Alex Drake lay propped up in her bed. Sitting nearby were her daughter Molly, Molly's husband Luke and their two children Emily and Matt. Emily had left her two-year-old son at home with her husband; he was too little to understand what was happening to his great-grandma.
Molly leaned over and took hold of her mother's hand, her eyes glinting with the sheen of unshed tears. Alex saw her daughter's throat tighten and smiled in reassurance. "There's nothing to worry about," she said softly. "I'm ready."
Molly gulped and nodded, knowing it was true but sad nonetheless. "Do you feel alright, Mum?" she asked. "Do you want some water or anything?"
"No, I'm fine Molls. Just glad you're all here."
"Mum," Molly chided gently. "Where else would we be?"
Alex squeezed her daughter's hand, a peaceful smile on her face. "Nothing in my life has made me happier than you, darling Molly. Watching you grow into such a wonderful woman." Alex paused to catch her breath, caught up in the memories of Molly's graduation, her wedding to Luke, the birth of their two lovely children. "You've made me so proud."
Tears began to fall across Molly's cheeks but she smiled through them. "You're not so bad yourself, Mum. You made me believe I could do whatever I set out to, that anything was possible." Taking a deep breath, she added, "I love you, Mum."
Alex's breathing was becoming shallow and it took her a moment to reply. "I love you too, sweetheart," she whispered, "more than anything else in this life. All the sacrifices you make as a mother. Never regretted them. Would do them all again."
Molly smiled and nodded her understanding. After all, she felt the same about her own children. She sensed, though, that her mother had had to make greater sacrifices than most. Alex had never talked about it but sometimes Molly had sensed the sadness in her mother's eyes, seen the occasional shadow flitting across her face. She looked across at Emily and Matt, sitting on the other side of bed, arm in arm as they watched their grandmother gradually weaken and fade.
Molly reached and ran a hand along her mother's face, still soft after all these years. She tucked the covers closer around Alex's body, plumping the pillows beneath her head, anxious to make her as comfortable as possible. Alex caught hold of her hand, trying to stop her fussing. "I'm fine," she breathed, coughing slightly with the exertion. "Really. I love you. Please, don't worry."
It was true. The contrast in Alex's head couldn't be starker. She thought back to the horror she'd felt on that barge, staring at the gun in Layton's eyes, seeing her own fear reflected in his mirrored shades. She hadn't been ready then. She'd had to fight. She'd known she couldn't leave Molly to grow up without a mother, not when she knew first-hand how awful that could be. But now she was ready. Molly didn't need her any more, she'd already lived a full and happy life and had her own children to worry about. A grandson, even. Alex's responsibilities were over. She could leave them now without worry.
As if reading Alex's mind, Molly gripped her hand tighter, remembering a similar scene when she'd held onto her mother across a hospital bed. She'd still been a child then and her mother had been the centre of her universe. She hadn't really understood what was happening but she did know that the prospect of loosing her was devastating; when her eyes had flickered open and she'd returned to her, Molly had been delighted and joyful. It was only years later that her mum and Evan had admitted quite how badly Alex had been injured, how close she had come to loosing her fight and never coming back.
Somehow, miraculously, Alex had made a complete recovery and once she was home she devoted herself to ensuring Molly never had any cause to doubt her love for her. With her energy consumed by her daughter and her job, and with her heart bruised by her adventures in 1981, she'd found neither the time nor the inclination to pursue relationships, contenting herself with her circle of family and friends. She'd succeeded where her own parents had failed, forging a close bond with her daughter while thriving at work. And now she was content, having achieved the goals she'd set herself, knowing there was no more to be done.
As Alex's eyes closed for the final time Molly bit back a sob, taking comfort in the arms of her husband, pressing kisses onto the cheeks of her own children. Her mother, her mentor, her best friend, had gone.
xxxxx
Alex squinted against the harsh light slanting through the blinds at the window. Rubbing her eyes and lifting her head gingerly from the pillow, she groaned. It felt like she'd been asleep for a week. She looked around the room, confused. Not her normal bed. Everything looked odd, old fashioned. Brighter somehow. And she felt different, too. Stronger, but not just that. Younger. Definitely younger.
She pushed back the covers and eased herself out of the bed, putting her hand to her head as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Turning around slowly, she saw a white wardrobe that seemed familiar somehow. With some foreboding, she forced herself to open the doors. A white leather jacket hung on the rail. Several pairs of small-looking jeans. Jewel-bright tops. A couple of pairs of boots lying haphazardly at the bottom. The dizziness returned, along with a rush of memories that threatened to overwhelm her.
With a sense of inevitability, she turned towards the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room. Her eyes travelled slowly up the length of her body, taking in the smooth, shapely legs, the black satin nightshirt and, finally, her 32-year-old face, topped off by dark, bouncing curls.
Sitting shakily back down on the bed, Alex tried to work out what on earth was happening to her. Okay. She seemed to be in the flat above Luigi's. If the clothes and hair were anything to go by, she was back in the early 80s. And here was the thing. If she was here, back in this imaginary world, then who else was here with her?
