DISCLAIMER: The following story was written entirely for entertainment purposes. I do not own the rights to Ashes to Ashes, the characters, the settings- any of it. All rights and ownership are to Kudos, Monastic and the BBC. I am using them purely on a fan basis; not for money. The story may be taken down instantaneously if it should be desired, and I hope that I have not breached any regulations. I am simply a fangirl who believes this world needs more Ashes to Ashes in it! Thank you :)

(Please mind language!)

The Lion's Keeper

PROLOGUE

In retrospect, Alex's plan hadn't gone quite as she'd originally intended. He was meant to be here, outside her door, on hands and knees and grovelling for her to change her mind- to hear him through and accept him into her home and heart.

He was not, however, meant to be walking into Luigi's beaming like a dog with a new bone, sweeping into his regular seat and allowing some brunette to take her seat. This wasn't how it was meant to have spanned; he was meant to be broken, torn, seeing the error of his ways and begging for acceptance. He was not meant to have avoided their regular haunt for the night and turned up the next day with a pretty little thing dangling off his arm.

She could feel herself sway, even despite the support of the door frame, as he glanced across momentarily at her. His fixed smile dissipated, his expression darkening, before he turned his attentions back to his new friend and the smile returned to his face.

This wasn't how she'd envisioned it, how it was meant to go at all, and as Alex felt the first of the salty tears slide across her cheeks, she quickly sprinted back up the stair case and through the front door to her little flat. With the first sob, she tore the ring from her left hand and launched it out of the window- watching with something akin to pride as the streetlamp lit the spot where the jewellery hit his car, and made a decent chip on the roof's paintwork.

It wasn't Alex that decided she should stay in bed the following day rather than going to work, it was the copious alcohol she'd consumed in her attempts to drain the pain that made that decision.

It had all stemmed, somewhat childishly, from the moment Alex discovered the ring during a deep-clean of the flat. It was a warm, Sunday afternoon- one of the last of autumn- and with the windows wrenched open Alex couldn't help but to be productive from the pleasant air of optimism filling the room. With her worn leggings up and an old-Gene shirt on, she set about hauling the furniture to one half of the room, whistling tunelessly as she went. Soon the bucket and soap was out, and she sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully scrubbing every inch of the skirting board; but it was as she shoved the dresser along that the ring exposed itself, caught between the wood and the wall. With curious fingers she plucked it out, sloshing it in the bucket to clear the object of the collective dust. It was simple; a gold band with two, tiny, sapphires nestled across the top, the metal slightly worn inside as though to suggest regular use. Having run out of willpower, she soon slid the ring on her own finger, and marvelled at how oddly-satisfying it felt to have a ring back on that finger. It was slightly too big, only just staying on her hand as she shook it before her to watch the jewels glisten in the sunlight, but she adored it nonetheless. It was far more to her taste than the ghastly ruby-ring Pete had given her; understated, elegant, perfect.

She revolved it around her finger, cross-legged on the floor with her head resting in her palm. This would probably be the last ring she'd ever have on that hand, she considered glumly, transfixed by the gentle movement. Thirty-six and already condemned to a singleton's life, separated from her daughter and with the chances of finding someone to waste away her twilight years with ever dwindling. She'd known for some time, deep down, that the chances of her returning to Molly had been ever-slimming, and that had been somewhat confirmed a month previously when her daughter had smiled sadly and switched off the television screen, despite her mother's protesting screams. She hadn't heard another word from 2008 since. And she didn't expect she would again.

So this was it, this was how her life would be from now on. Sat like a child on the floor, in a world where she was so alone, dreaming of a life she could never have with someone else's lost ring swiveling around her finger. Alex sighed a deep, unfulfilled sigh, purging herself of her morning's optimism and replacing it with a dowdy sort of melancholy.

She could just imagine herself now, screaming 'YES!' as the love of her life presented that exact ring to her, ripping it from the box, shoving it on her finger and dragging the poor sod to the closest horizontal surface so she could kiss his face off. She could see the wedding itself; demure and primitive with only CID invited, her in a simple white gown- him in a suit and reeking of nerves and whiskey. And the honeymoon- what honeymoon? Who was she kidding! They couldn't be away from London's streets long enough to even consider a honeymoon. So what then? Two nights in Margate? Sounded perfect to her. And then years of arguing, screaming, shoving. Moments of laughter, swift kisses and surprise anniversary trips. It wouldn't be perfect, but it'd be close enough for her. They didn't do saccharine sweet, and come to think of it, neither would their children. They'd be scruff-bags for sure, bright blue eyes and brown, wavy locks; their faces smeared with chocolate that she'd have to scrub from their little pouting smiles every five seconds. Oh yes, they'd inherit daddy's pout alright.

Alex shook herself back to reality with a confident jerk of the head. Gene? Out of all the men she'd met in her life, it was the misogynist who married her in her fondest fantasies? What was she even thinking? She tore the ring from her finger and plonked it unceremoniously on the dresser before she returned to washing down the skirting. Gene Hunt didn't do love. Or marriage. Or children. And neither, she thought with a saddening pang, it seemed did Alex Drake.

But it was as she passed her bathroom mirror that same evening, that Alex remembered the flaw in her self-deprecation. Alex Drake was not a woman who wallowed in sadness. Alex Drake was a woman who crossed every bridge and swam under every tide to reach her goal. And if her subconscious was telling her that Gene was her future here in 1982, then who was she to deprive herself of that? She'd lost everyone she'd already loved already, and so with a heavy heart she realised she really did have nothing to lose. Her mind's eye saw the ring, glinting in all its glory and she knew in that second exactly what it would take to make Gene Hunt come begging for her. She wasn't just going to reel in the lion, oh no, she was going to tame that armed bastard, too.

AN/ So that's the start of my latest ramblings, and I hope that you enjoyed it! If you could leave any thoughts in the review, that would be very swish, and I'd be very thankful!

Similarly, I hope that I haven't accidentally borrowed the ideas from anyone else's fanfics on here- this series has been round a fair few years now, so apologies if anything sounds familiar! Let me know and I'll gladly make amends/ remove the story if desired :)

Thank you for reading :) ~ElementsOfSapphire