Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes, but I wouldn't object to having Gene in my Christmas stocking!

"The Night Before Christmas" was written by Clement Clarke Moore, and last Sunday I saw Philip Glenister read it to the Flicker Club at the Hampstead Theatre.

Once again, I have to apologise for not having posted anything for months. A combination of work pressures, an unprecedented number of music reviews, and the delicious distraction of the gorgeous Mr Glenister in "This House" at the National Theatre, have all left me with no time at all to post anything. I've managed to scrape together the time to write the first chapter of my Christmas fic for this year and most of the second, so I'm posting the first chapter now and will post the second as soon as I finish it, hopefully before the New Year. I also hope to resume posting of "Much Ado" and "The Beginning of an Era" in the near future.

In the meantime, a Merry Christmas and a happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy New Year to one and all – and any reviews would be a wonderful Christmas present!

In the days after her parents died, Alex felt herself withdrawing from the world. She worked, she ate, she slept, but everything she did was mechanical, and she felt hugely distant from everyone around her. She had seen too many cases of depression not to recognise the signs in herself, but she felt powerless to resist the black cloud that engulfed her.

What started to pull her back to life, was the approach of Christmas. She had always taken a childlike delight in all the trappings of the festive season, and she remembered how her pleasure in the decorations, presents and carols had helped her to face her first Christmas without her parents when she was eight years old. She realised now, how Evan must have strained every nerve and muscle to make sure that the day was as good for her as possible. They had spent it quietly together, as she had no relatives to invite her to join them, and her friends and their families had avoided including her to their celebrations, doubtless because they had no idea how to deal with a grieving child. But he had given her beautiful presents and a delicious dinner, and they had played games and watched television in the evening, and she had been allowed to stay up far later than usual. It had all been lovely. Now I come to think of it, we did have a visitor that day, who had Christmas dinner with us. Why can't I remember who it was?

Now, she found that the sight of the shop windows full of seasonal displays, the gleaming lights festooned across the streets, the Salvation Army playing and collecting for charity outside Liverpool Street station, the Christmas trees shining in living room windows, the huge crib and tree in Trafalgar Square, all awakened her delight and made her take some pleasure in living again. The one thing that was almost impossible to endure, was the thought that Molly would be spending Christmas without her. But she took some comfort in the fact that it might not be Christmas in the waking world. If, as she believed, this was all a dream, she hoped that she would wake up to find that it was still Molly's birthday. She reminded herself that she would have to enjoy Christmas for her daughter, and for her younger self, as well as for herself. Who knew, perhaps she could do something for her younger self this Christmas which would send her home. That would be the best present of all.

As her connection with her surroundings returned, she took an interest in her colleagues' plans for the season. She knew that Chris would be spending the day with Shaz and her parents, and that Ray would be with his latest girlfriend, whoever that might be at the time. Viv would be hosting a substantial gathering of several branches of his extended family. But of Gene's plans she knew nothing. She wondered whether he might be going back to Manchester, perhaps to be with his mother, if she was still alive. She guessed that his father must have died by now. Given his curmudgeonly attitude towards any mention of the festivities, it was more likely that he would spend it getting pissed on his flat, or that he would be on duty. She told herself that it was none of her business. But she did wonder.

She guessed that he must have been surprised by her uncharacteristic lassitude and inattention in the days following her parents' deaths. Probably he thinks I just couldn't take seeing two people going up in smoke. He's right, I couldn't, but he'll never know why. He had tried to pull her back to life in his own rough, kindly way, spending ages talking with her every night at Luigi's, buying her drinks, immersing her in complex cases which demanded all her attention and left her no time to brood, and picking spectacular quarrels with her which she found oddly stimulating. When she was with him, whether working, fighting, talking, arguing or boozing, she felt alive. She told herself that she felt like that towards him because she had seen him rescuing her younger self. The psychologist in her stubbornly refused to consider the possibility that the real reason for her feelings might be very different.

On 11 December, while CID were fully occupied in festooning the office with tinsel, streamers, holly and mistletoe, Gene came to the door of his office and barked, "Drake. A word." He spoke in the tones he usually reserved for those in deepest trouble.

