Alex crashed through the heavy double doors of the hospital and pulled a lungful of fresh, London air into her chest. Blinking, she looked down at her body, still dressed in the hospital gown, a cannula still attached to the back of her hand. She caught her breath, still panting from her run along the hospital corridor, and stared around her. The sun was shining brightly, warm despite it being November, and the street was quiet. Strangely quiet, really, the noise of the traffic and the bustle of the hospital sounding dull to her ears, as if she was listening from under water.

She looked down at her bare feet. That wouldn't do. She needed to get home, back to Molly and Evan, back to her sensible wardrobe of sensible shoes and sensible clothes. Looking up, she caught sight of a bus stopping directly opposite her, a bus that seemed to be headed straight past her street. Not stopping to think, she slipped on board, avoiding the driver's eye as he dealt with a gaggle of schoolchildren. She almost smiled; a DI dodging her bus fare.

Drumming her fingers against the back of the seat in front of her, she looked out of the window but didn't recognise the scenery. It looked like London – had that familiar mix of Victorian terraces, inter-war semis, municipal parks – but didn't seem to be any specific place she'd ever visited. Didn't matter, she told herself. She'd be home soon. Nothing mattered but getting home.

The rest of the journey passed in a daze, Alex waiting for some indication that she was nearing her destination. Eventually she heard the driver call out, "Glencairn Terrace, alight here for Glencairn Terrace." Nodding, she rose and made her way to the doors, stepping down when they opened, surprised to find herself standing directly in front of her own house.

She pushed at her front door and it swung open beneath her hand. Stepping cautiously into the hallway, she paused to look around her, drinking in the sight of the familiar staircase, the coats hanging on the hook behind the door. She looked again, surprised. The coats hung neatly, one on each peg, with shoes lined up in pairs on the shoe stand below. Not the usual jumble of coats, jackets, bags, shoes, scarves and hats that she never got round to tidying up. She smiled to herself. Molly and Evan must have been making an effort.

She brushed a hand across the newel post, expecting to feel the familiar warmth of the wood, but the sensation beneath her fingers was wrong somehow, almost as though her fingertips were numb. Her attention was caught by the picture frame on the hallway wall. She stared at it, confused. The picture was blank. Odd. It should be a picture of… of… She couldn't remember. What on earth used to be in that picture frame? Shaking her head, she continued along the hallway. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

What was that sound? Of course. The microwave pinging off. Alex made her way to the kitchen and peered slowly around the door. Her face broke into a smile at the sight of Molly sitting at the kitchen table, tucking into a plate of beans on toast, with Evan standing at the sink, a tea towel slung over his shoulder. Alex looked around, noting the tidiness, the fact that all the clutter of her family kitchen appeared to have been cleared away, leaving only Molly, Evan, the kitchen units and the large farmhouse table.

"Mum!" Molly's grin beamed across the room and Evan turned round, smiling a greeting in her direction.

"Alex. How are you feeling?"

"Um. Fine. Feel fine." She edged into the room, suddenly conscious of her hospital gown and bare feet. "How are things here?"

Evan sent a her a distracted look. "Just the usual. Molly hasn't finished her homework and is grumpy because Ryan hasn't called." He turned back to the sink, rinsing off glasses and plates.

"Evaaaaan," groaned Molly. "I don't care about stupid Ryan. And I'll finish my homework after my tea, Mum, honest."

"Fine," Alex agreed. "Of course you will. I'll just, er, go and get changed then."

"Kay," chirped Molly, reaching for a glass of milk and scanning an article in her magazine.

Frowning slightly, Alex retreated slowly to her bedroom, feeling somewhat out of kilter. She should be delighted, home at last, Molly and Evan safe in her kitchen, but she wasn't delighted. She was confused.

Reaching her room, she pulled a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt from a draw and changed into them, taking care to avoid jarring her bandaged head. But the pain wasn't in her head, it was in her side, near her ribs. It wasn't surprising, she told herself. Bound to need a bit of time to recover. She looked across to her bedside table, where she thought she might find some painkillers, but the unit was empty apart from the small lamp and her i-pod docking station. She frowned. There was always a huge tower of books on her bedside table, as well as scraps of paper, lists for the day ahead, and a pot for her keys and small change from her pocket. Perhaps Molly and Evan had decided her room needed a de-clutter.

She sat on the side of the bed, pressing her hand to her temple. Tired suddenly. Faint. Slipping beneath the covers, her eyes sliding closed, she felt herself floating into sleep until she was suddenly jarred awake by a voice shouting at her, demanding her attention.

