A/N: Hi there! Well, exams almost over (hoorah!) and this angsty little oneshot (along with a couple of others which I may post later) decided to strike me. I have no idea where it came from- and reading it now, I hope it makes sense to you all! As always, I love to hear your views, and would love to know how I could improve. Hope you enjoy.

This story contains strong language.

She'd narrowly avoided death a ridiculous amount of times since arriving in this world. She was getting quite sick of it, if she was honest with herself. It exhilarated her and exhausted her in equal measures, leaving her with a disturbing sense of doubt in her gut, like this forbidding, dark warning of worse things to come. There was only so many times she could make it out alive, surely. That's what her logic told her, that's what statistics told her, that is what her mind had been trained to believe.

And then there was the part of her that told her; you know what? Fuck it. The part that told her that it was a good idea to shag random blokes in bars, to get pissed on a regular basis, to mess with Gene's head that little bit extra until his brooding gazes became even too much for her to bear. This part firmly believed in her original theory of immortality; she couldn't die. There was no point in worrying about it, not here, now, in 1981, where she could do anything and be anyone she wanted to be. She'd survived again and again and it made her feel more alive than she ever had before. It made her want to run to the top of the nearest building and scream from the top of her lungs, to laugh. It made her want to laugh.

Something she found very difficult to do these days.

This time should have been no different really, and in many ways, it wasn't. She almost burst into tears at the irony of it all, of stepping out of a flash car driven by a flash man, only to have it explode moments later.

A man on the edge. Well, they'd got that one right hadn't they?

It happened from behind, deafening her, sending her flying and falling to the wet, dirty ground, scraping her skin and sending wave after shock-wave of bizarre pain through her, and for a moment it all went totally, utterly dark.

She'd only bought the dress today as well.

Staggering to her feet, her hand suddenly flew to her chest for no reason at all, if only to reassure herself that, yes, she was alive and, yes, she was looking at the flaming wreckage of a car yet again. Her mind surely wasn't this cruel, this twisted. Leaving her standing on Clapham fucking common in the middle of the night, the only sound she could really hear being her own breathing, dull and buzzing, far away and lost among painful memories of balloons and bombs, memories that hadn't haunted her in a long, long time now. Maybe too long. Maybe this was a reminder that none of this was all real, reminding her what world she actually belonged in.

It terrified her, first and foremost, and for one agonising second she thought she was going to completely lose it, break down right here on the common, hypnotised completely by the flames that were towering above. She let out a staggering, painful breath, wishing to fall to the ground but her legs somehow managing to hold her up. Not for long though as she staggered backwards, hand still pressed to her heart, and fell against a wall, a wall that just happened to be there, her sense of orientation completely lost.

She sobbed suddenly, her head falling into her hands, before taking in a long, deep breath and just about managing to keep it together. This was insane. A joke her fucked up head had decided to play on her, wasn't it? Bravo Drake, survived another horrific car bomb, well done you.

She hadn't known he was so unstable, willing to do anything to get out of his mess of a life- he was just another suspect, another case, something she dealt with everyday. There'd been worse outcomes than this- insanity, deaths of officers, deaths of children. She'd seen worse, she'd been through worse, and she always came out stronger. This would get locked away with the rest of the case files of her life, a stupid risk gone wrong, a murder suspect getting what he really deserved, even if he'd planned on taking her with him.

Don't go down that road. She was alive, wasn't she? She felt her chest again, needlessly and stupidly, but the steady, speedy pumping of her heart comforted her all the same.

And then she heard something else, something that told her it would be alright, of course it bloody would, because the roar of that engine drove by her careless boss was all she needed to hear right now, her rescuer, her constant, and in that moment she didn't care that he wasn't real. She could feel a smile of relief edging on to her face already.

Exhausted, she stood up straighter slightly as she spotted the blinding red of his car skid to a shuddering stop, meters in front of the flaming wreck before them both, and she started walking towards him in a daze.

And suddenly, she stopped. Stopped dead.

How could he be here?

Too fast. It was happening too fast, he shouldn't be here.

She was lost in darkness beyond the monstrous flames and couldn't be spotted by anyone, so very aware of that fact as she watched Gene stagger from his car, as if drunk, staring in sheer horror at the sight before him.

It was strange, seeing him like this. It was like a total transformation happening before her eyes, her mind finally showing her what it was truly capable of. Maybe every moment of grief she'd ever been through in her bizarre joke of a life was happening now, through him- this was raw, intense, almost too much to bear, horrific. Her world, this was her world, her story, it wasn't meant to go this way.

She was still. Numb. She could only watch in fascinated horror, the sheer depth of this man finally breaking through to the surface.

"DRAKE!"

It was a bone shattering yell, hopeless over the roar of the fire, yet the strength of it almost knocked her back. He stood, almost swaying, hand in his hair and complete despair on his face, so much so that it looked disturbingly like anger, like rage, like every emotion all at once. He wasn't capable of this, this wasn't him, not the man she knew.

And what disturbed her even more was that she seemed incapable of movement. Glued to the spot, watching, not even able to feel anything, her eyes fixed on him, he who she had always thought was her rock, her anchor in this world. He was losing it, right there in front of her, and all she had to do was run to him, show herself.

"ALEX!"

She wondered if this was how he'd react when she finally left this place, and the thought sickened her. Then again, he wasn't real, this world would vanish as soon as she woke up, he was just a random, stupid, heart breaking bloke who infuriated her beyond belief, he's not real.