Oh, dear, what have I done this time? Searching her conscience for misdemeanours and finding nothing, except perhaps the fact that she had let him buy all her drinks the previous evening, she handed the tinsel she held to Shaz and made her way cautiously across the office, narrowly avoiding Chris as he fell off a desk while trying to fix a bundle of holly to a light fitting.

"Come in." Gene stood aside for her to enter his sanctum, closed the door behind him, and perched on the edge of his desk, clearly ill at ease. There was a short, uncomfortable silence, which Alex was about to break when he said in a rush, "Bols. Need your advice."

She relaxed. At least it didn't look as though she was in any trouble. "What about, Guv?"

"What would an eight-year-old kid want for Christmas?"

Her face softened. "Donny? Oh, that's kind, Guv. Well, what did you like when you were eight?"

He blushed furiously. "No. Not Donny. Alex Price."

Her jaw dropped. "A - ?"

"Yeah, White rang me up this morning. Said 'e asked 'er what she wants for Christmas, an' she said she wants the Gene Genie to come for Christmas dinner."

"You?" Alex's mind was reeling. Gene? Was Gene our visitor on Christmas Day? The one I couldn't remember?

"Yeah, bloody stupid idea if you ask me. Seeing me'll remind 'er of things she should be trying to forget. But, well, I can't disappoint 'er, kid'll 'ave a bad enough time this Christmas as it is, so I told 'im I'd come..." His voice tailed away in embarrassment.

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Alex said warmly. "She needs friends, and you're her friend. You were needed, and you were there."

"Yeah, well..." He slammed his palms down on the desk. "What'll she want for Christmas? You've told me you've got a daughter. What do kids that age like?"

She thought for a moment. I wasn't able to change the past to save my parents, but might I manage it now, with something very small? Might that send me home? "I know what I wanted for Christmas when I was eight, but I didn't get it."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it was a lovely pyjama case, a toy pony with a zip in his back. Black, with a white blaze, mane and tail and a red bridle. I saw him in a shop window, and I adored him. I'd just lost my parents then, like Alex."

"Oh, Bols. I never knew." If Gene Hunt could ever be said to look sympathetic, he did then.

"No reason you should. I've never told you." She strove to sound offhand. "I had a guardian, and he was kind to me, but I felt so alone. He asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I told him that I wanted the pony. But - " she sighed - "it was so like him, he had to go bigger, brighter and better in every way, to demonstrate that he was giving me the best of everything. He gave me a rocking-horse instead. It was beautiful, and in time I came to love it, but it wasn't what I'd wanted. I was so lonely, and I needed something soft and warm that I could cuddle and talk to and confide in, not a great big lump of wood on rockers."

"Hm." She could almost hear his imagination running riot at the thought of her wanting to cuddle something. "So, um, you think something like that'll do for Alex?"

"I'm sure it will." She saw him reddening again at the very thought of going into a toy shop, and took pity on him. "In fact, I saw one just like it in the window of John Lewis the other day." The very one that I saw and wanted when I was eight. "I've got to do some Christmas shopping this weekend. Would you like me to get it for you, and we can settle up later?"

"Yeah, sure, that'll be great. Thanks. Let me know what the damage is."

"Of course. Would you like it gift wrapped? The shop does a wrapping service."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks. Fine. Right. Any joy on that forgery case yet?"

She understood that the subject was closed for the time being. "Not yet, Guv. Fenchurch West have just sent me their file, and I'm going through it. It might be worth pulling Adamson in for questioning. They interviewed him and he denied all knowledge, but his speech patterns indicate that he wasn't telling the truth."

"Right. Get Chris to lasso 'im."

"Yes, Guv."

As she left his office, she was instantly aware of her colleagues' interested stares. I've been talking with the Guv in private. God knows what they might be speculating. Time to nip this in the bud.

"Chris."

"Er, yes, Boss?" Chris crawled out from under a collapsed Christmas tree.

