Prologue
"How old are you?"
"I'm twenty nine."
"Oh, bollocks you are!"
"Twenty nine and a half!"
Alex gave Gene a withering look.
"Even if that was true you are still too old for an advent calendar," Alex admonished.
"It's got chocolate in it," Gene told her as though that excused everything.
"That doesn't make it any better!" Alex told him, laughing just a little at his miserable expression. She snatched the festive fare from him and examined it. "It doesn't even have a snowman on this."
"It's got a robin," Gene told her.
"Oh now I see," Alex rolled her eyes, "you chose this one to make fun of a certain chief inspector."
"I resent that accusation," Gene told her firmly, "I wouldn't stoop to such childish tactics."
Alex rolled her eyes.
"No, of course not," she said.
"I've got the nativity scene for that," Gene continued, "already applied mascara to Joseph and given Mary dark roots and clunky boots."
"Oh god," Alex groaned, covering her face, "if Kim sees that she'll come after you with her piercing kit, I promise you. You won't be able to sit down for weeks."
"Good excuse not to do any bloody paperwork then," Gene commented.
Alex stretched and yawned. It was almost time for bed and with the end of the day came the end of November. They'd enjoyed almost two whole Keats-free months at Fenchurch East. In fact there was a sign up in the canteen along those very lines; "Fenchurch: Keats-Free since October 1997". No one had seen or heard from him since his trial and the removal of his title and powers. After his car park showdown with Kim he'd vanished, more or less.
"I suppose I should find the Christmas decorations tomorrow," Alex mused as she reached for her glass to drain the last of her wine, "brighten up the office a little. Bring in some Christmas cheer."
"So decorations are acceptable but me enthusiasm for festive chocolate isn't?" Gene challenged, one eyebrow rising.
"Mine is for the morale of the team!" Alex protested.
"Well so's mine," Gene told her, "chocolate makes me less prone to yelling and throwing people into filing cabinets."
Alex rolled her eyes.
"I wish I'd known that sooner," she said making a mental note to buy more chocolate. She was on the verge of suggesting an early night with a quick roll between the sheets to celebrate the end of November when an image on the news caught her eye and she almost choked on thin air. She scrabbled upright, her heart thumping. "Gene, turn the volume up."
Gene was about to make a sarcastic comment about being a human remote control when the image on the screen filtered through to his mind and he understood one hundred percent why Alex suddenly looked so shocked and disturbed. He grabbed for the remote and turned the sound up as a shot played of a young man in a hospital bed, hardly moving.
"…awoke at the beginning of the month and has astounded doctors with his progress," the newsreader was saying, "James Keats, twenty seven, has been in a comatose condition for the past four years. His prognosis was poor and there had been talk of switching off the systems vital for keeping him alive, but since the death of his mother the hospital had been unable to trace any next of kin. With no surviving family on his mother's side there had been nobody willing to provide information about the identity of Mister Keats's father and despite media appeals earlier in the year nobody has come forward. Now James is making good progress, communicating with his eyes by blinking and regaining some movement in his extremities. It's hoped that within a few weeks he will be able to communicate by using a simple keypad and his therapy will begin to work on helping him to speak and eventually to stand again. While he may never be able to lead a completely normal life, at this stage James is looking stronger than doctors could have predicted. His mother would have been proud."
As the news report ended and another story took the limelight Alex and Gene turned to one another, their faces white with shock. Neither truly knew what to say. Eventually Gene croaked;
"We knew this was gonna happen eventually."
Alex nodded blankly.
"I know," she whispered.
"He's just one of them, Bolly," Gene said quietly, "him, in this world. He was always going to be the same Jimbo that he was where you came from."
"I know," Alex said quietly. She closed her eyes and looked down. "This is where it all starts, Gene. For people like Simon. People who've been here. They go home, they wake up, they go through all the usual psychological testing to make sure they are able to return to work and the papers go through him." She glanced to the mantelpiece at a photograph of the team from CID from a recent night out with Simon's smile amongst the faces. "All because he's looking for the one that got away."
"And there's nothing we can do," Gene told her, "but at least we've removed Mister Keats Senior from proceedings. Got to focus on that fact, Bols."
Alex nodded silently. She knew Gene was right, there was nothing that could be done but the idea that Keats was waking up and beginning the rehabilitation that would lead eventually to a life of anger and revenge chilled her to the core. She recalled Simon's arrival in 1995, explaining how Keats's mission had led eventually to him aiming a gun at her comatose body. It was all going to happen again. The weak young man lying in a hospital bed was going to slowly gain strength and become someone to be feared.
"Bolly."
Alex had no idea how long she'd been quiet for but the look on Gene's face was so full of concern that it must have been for quite a while.
"Sorry," she said quietly, "I'm sorry, Gene, my mind was miles away."
Gene stretched out a hand toward her.
"Switch the goggle box off, Bols," gene told her, "seen enough gore footage for one night." He nodded toward the door. "Jimbo's bed is only good for lying in. Ours has other uses."
Alex looked at Gene's expression, desperate to take her mind off the situation. She took a deep breath and tried to fight away thoughts of Keats. She couldn't think about him right there or then. She and Gene needed one another to stop him infiltrating their thoughts. There was an early night to be had.
~xXx~
The nurse looked up as a shadow fell over her. Startled by the sudden presence of a man somewhat taller than herself she dropped her pen to the floor and had to dip down to pick it up. She got back to her feet and laid the pen and the chart on the desk behind her
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked.
The man adjusted his spectacles and ran his hand through his dark waves.