Ray suddenly emerged beside him, trying to drag him away, but he pushed him aside with a brutal force that almost made him fall. Hands went to the back of his head and he looked up at the sky, almost in defeat. She knew she had never seen him so weak before and probably never would.

And all she had to do was show herself.

This was control, she thought, right now, she was completely in control of this man. The thought had once pleased her but not now, maybe not ever again, not when it came down to this. She wasn't meant to mean this much to him.

Something in her snapped as she saw him draw in a staggering breath, preparing to yell helplessly once more, and the sound that came out of his mouth shattered her. Just an empty, painful, angry cry, like some kind of wild man, and she saw even from the distance all the blood draining from his face, all the life in him fading away as he roared into the flames, the sound dying out eventually. He was left a broken man, crouched on the ground now, his arm covering his face. Maybe crying, but probably not. Please not.

Perhaps he wasn't so puzzling after all. At the root of it all, he was a just a man, figment or not. Seeing him like this, finally, just like she'd always wanted to, maybe it meant she'd solved this enigma at last.

It had never seemed more real. All of it.

She walked towards them, drained, slow and not very steady. Ray spotted her first, visibly sighing in relief and nudging Gene with his foot, causing him to stand straight again.

He swayed, shoving Ray again and running a hand over his face, before finally seeing her stood there beside him.

It was all so agonisingly slow. Painful, even.

For a long while, he didn't do anything. He just stood there, staring her in the eyes and breathing heavily, his face void of emotion because he'd used it all up, and she could feel a lump crawling it's way up her throat. His eyes were dark, and she felt horribly exposed, more so than ever before, like he was seeing her for what she truly was, and even she didn't know exactly who that was. Looking into his eyes, it felt like he knew every thing about her, her darkest secrets, her constant plummets into insanity, every moment of joy and pain and terror. Maybe she'd got it all wrong. Maybe it was he who was at the center of this world, not her. It certainly felt like it now, in this moment, flames and smoke surrounding the night.

She didn't know what to do or say. She was alive, she felt alive, but that seemed insignificant now. To her at least.

He was a ghost, a shadow, and she reached out to touch him but he moved back. Seemed to be frozen, staring at her hand like it had come from the very depths of hell. And he walked away, almost at a run, striding purposely to his car and slamming the door with such force she shuddered.

The tires screeching against the tarmac as he disappeared into the night drowned out the small sob that had somehow escaped her.

"I'm not 'appy about this."

She turned just as she was about to leave, saw him standing in the hallway staring at her.

"I know. You've made that perfectly clear over the past few days, but it's happening. It's too late to back out now."

He was pouting, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets and eyes slowly looking her up and down unashamedly. He was glaring though, his eyes telling her more than his quiet words ever could, because he'd never tell her what on earth he was thinking. He'd never tell her to be careful or to watch her back, partly because, most of the time, he didn't need to. Partly because he'd never admit that he constantly worried about her. That's what she liked to think anyway.

Their eyes met, finally, and she saw something there that surprised her. Something raw. Needy. Concerned. She straightened out her dress.

He opened his mouth but closed it promptly, looking away, to the side, to the ceiling, anywhere but at her. And part of her loved to see him like this- vulnerable, was that it? Human. Not just some random bloke dragged from the depths of her subconscious after all, someone who forced his way to the front and clearly held her safety above his own, someone who would drag her from a burning building and probably take a bullet for her too.

It shouldn't have surprised her: this was her world, why shouldn't people fall in love with her, why shouldn't she be the center of these people's lives? She was the one in control here. She'd known that a wire job was a risk but, in her opinion, a risk worth taking, and there was nothing he could say now that would make her change her mind. She didn't really know why he was bothering.

"It'll be fine.' She said, causing him to look back at her, that grim glare firmly back in place."I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah…" he muttered, smiling bitterly and running a hand through his hair, an obvious sign of nerves that she'd recently picked up on. She smiled back in what she hoped was a reassuring way, before turning to leave.

"Bolly."

"Yes?" she sighed, exasperated as she turned once more.

"Be careful."

And she shuddered, inexplicably. He left her stood there for a long while, wondering, not for the first time, if she was really the one in control after all.

He went through the facts. It was better than thinking about the state he was in right now, better than falling even deeper into the depths of his emotions, most of which were raging within him in a torrent he'd only experienced once before, and even then it couldn't have been as intense as this.

Facts included; a bomb had been planted under that car. She was being driven in that car when he'd been given that information.

He couldn't remember much else. Only that he'd somehow ended up here, parked near the bank of the Thames, feeling lost and struggling not allow the horror of the past few hours to fully consume him.

She was alive. Try to focus on that.

A shaking hand reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out his flask, and he drank what was left in it in one long mouthful. His other hand was still gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white, even though he'd stopped the car long ago.

Oh God. The truth of it all was slowly sinking in, each labored breath he took, and he closed his eyes, seeing her face just like he knew he would and hating it.

Because he'd just lost her. He'd thought she was dead. And that fact clearly had the power to totally and utterly end him, turn him into a man he didn't even recognise, cripple him in front of his team. In front of her, in the end.

She wasn't meant to mean this much to him.

And there, sitting in his beloved car, gripping the wheel as though it was the only thing keeping him going, he laughed at the absurdity of it all. He laughed because he couldn't do anything else, couldn't reclaim what he had already lost, couldn't possibly sink any lower.

He laughed until there were tears in his eyes.