"Bring Tony Adamson in. The Guv wants to grill him on the forgeries."

"Yes, Boss."

"And take that tinsel out of your hair before you go!"

-oO0Oo-

Alex found her dream pony in John Lewis - or rather, she found him again, right where her eight-year-old self had been obliged to leave him, all those years ago - or rather, last week in 1981 time. I was so unhappy when Evan hurried me away. I realise now, he must have already decided to buy me the rocking horse instead. But I always did know what I want. A blond, blue-eyed image unaccountably formed in her mind, and she quickly dismissed it.

Tucking the pony under her arm, she wandered past the loaded shelves in the general direction of the cash desk, and stopped short at the sight of another childhood wish, one which had never been satisfactorily fulfilled.

I always wanted a Barbie doll, but Mummy wouldn't get me one because she thought they were sexist, and Evan wouldn't either. He must have been too much in awe of her memory to get me something of which he knew she would have disapproved. He did get me one eventually, but I was twelve by then, and it was too late. I was outgrowing dolls. I doubt I ever took it out of its box.

But what if I got my younger self one now? I'd make her, my, Christmas that much happier, and maybe it would break the pattern. Maybe that would send me home.

She gravitated towards the shelf full of Barbie dolls in their gaily coloured display boxes and thought herself back to the way she was when she was eight years old. Which would she have wanted most? She quickly decided on a golden-haired Sunsational Malibu Barbie in a pink swimsuit which left little to the imagination, picked up a box, and headed purposefully for the counter.

Getting a present for Evan was easy. She dropped into Oddbins and got a bottle of his favourite Chateauneuf du Pâpe. She was tempted to add a bottle of the very best single malt for Gene, but something gave her pause. He could have taken the easy way out and bought her younger self something which required no effort, such as a book token or a magazine subscription, but instead he had taken the trouble to consult her about what the child would really want, and, astonishingly, had accepted her advice. The least she could do, was to take the same amount of trouble over his present. Inspiration struck when she walked past a jewellers' with a window display of small gold zodiac pendants. She knew that Gene's birthday was in February, but...

"I'll have the lion pendant, please," she informed the jeweller. "If I pay extra, could you engrave three words on the back?"

"Certainly, Madam. What are they?"

-oO0Oo-

She handed the gift-wrapped pony over to Gene, receiving £10.50 and a deliberately unintelligible mumble of thanks. Handing over her own gift to her younger self proved to be more of a problem. She had planned to call at the house a couple of evenings before Christmas to pass the gift and the bottle to Evan, but a huge case blew up on 22 December which required two all-night stakeouts at the docks to nail a gang trying to smuggle massive quantities of illegal booze into the capital in an attempt to make a profit from the festive season. It was a mercy that they were able to catch the bastards and intercept the shipment on their second attempt, as the bottles labelled as finest Rioja were actually filled with low-grade, high strength industrial alcohol coloured with Ribena. If any of them had been sold and the contents consumed, the results could have been fatal.

"Though if Luigi 'ad sold it to us as house rubbish, we probably wouldn't 'ave noticed the difference," Gene sourly remarked to Alex.

Despite the overwhelming evidence the suspects' lawyers - who fortunately did not include Evan - were magnificently obstructive, which meant that the process of interviewing and charging, with the resultant paperwork, took most of the day on Christmas Eve, and Alex's attempt to slip away at beer o'clock was frustrated by Chris insistently dragging her to Luigi's for the station's Christmas party. By the time she could decently leave, she knew that it was too late for her to cross London and knock on Evan's door to deliver the presents, and in any case she had by that time had far too much to drink.

So be it. She would just have to make a flying visit to hand them over on Christmas morning. It wasn't as if she had any plans for the day. She would be alone in the building, as the restaurant would be closed, and Luigi had told her that he and his wife would be spending the day with her relatives, a dynasty of Italian restauranteurs in Kingston. Alex would be spending her first, and hopefully only, Christmas in her coma world watching TV, thinking of Molly, and, all too probably, crying and getting miserably drunk.