"Bolly! Bolly! Come on, Bolls, wake up. Wake up, Bolls. You need to wake up, and quickly."

Snapping back upright, Alex searched for the source of the noise, finding it coming from the i-pod speakers. Gene's face shone from the display, anger written clearly across his features. "No," she whispered, scrambling back onto the bed. "You're not real, you don't exist in this time."

"Bolly," he hissed at her, his gaze shifting briefly to the left. "I shouldn't be here but I have to tell you. You've got to help me. They're going to send me down, Bolls. You're the only one who can explain what happened."

Alex put her hands over her ears but couldn't drown out the sound of Gene's insistent voice, cajoling and bullying her, telling her things she didn't want to hear.

"Bolly. Bolly. Wake up Bolls. Get me out of this mess. That's a bloody order, DI Drake. Come back now."

"No no no no no," Alex mumbled, reaching for the i-pod, switching it off with a trembling finger, sighing with relief as Gene's face disappeared from the screen mid-rant. She flopped back onto the bed, pulling the covers around her, wrapping herself in a defensive cocoon. Everything was fine. Gene Hunt was just an overhang from her 80s coma existence. She was fine, Molly and Evan were fine, and once she'd had some sleep she'd go downstairs and everything would be back to normal. Her eyes flickered closed and she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

She wasn't sure how long she slept but she woke to daylight and birdsong. Smiling, she stretched and eased herself carefully out of bed, looking for Molly, but the house was empty. Alex picked up a note from the arm of sofa in which Evan told her that he'd taken Molly to school and they would both see her later.

Frowning, she sat down on the sofa, the note falling from her fingertips. She'd been shot, hovered on the brink of death, and now Molly was at school and Evan at work? Why hadn't they waited to see her? Why hadn't they seemed more excited about her homecoming yesterday? The pain in Alex's side had returned, leaving her shaky and slightly nauseous, and she sank back against the sofa, trying to quell the doubts that had been gnawing at her since she first awoke in that hospital room.

It's good, she told herself. It's good that Molly and Evan are carrying on as normal. It's proof that there's nothing to worry about, that there's nothing wrong. Yes, that was it. She'd only need to worry if they weren't acting normally.

"Bolly!"

She jumped, eyes wide, staring at Gene's face as it flickered to life on her TV screen. There was a desperation in his eyes, a wildness that she hadn't seen before.

"Bolls. Please. You need to help me. You need to wake up. Please, Bolly. Just wake up, I know you can do it. You can do whatever you set your mind to. You're the only one, Bolly. Please…"

Alex watched from the sofa as the face disappeared, leaving her staring at a blank screen once more. Why did he keep appearing? Why wouldn't he just leave her alone, leave her to get on with her real life? She swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought about his words. She could see how the evidence would look bad for Gene, with his threat to kill her followed by the accidental gunshot wound that had sent her back to 2008. But it didn't matter, did it? Because Gene wasn't real. None of them was real.

She'd known she'd miss them, of course. That's why she'd written those letters. She wondered whether Gene had had chance to get his from her drawer before he'd gone on the run. Then she shook her head, reminding herself that of course he hadn't, because he'd disappeared as soon as she'd been shot, because he wasn't. Bloody. Real.

Biting back a sob, she allowed herself to think back to those last few days in 1982. She'd tried to make him understand, even told him her darkest secret, but he hadn't believed her, had accused her of taking the piss, of laughing at him. She knew he cared about her – he did care about her, he did – and she knew she'd hurt him with her answer. But she hadn't known what else to do. And now it was too late.

Alex's shoulders shook as she remembered that last encounter in his office. He'd looked distraught at what he'd seen as her betrayal. She'd wanted him to believe her so much, but instead he'd taken their connection and thrown it back at her, accusing her of being cold, of not caring about Molly. Of not caring about him.

And she did care. The sobs that were wracking her body were evidence of that. She cared about him more than anything in her life apart from Molly. Hugging herself, swiping at her wet cheeks, she wished above everything that she'd been able to tell him.

Forcing an end to the tears, she pulled herself up from the sofa and looked around the living room. Like the rest of house, it seemed sparse, emptied of the junk and clutter that symbolised family life. Not like her home at all. Walking on unsteady legs to the kitchen, she decided she'd feel better after a cup of strong tea and a slice of toast.

After flicking on the kettle and pushing the plunger on the toaster, she sat at the table, resting her head on her hand. She refused to think about Gene's situation. If he was real, which of course he wasn't, he'd be having an awful time. He had shot her, after all. He'd feel badly about that. The psychologist in her told her that he'd be weighed down by guilt, over the fact that they'd argued, that he'd threatened her, that he'd shot her by accident. Gene wasn't the sort of man who handled guilt well. He'd turn it outwards, into anger and aggression. It was a dangerous combination.