She dressed carefully, delighted to find she could squeeze into the jeans, watching wryly as the pink satin top slipped determinedly off one shoulder, pulling on boots that seemed to be worn to the exact shape of her feet. Looking again in the mirror, she found herself facing an Alex Drake she wasn't sure really existed.
Had she died? She hadn't died last time, not quite. Did it matter whether she was alive or dead? She supposed that if she had died, there would be nowhere to go back to, nothing to fight for this time around. Even if she hadn't died, if she was still alive in her own time, would she really want to go back? Her elderly body was frail and weak, and although her mind had remained sharp she'd been frustrated by her increasing lack of independence. Her family no longer needed her; indeed, she'd often worried guiltily that she was becoming a burden to them.
She walked across to the dressing table and pulled open a drawer, finding cosmetics, creams and scent bottles as well as a tangle of bright, plastic jewellery and a large can of hairspray. Sitting down and staring at herself in the looking glass she raised her chin, a determined expression settling across her features. She didn't know what was happening to her but she found she didn't really care. She picked up brushes and palettes and tubes and got stuck in with a relish she hadn't experienced in decades. Without the guilt and ambivalence that had beset her previous visit to 1981, Alex found she was excited about what this new world had to offer.
Looking through the window of the flat, Alex stared at the building opposite, screwing up her courage, knowing she'd end up there eventually. She tried to quash the coil of excitement that was growing within her. After all, she had no guarantee that things would still be as she'd left them. More than likely not, in fact. Still, she felt the fluttering in her tummy as she let herself out of the flat, across the road and through the imposing doors of the station.
It had been years but it felt like yesterday and she found her way easily through the maze of corridors to the CID squad room. Tentatively pushing open the double doors, she was amazed to find everything as she'd remembered it. Shaz working away on an old manual typewriter. Chris trying to find something he'd thrown into the wastepaper bin. Ray flicking through a well-thumbed magazine, a biro stuck behind his ear. Alex's eyes strayed inevitably to the Guv's office but, finding it empty, she breathed a sigh that was both relief and disappointment.
"Ma'am!" Shaz was on her feet, hurrying towards her, ushering her urgently towards the kitchen. "No one'll bother us here, Ma'am," she said as they sat at the small table, "they're all too lazy to make their own drinks."
"Shaz," Alex began uncertainly, "I'm not feeling quite myself at the moment." She wanted to ask what day it was, what year, but didn't know how without sounding crazy. She wondered briefly why she should care about that now when she hadn't minded coming across as madder than a box of frogs before, but Shaz saved her from further embarrassment.
"I'm not surprised," Shaz announced, with a shy smile. "After all, it's not every day you come back from the dead, is it?"
Alex blinked, staring at Shaz in bewilderment. "What on earth do you mean?"
"Oh, Ma'am. I know this might be a bit difficult to take in. But it's alright, I'm here to look after you. I've always been here."
"I don't think I follow…"
Shaz put a hand on Alex's arm. "You weren't supposed to go back last time, you know. That bullet from Layton – it was enough to do most people in. But you wanted to get back to Molly so much, you fought so hard, that you did it, you went back."
"Wait a minute. You know about Molly?"
"I've always known. Sometimes I thought you were going to give yourself away. You could be a bit odd, you know. But that lot –" she indicated the inhabitants of the squad room – "well, they're not exactly sensitive, are they?" Shaz's face broke into a conspiratorial grin but Alex was still none the wiser.
"Look, Shaz, you're not making any sense. Why am I here? Why are you still here? I've been away for years – a lifetime – but you don't look any different."
"None of us do. We've been waiting for you to come back. Only – this is important, Ma'am – you must remember that the rest of them, they don't know you ever went away. Only you and me know that. As far as the rest of the them are concerned, you've just been out talking to a snout for a couple of hours."
"But – my daughter – my life – I still don't understand."
Shaz smiled reassuringly. "Everyone's got someone looking out for them. I'm here to look after you. After you got shot, you came here. To find answers about your parents, and – well – to have some fun. To balance all the nasty stuff you had to deal with in your real life. You were supposed to stay here, you know, like I said. You were supposed to stay with us. With him."
"But if you knew all this, why didn't you say anything? Why did you leave me to try and figure it out for myself?"
"You needed to find the answers for yourself. That's the point. I'm only telling you now because you're a special case, what with being away so long and everything. And now you're back, to where you've been happiest. Where you felt most alive." She paused, looking at her carefully. "You're lucky, you know. You've got another chance."
Alex's head was spinning. "But this isn't real. None of you are real. I'm not even real in this world."
Shaz shot Alex an unusually intent glance. "Real's what you make it, Ma'am. Grab it with both hands."
"But what's the point now? I've already found out what happened to my mum and dad."
"But what about the other thing I mentioned, Ma'am?" asked Shaz slyly. "The bit about having fun. Don't tell me you've forgotten."
Alex felt herself blushing as she thought back to her last night in 1981, about a month after her parents had died. It had started out like many others, the whole team in Luigi's celebrating the long-awaited arrest of a serial blagger. She'd begun to come to terms with her grief over her parents and had resigned herself to continuing her 1981 existence until she could work out the trigger to get back to Molly. When Gene had asked her to join them she'd agreed, reckoning it was probably time to resume socialising, knowing Gene would sit with her and provide conversation and alcohol as and when required.