"Good evening," he said. His tone was amiable but there was an edge to it that the nurse wasn't sure about, "I just heard about the young man on the news. The copper." He paused, "PC James Keats."
"Oh, yes?" the nurse began and the man gave a slightly anxious laugh.
"Been out the country for a while," he said, "so it was the first I knew about him waking up. I'd like to see him."
The nurse took a step back nervously.
"Right," she began cautiously, "the thing is, at the moment we're only allowing relatives and friends to visit." She neglected to mention that the copper in question had neither.
"Oh well," the man smiled amiably, "I'm family. I'm his –" he coughed, "uncle. He was even named after me," he pulled his driver's licence from his pocket and showed the nurse his name, "see?"
The nurse looked at his credentials and then back at his face. She started to smile.
"Oh," she raised her eyebrows, "I can see the resemblance now, actually."
"I'd like to see him," the man told her, "I feel terrible that there's been no family visiting him. I want to make it up to him."
"Well I'm sure the medical team will be delighted that we finally have a next of kin contact for him," the nurse told him, "we'll want to talk to you about his care and about ways to contact his father –"
"You can't contact his father," the man bristled at the mention and the nurse stepped back nervously.
"Oh…?" she frowned.
"He was out of the picture a long time ago," the man seemed to seethe with anger, wringing his hands in a way that made the nurse extremely uncomfortable but eventually he toned it down and began to speak a little more gently. "He doesn't need that man in his life anyway. He has me now. I'll make sure he's alright."
The nurse still felt wary but between the ID, the family resemblance and the complete blank they'd drawn about his care she was grateful to have someone to refer to.
"Visiting hours are over for the day," she began, "but since you're the first visitor he's had I'm sure no one would object to you taking a few minutes with him." She began to walk towards a corridor, glancing back to make sure the man was following her. "This way."
Together they moved toward his private room, decorated only by one small 'get well soon' card from his previous station and a couple of mouldy grapes that he couldn't even eat yet.
"There you go," the nurse smiled and turned to the younger man in the bed. "James? Your uncle Jim is here to see you. Isn't that wonderful?"
She smiled at him warmly before she turned around. "I'll be back in a few minutes to see you out," she said and left the two men alone.
As she left Keats's smile disintegrated and turned slowly into a dark stare which moved around to focus on the face in the bed. He felt a shudder travelling down his spine as he came face to face with himself; his past, his torment. He swallowed. The years of loneliness and suffering came back to him as he stared ahead. The years focused on one thing and one thing only – finding the one who got away.
"Good evening, Jim," Keats's voice shook as he spoke which he admonished himself for. He flinched as a pang of emotion threatened to burst through. Somehow he managed to fight it back and focus on the man again. "That's your name, isn't it? Not James. Not any longer. But you won't be able to tell them that for some time, so I thought you needed to hear it from someone who understood." He took a step closer and looked at the dark, confused eyes staring back at him. "I remember the drill, I remember it only too well. It's one blink for yes and two for no. Am I right?"
There was a pause, a moment of hesitation before the young copper gave him one nervous blink and a smile began to emerge across Keats's face.
"Excellent," he said, "good. Do you know who I am?"
There was a long gap between the question and the answer and the second blink took a while to follow the first as though young Keats wasn't sure whether he did or not.
"It'll become clearer as time goes on," he told him, "I think you know. Or you will. Deep down," he stepped closer and leaned over the bed, "I only ask one thing, and that is for you to trust me. How can I ask you to do that, you may be wondering. Well," he straightened up a little, "I know things about you. I know things that nobody else does. I know you've just come back from another place, Jim. Another time. I know there's someone you're looking for. You can't remember his name or his face but you know you need to find him." He hesitated, "the one who got away."
He saw the young man's eyes widen and knew he'd struck gold.
"I can help you," he told him, "I can look after you. Make sure you get stronger faster than I did," he flinched, "than you would do without me. If you were just left to the system…" he shook his head, "I'll get you the best care and I will personally make sure that you have the life you deserve," he swallowed, "and that you get what you're looking for." He froze as flashes of words and memories passed through his mind; the years that left him mentally scarred, passed from pillar to post as no one wanted to take responsibility for his condition or care.
He shook his head and stepped back. He was finding it harder to keep emptions at bay, and the fight was becoming ever more difficult with each passing day. Ever since his title and his power had been taken away it had been harder to stay cold and hard. This wasn't the time to cave in.
"I must go," he said, backing up to the door, "but I'll be back tomorrow." He hesitated by the door and focused on the young man again. The expression in his eyes was twisted with confusion. He hoped that he would soon help him to get over that. "Goodnight, Jim," he uttered as he disappeared before the nurse could even return.
The young copper stared blankly as the stranger left the room, his brain too tired to comprehend what had happened. He hoped that he would feel stronger tomorrow. Because whoever the man was he had a feeling he was going to be very important indeed. More than anyone he would ever meet.
~xXx~
A/N: Yeah, the fluff is over! :P That didn't last long! This fic is the sequel to Remember Me and just goes to prove that no plot points are ever left hanging indefinitely! And starting on Simon's birthday as well! Two Keatses – obviously his perfect birthday present! :P
Usual disclaimers apply; I don't own Ashes to Ashes but I've been borrowing it extensively for almost three years now! :D This fic will go up to an M around chapter 4, so as you're aware! Thank you for sticking with this series of fics and continuing to read, I appreciate every one of you, especially those of you who take time to review or drop me a message by PM or on Tumblr – I'm so glad I started writing because I have met some amazing people through here :)