She was more concerned that she had not been able to give Gene his present. It would have been more than her life and their reputations were worth to hand it to him in front of a gossipy posse of coppers, and there had been no suitable moment when they had been alone together, either before or during the party, for her to hand it over. True, he had not given her anything, but she had not expected it. He had not given anything to anyone else in the team, so she told herself that there was no reason why he should single her out.

She awakened on Christmas morning with a queasy stomach and an aching head, twin legacies of her excessive libations of alcohol the previous night, which she determinedly dispelled with paracetamol, two bananas and a lavish fry-up. It was past 11.00 before she was in any fit state to commandeer a pool car from the station and make the journey across town to Evan's house. She had not visited it since coming to the 1980s, and seeing the house which had been her home for so much of her childhood awakened a host of memories, both happy and sad. She was relieved to see that the only car parked outside was Evan's. It would have been awkward if Gene were there already. With a sudden shock, she realised that his present was still in her pocket. She resolved to drop into the station on her return home and leave it on his desk. Even though he was off duty, he would almost certainly look in there after seeing little Alex.

She rang the doorbell, and waited a long time before Evan came to the door. He wore an apron and a harassed expression.

"Alex! What a surprise! Won't you come in?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Evan. This is just a flying visit to wish you both a merry Christmas. This is for you, and this is for - " She paused and sniffed the air. "Sorry, can I smell burning?"

"Oh, my God!" Evan turned tail and raced off down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen. After a moment's hesitation, Alex followed, closing the door behind her and leaving her presents on the hall table. She did not recall a kitchen fire that Christmas, but if there was one, maybe someone had helped Evan put it out. And if she had changed the course of events by visiting at that moment, it might be up to her to stop her younger self being burned to a crisp.

There was a fair amount of smoke in the kitchen, emanating from a saucepan on the cooker. Evan was opening the window as she arrived, and she briskly helped herself to a dishcloth, wrapped it around her hand, turned the ring off, removed the smoking saucepan, and cautiously looked inside. It contained the remains of a Christmas pudding which had boiled dry. The plastic bowl had welded immovably to the bottom of the saucepan.

"Thanks, Alex." Evan joined her. He looked disconsolately into the saucepan. "Oh, damn! I thought I'd left enough water in it. I've never cooked a Christmas pudding before, can't stand the stuff myself, but Alex adores it."

"Yes, I do, that is, I do too."

"I hate disillusioning her," Evan went on remorsefully. "She thinks I'm a brilliant cook. I can manage the day-to-day stuff, but this has me beaten."

"Never mind," Alex said consolingly. She looked at the smoking remains of the pudding. "Let's see. I might be able to salvage some of this for you, but it'll mean small portions all round. Or do you have anything you can for use for dessert instead of this?"

"Well, I have got another pudding," Evan admitted. "I bought it for New Year's Eve. But how do I know that it won't go up in smoke as well? I followed the instructions, and look what's happened."

"You didn't cover it with foil, just for a start," Alex said severely. "Even if it hadn't boiled dry, it would have been waterlogged. And you have to make sure that the water level is halfway up the side of the bowl. You must watch it like a hawk, keep a kettle boiling all the time and top up the saucepan whenever the water level's getting low." She glanced at the saucepan in her hand. "No point in trying to use this one again today. Better put it to one side until it's cooled down and you can scour it out. Have you anywhere safe to put it? It's still red hot, and I don't want to spoil any worktops."

"Over here." Evan pointed to a wooden workbench, and Alex gratefully put it down.

"Have you got another the same size?"

"Yes." Evan unhooked an enamel saucepan from the wall rack and took a medium size pudding from the larder.

Alex looked at the label. "Marks and Spencers'. Very nice, too."

"I can't help thinking that Alex would despise me if she knew that I'd bought it," Evan said shamefacedly. "Caroline always made her own."

"Never mind that. The important thing is that you're giving her the best Christmas you possibly can." Alex removed the cellophane wrap and studied the instructions. "This needs to cook for two hours. It's close on noon now. What time are you planning to serve dinner?"

"Two o'clock."

