damp with sweat and despite her thick, heavy coat, she was shivering.

"I work here," she croaked.

Gene quickly charged towards her, bent down like a rhinoceros. His shoulder collided with her stomach and he quickly stood up so she was draped over him in a fireman's lift.

Alex feebly beat his back with her fists. "Gene! Put me down! This isn't funny!"

"Am I laughing?" shouted Gene, storming out of CID and outside. He adjusted Alex slightly so that her flailing feet were nowhere near his groin and crossed the road to Luigi's.

Gene kicked the door down to Alex's flat, marched to the bedroom and dumped her unceremoniously on the red sheets.

Alex sat up, brushing the curls out of her eyes. "That was completely unnecessary!"

"No it wasn't," Gene argued walking into her bathroom and throwing open the door to her medicine cabinet. He came back into her room brandishing a thermometer like a weapon.

"Here," he said and tried to put it in her mouth. Alex recoiled and snatched it out of his hand. She placed it under her tongue herself and glared at him.

"What did the doctor say, Alex?" asked Gene patronisingly.

"That I was sick," replied Alex thickly since her mouth was full of thermometer.

"When did he say you could return to work, Alex?"

"When my temperature was normal."

"And is it normal, Alex?"

"Look, I feel fine!" Alex cried. The thermometer fell out of her mouth but Gene caught it just before it smashed on the floor.

"No, is the answer to that," Gene said, "I told you that if you came into work before you were ready, I'd remove you by force."

"I didn't think you actually meant it," said Alex sulkily.

"The Gene Genie always means what he says, Bolls." Gene walked to her door and turned back to her. "Get some rest. You're no use to me ill."

Gene left and Alex scowled at the bedclothes. She shrugged off her coat, got under the covers and laid the coat over her. She was still cold all though she knew that this wasn't due to death in the real world. An army of nineteen-eighty-one viruses had declared war on her immune system. Apparently, she wasn't immune to this strain.

XXX

The door burst open to reveal a sceptical Guv.

This time, Alex wasn't hacking up her lungs. She stood facing him, holding a thermometer in her mouth as though it was a long cigarette. As Gene walked towards her, she batted her eyelashes at him. He watched her closely for any sign that she was unwell but there was none. No shivering, no damp forehead… she was still wearing her coat but that was because she had just come in.

Alex didn't remove the thermometer until Gene was standing right in front of her. He snatched it and scrutinised it. Alex tilted her head to one side as flirtatiously as she dared. Well, pretty please can I stay, she tried to make her eyes say.

Gene looked from the thermometer back to Alex's face. "I don't pay you to just stand around, Drake. Get to work!"

XXX

During the week Alex had been off sick, seven prostitutes had been found dead, three killed on Monday, two on Tuesday and the last two on Wednesday- a worrying number and also worryingly close to each other. They had been drugged, their throats had been slit and their bodies dumped by the river. No weapon had been found and forensics had found nothing.

"They all stripped at the same joint," Gene explained, "Owned by a Michelle Capstone. She's claiming to employ them only as strippers. Knows nothing about them as hookers but we know that's a lie."

"How?" asked Alex, taking a sip of her tea.

"Four of the girls can be linked to the same client, Thomas Bryson. He gets all his girls from Madam Capstone. She keeps an account of which clients see which girls, how much they make and what her cut is. She says they just give private dances. If they just give private dances, I'll eat my Quattro."

"Does Bryson have an alibi?"

"He does on Monday- round his Mum's house. Tuesday and Wednesday he doesn't, alone in his flat."

"What days were the girls he slept with killed on?"

"Tuesday and Wednesday."

"Ah."

"The thing is we can't link him to the other deaths. I know you'll say that maybe the deaths aren't linked but the circumstances are too similar."

"Maybe the culprit is a gang and Bryson is a small part of that."

"Maybe," said Gene, his voice lacking conviction, "We still can't link him to the other three and we can't find any motive for the other four."

"But he's the most common factor."

"Yes," said Gene, gazing out of the windows of his office, "I wish you were there in the interviews, Bolly. You could have used your psycho-nonsense on 'im and told me if he was guilty or not."

Alex smiled sympathetically. "It doesn't quite work like that, Guv."

"He's still the only lead we've got."

"What about Madam Capstone?"

"Alibi, she was working in the strip club 'til daylight. Her husband-" Gene paused as Alex spat out a mouthful of tea but otherwise pretended not to notice, "- is due in for questioning this afternoon."

"She has a husband?"

"Believe it or not, Bolls, brothel-madams are normal people too!" said Gene teasingly.

"Do you think it was him then?" asked Alex.

"Dunno. To be honest, Bolly, it could be anybody."