That evening, Gene had commented on her quietness and how she hadn't seemed the same since the Prices' deaths. He'd suggested, in his bullish, hard-nosed way, that he was worried about her. She'd looked at him and been surprised by the concern written clearly across his features. It softened his face, warmed it, and she'd liked how it looked. Giving in to previously suppressed fantasies, she'd admitted to herself she liked more than just his face. She'd assured him she was fine, edging closer to him along the bench seat, signalling that she maybe, perhaps, she just might be interested in more than the beer and sympathy. The more she'd thought about it, the more it had appealed, but he'd been slow to pick up on her signals, perhaps wary of reading too much into them, anxious not to be taken for a fool. In the end she'd taken matters into her own hands, whispering an unambiguous invitation in his ear as he was gathering his things to leave. She hadn't needed to ask twice.
And wow. It had been amazing. She'd been surprised at his gentleness, his restraint and consideration. At least, he'd been that way the first time. Later on he'd woken her, pulling her urgently into his arms, branding her with heated kisses, taking her with all the ferocity and passion he'd had to rein in for so long. She'd felt desired, cherished, adored. He'd clung on to her as she exploded around him, whispering words of desire and longing, holding her like couldn't let her go. She hadn't wanted him to leave in the morning but he'd needed a shave and a change of clothes. He'd kissed her goodbye, telling her gruffly not to be late, and she'd closed her eyes, ignoring his instruction and drifting back off to sleep. Only to wake in a bright, antiseptic hospital bed in 2008, next to Molly and Evan, knowing she'd never see him again. Over the years she'd found that her love for her family and her pride in her professional accomplishments very nearly compensated for the shadow that had settled across her heart.
Coming back to the present, Alex looked steadily across at Shaz. "I haven't forgotten," she murmured, drumming her fingers absently on the small table. "I thought about it often."
Shaz smiled. "That's good, Ma'am." Her head spun round as she heard the distinctive sound of snakeskin boots striding across the CID squad room towards the office. "He's here," she whispered. "You should go to him." She slipped out of the chair and back to her desk, leaving Alex in the kitchen, shaking her head as she tried to make sense of this new world.
She supposed it should be easier this time around. She no longer had the weight of responsibility to Molly, the uncertainty of wondering whether she was alive or dead in the 'real' world, the burning desire to get to back to a time in the future. She was also relieved to be able to share her secret with Shaz. But how on earth was she going to cope with Gene?
She was gathering her wits, working out how she should approach him when the decision was taken for her. Gene wondered into the kitchen, mug in hand, starting in surprise when he saw her sitting there.
"Bolls," he began, catching her eye before glancing away. "So. Erm. How did you get on with that snout? Find out anything useful?"
Alex felt her heart begin to pound as she took in the sight of him, fiddling with the kettle, rummaging through drawers for a teaspoon, filling the small kitchen with his presence. She could smell him, could feel the power radiating from him, knew for sure that he was real. The memories came back in a flood, washing over her, breathtaking in their intensity, and she felt the stir of long-forgotten desires as she watched him. He made them both a cup of tea, handing hers across with a puzzled expression on his face. "Earth to Alex, come in Alex."
"What? Oh. Yes. The snout. Um, maybe, but I, er, need to think about it a bit more, go back and look through the file."
Nodding, he moved alongside her, resting against the work surface. He took a deep breath, eyes on the floor. "Had a nice time last night, Bolly," he ventured, unable to disguise his discomfort as his fingers tapped nervously against the side of his mug. She took pity on him and smiled.
"Me too," she replied, reaching across to lay a hand on his sleeve. He felt warm and strong beneath her fingertips, and after a lifetime of waiting and wondering about what might have been, she was utterly certain about what she wanted from him now. What had Shaz said about having fun? Pushing back her chair she moved close beside him, taking his mug from his fingers as she pressed herself closer. He hid it well but she could sense his relief.
"Careful, Bolls," he growled, sliding his hand to her hip, drawing small circles with his thumb. "You'll ruin my reputation."
"I think you already lost your, er, reputation, Mr Hunt," she smiled back, a warm glow spreading across her body from the spot on her hip where his hand was caressing her. "Twice last night, I think, and once again this morning."
"Well, if you've ruined me already," he murmured, "I suppose I've got nothing left to worry about." He pulled her closer, around to face him, and was dipping his head down to hers when they heard Ray calling out for the Guv and his footsteps heading towards the kitchen. Jumping apart as Ray put his head round the doorframe, Gene barked, "What now?"
"Brief for that blagger's arrived, you said you wanted to do the interview as soon as he got here."
"Right. Good." Gene picked up his mug and followed Ray out of the kitchen, turning to throw a quick glance at Alex as he left. "We'll continue this discussion later, Drake," he called as he allowed Ray to lead him away.
We certainly will, thought Alex, as she slipped back behind her desk. After all, they had a whole new lifetime to lead.
The End