His team might start to doubt him. Ray wasn't the loyal lieutenant he'd once been, and Shaz was sharper than she let on. Alex's heart ached at the thought. She wished she could help him.

She was pulled from her reverie by the boiling of the kettle and the click of the toaster. She'd feel better after something to eat and drink. She would. But as she finished her tea and toast, she admitted she didn't feel better. She felt empty. What had he said? Adrift. She felt adrift in her own home. If this was her home.

Wondering through the ground floor, she felt herself drawn to the small study, where years of accumulated paperwork had been swept away, leaving just a computer screen and telephone on a pristine desk. She knew she should like this new-look sleek and clutter-free home but it was all wrong. Almost as though it was the home she thought she'd want, rather than the home she actually wanted. Sighing, she sat on the small office chair and pulled herself closer to the desk. She stared at the computer screen. Where was he? What was he doing right now? The pain in her side grew stronger as she thought about him but her hand was steady as she reached out to turn on the monitor. Please be there, she thought to herself. Please be there.

The screen sprang into life, revealing the familiar wallpaper photo of Molly cuddling next door's kitten. She couldn't deny her disappointment. Sighing, she dropped forward and laid her head on her arms.

If Gene still needed her, if she still existed in some way in 1982, what did that say about Molly and Evan? She'd never been happier than in that moment in the hospital when she'd held Molly, told her that she loved her. The idea that none of that had been real was excruciating. She needed to get back to Molly. Couldn't bear the idea of coming so close and having it snatched away.

"Bolly," whispered a voice from the screen. "Can you hear me, Bolls? Shaz reckons you might be able to hear me. She's waiting outside, in case anyone comes."

Alex looked up and saw Gene's face, drawn and tired. Looked like he hadn't showered or shaved lately. She'd never seen him so scruffy. She wanted to hug him, but she made do with touching his face on the screen. "Gene," she murmured. "Don't know what I can do. I'm here and you're there. You'll have to do this without me."

"Bolly? Alex? Listen, love, I don't think I've got much time. I need you to wake up. I need you to help me but… I just need you, Alex. Please." He blinked and looked away before continuing gruffly, "Not sure I'll be able to come back again. They're after me, Bolls. So just in case you don't wake up… I wanted you to know that I'm sorry. About everything. And to say goodbye." The screen faded to black as Alex blinked away her tears, clutching at the pain in her side.

In a daze, she wandered back to the sitting room, picking up the photo of Molly that was propped on the mantelpiece. "What are you, Molly?" she asked herself. "What is this place? You need me but so does he. I can't just choose. You can't expect me to choose." She tucked the photo into her trouser pocket, gritting her teeth as the throb in her side became more acute. She needed painkillers and a lie down.

Struggling up the stairs, she made it to her bedroom before collapsing on the bed, curled on her side, tears on her cheeks. It was too much. Too much to think that Gene was in trouble and needed her. Too much to think that this wasn't 2008, that she wasn't safely at home with Molly and Evan. She pulled the photo of Molly from her pocket and stared at it through the tears. "I love you, Molly," she mumbled, clutching at the picture. "I love you and I'm sorry." She closed her eyes, thinking of Gene, willing herself back to 1982.

~ x o x ~

It was the smell that told her. The sickly antiseptic smell that identified hospitals the world over. Then the sound of the monitor, beeping steadily, annoyingly, in her ear. Prising her eyes open, all she could make out at first was the brightness of the light, blurred shapes coming gradually into focus. A drip stand, a TV screen, a chair. A person. She blinked, trying to make out the identity of the figure. Gave a small smile when she realised who it was.

"Shaz." Her voice sounded odd, rusty somehow. And quiet. She tried again, louder. "Shaz."

The figure in the chair moved slightly, then jerked awake. "Ma'am?"

"Shaz. Need the Guv."

"Ma'am, you're awake! Are you all right? Let me get someone, a doctor."

"Get the Guv."

Shaz looked at her feet. "Bit tricky that, at the moment. I know he'd love to see you but…"

Alex felt tired, knew she'd soon need to sleep. Time was short. "Just get him, Shaz. Please."

Nodding, Shaz replied, "I'll do what I can. But first I'm getting a doctor." Alex watched as Shaz hurried out of the room, then gave in to the fatigue and drifted off to sleep.

~ To be continued ~