"Fine. It'll be ready right on time. Put about three inches of water in that saucepan and bring it to the boil. Kitchen foil?"

"Here." Evan produced a roll from a cupboard and handed it to her.

She tore a piece off and handed the roll back to him. "String?"

He gaped slightly "String?"

"Yes. Just a short piece of thin twine, something to keep the foil on that won't melt in the heat."

"I'll get some." He vanished and returned a minute later with a ball of string and a pair of scissors. Alex had already folded the foil double and moulded it over the top of the bowl, and while Evan watched fascinatedly she bound a length of string around the bowl to hold the foil in place and tied a loop over the top.

"Right, now the water's boiled, you can lower it in." She picked up the pudding by the loop, using the kitchen tongs, and carefully lowered it into the seething water. "Keep it topped up, and it'll be ready at - " she checked her watch - "two o'clock. You can lift it out by the loop. It saves you having to drain the saucepan first."

I learned that trick from Evan when I was young. I never wondered who taught it to him.

"Thank you so much, Alex," Evan said gratefully. "You're a guardian angel, coming to the door like that just as I needed help. You've saved our dinner."

"Think nothing of it. I'm glad I could help."

"You've saved my reputation with Alex, too. I've been dreading that she'd come in and find me struggling. Thank goodness our visitor seems to be keeping her entertained."

Alex's heart missed a beat. "Visitor?"

"Yes, I'd have thought that he'd have told you - "

"Yes, I knew that DCI Hunt is coming here today. I helped him choose Alex's present. I didn't think he'd arrived yet, I didn't see his car outside."

Evan nodded wisely. "He told me that he'd parked it round the corner. He didn't want Alex to see it in case it reminded her of, of the explosion."

"Oh, that was good of him."

"Yes," Evan agreed. "Strange, I wouldn't have thought of a man like that having so much sensitivity."

"Oh, I think you'll find he's a man of hidden depths as well as hidden shallows." Anxious to change the subject, Alex glanced at the cooker. "Is everything else doing OK? Turkey, potatoes?"

"Fine the last time I looked, but thanks for the reminder, I'd better check them again." Evan cautiously opened the oven, and they peered inside.

"Could do with basting," Alex suggested. Evan nodded and bent down to haul the dish from the oven. Seeing that he was dealing with it quite capably, she added, "I'll just put the string back," picked up the ball of string and the scissors, and retreated into the hall. She well recalled the location of the string drawer, under the hall table. The living room door was directly opposite, and she moved quietly lest she should attract the attention of the occupants. As she opened the drawer and dropped the string and scissors inside, she was riveted by the sound of a voice she knew all too well.

"Let's see 'ow you like this, love.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."

Alex could not resist the temptation to peer around the door. A tall Christmas tree, loaded with lights, tinsel and decorations, with presents piled at its foot, stood in the bay window. Just as it always did when I was a child. She even recognised the decorations hanging from the branches and the old faience jug on the mantlepiece which held a huge bunch of holly. A bundle of mistletoe was suspended from the ceiling.

Her younger self sat in an armchair, looking very important and obviously taking her duties as hostess very seriously. Gene sat on the edge of the sofa, reading the well-known poem from a large picture book. Alex was enchanted. She had never thought of him as a storyteller, but he effortlessly assumed the character of the bewildered narrator who witnessed St Nicholas's visit and swept both Alexes into the tale he was telling. At the end, he closed the book with a flourish and little Alex clapped delightedly. Alex was strongly tempted to follow suit, but stopped herself. Neither Gene nor little Alex was meant to know that she was here.

"Oh, thank you, Gene Genie! That was lovely."

"Er, glad you liked it, love." Without another persona to hide behind, Gene suddenly appeared awkward and almost shy. He laid the book aside and picked up a teacup and saucer from the table in front of him. They looked absurdly small in his great hands. Little Alex's teacup stood on the coffee table, along with a plate of biscuits, which she picked up and offered to him.

Bless the child - bless me - she, I, remembered he likes pink wafers and Garibaldis.

"I'm so glad that you could come today, Gene Genie. Are you having a nice time?"

"Er, yeah, sure I am, sweetheart." Gene managed to make himself sound convincing. "Great. Nice of you to ask me over."

"It's a pity you couldn't bring anyone with you."

"Oh, er, well, wasn't asked." The psychologist in Alex instantly recognised the cadence in his voice. He's lying.

"Really? I did tell Evan to tell you to bring a friend if you wanted." Little Alex had clearly rumbled him. And he knows that if she asks Evan, he'll say that he did tell him to invite a friend.

"Never mind," Gene mumbled. "Wouldn't 'ave been anyone, anyway."

"Oh, that's a shame." Little Alex was all compassion. But then she, I, knew all about loneliness. "Does that mean that you don't have any friends?"

"Nah, I'm a lone Lion, me. Comes with the job. Got to work long hours, don't 'ave the time for friends. Only people who get to see me are the ones who don't want to. Criminals an' coppers."

"But there are the people you work with. Aren't they your friends?" little Alex persisted.

"Well, yeah, some of 'em," Gene admitted reluctantly. Now he knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of an interrogation. And she's, I'm, a mini lie detector. A psychologist even then. "But, er, they've got their own friends an' family to go to for Christmas. Won't want me."

"Does that mean you don't even have a girlfriend?" Little Alex was aghast.

"Oh, no, nowt like that." Gene was turning as red as the Christmas turkey, and Alex could almost hear his toes curling with embarrassment.

"But what about that pretty lady at the station?"

"Oh, er, you mean DI Drake." Gene cleared his throat. "No, no, she's a colleague. I work with 'er, that's all."

"What a pity," little Alex said sadly. "I'd hoped that she might want to come with you today."

"Oh, no, no. She's a posh bird. Thing is, young 'un," he leaned forward confidentially, and little Alex followed suit, "when you're a bit older, you'll understand that posh birds like 'er don't mix with blokes like me who're common as muck. We're in different worlds, her an' me. She's far too good for the likes o' me."

Oh, am I? Suddenly Alex realised how very personal the conversation was becoming and how embarrassing it would be if she were caught eavesdropping. I'd better get out of here fast. She backed away, picked up the presents which she had left on the hall table in her dash to save the pudding, and was about to seek out Evan to hand them over and make her escape, when she heard his voice right behind her.

"Oh, Alex, I was wondering - "

Gene and little Alex both looked up to see Alex and Evan framed in the doorway. Gene's face wore more different emotions than she would have thought possible at one time. Little Alex jumped to her feet and clapped her hands with delight.

"It's the pretty lady!"

"Hello." Alex recovered as much of her self-possession as she could. "I'm DI Drake. I just called in to leave some presents for you and Evan." She held them out awkwardly.

Little Alex danced forward. "Please, pretty lady, won't you stay for dinner?"

"Oh, er, I - "

"It's going to be lovely," little Alex said enthusiastically. "We've got Christmas pudding!"

Alex permitted herself a smile. "I know."

"A - DI Drake has just been helping me with it," Evan admitted.

"Won't you stay?" little Alex begged. "Please say yes. Please do."

"Alex," Evan reproved gently. "DI Drake may have other plans for today."

Little Alex turned bright eyes upon her. "Have you?"

Alex thought of the frozen turkey dinner awaiting her in the fridge at home. "Er, well, no, I don't actually."

"Then please won't you stay? The Gene Genie would like you to stay, wouldn't you?" Little Alex turned her most pleading gaze on Gene.

Good God, was I ever really this manipulative when I was young? Well, yes, probably I was. I always could twist Evan around my little finger.

Gene turned red again. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

Alex smiled. "Then I will. Thank you."

"Oh, good!" little Alex cried. "Please, won't you come and sit with us, and you can tell me all about catching criminals."

Oh, help. "But perhaps Evan needs some help in the kitchen?"

"No, I'll be fine to do everything now the pudding's under way", Evan said confidently. "Why don't you stay here and keep Alex company?"

"Thank you. I will."

TBC