Chapter 1

"Kim, come on," Robin waited by the open front door, leaning against it. What the hell was taking her so long? He stupidly checked his watch. Why did he still wear the thing when he couldn't tell the time any longer? "Damnit," he mumbled before tilting back his head and calling, "Kim, come on!" There was a flushing noise, some swearing and then finally Kim came out of the bathroom. She looked somewhat pale and not quite herself. "Hey," Robin frowned, "are you alright?"

Kim nodded as she moved quickly past him through the doorway.

"I'm fine, Rob," she said but her voice was low and she didn't look him in the eye.

"You're not still pissed off with me for eating the chocolate, are you?" Robin asked her with a frown and she glanced behind her.

"Oh that was you, was it?" she asked accusingly.

"Well it wasn't going to be the advent calendar fairy, was it?" Robin commented as they locked the door and made their way down the staircase.

"I thought we were going to flip a coin for it!" Kim reminded him.

"We were!" Robin told her, "but then you were in the bathroom for eight million years and I," he shrugged and blushed, "got hungry."

They walked to the Fiat and Kim unlocked the door.

"Remind me not to take more than five minutes in the bathroom," she said, "I don't know what you'll have eaten the next time I come out."

She was about to duck into the car when Robin's nervous tone stopped her.

"Kim?"

She hesitated and glanced at him over the roof.

"Hmm?"

"You are alright," he frowned, "aren't you?"

Kim looked away and nodded.

"I didn't sleep well last night, she said quietly and climbed in the car.

Robin hesitated. Kim wasn't very good at disclosing when something was wrong, it usually needed to be prised out of her with a crowbar before she'd admit to it. He had noticed her tossing and turning in the night a little. He cautiously climbed in beside her and closed the door. He was just going to have to keep an eye on her, that was all.

That, and let her have the chocolate out of the advent calendar tomorrow.

~xXx~

"Shoebury, a word."

Simon glanced up with trepidation.

"Please, not 'Shoebury, a word'," he groaned, "I swear to you I haven't done anything!"

But Gene looked serious and grim.

"Need to talk to you in me office," he told Simon and started to walk away. Simon frowned nervously. This didn't seem like an angry Gene. This was a worried Gene. That made Simon feel worse than if he was facing Gene's wrath for drunken antics.

"Shit," he muttered as he got to his feet. He walked quickly along the corridor and caught up with Gene in CID. "What's going on?" he asked but Gene just shook his head. He needed privacy for this Simon seemed to understand and merely followed him toward his office where the door opened to reveal Robin and Kim standing around anxiously and a grim Alex sitting on the edge of Gene's desk. "Well," Simon frowned, more worried by the moment "looks like the gang's all here."

"That's what worries us," Robin commented.

"Sorry," Alex told them, "we thought this was the best way of telling you. It was better that you all found out together."

"F-found out what?" Simon found himself stuttering with nerves as Gene closed the door and pulled down the blinds.

"You been watching the news lately?" Gene asked.

"Not really," said Kim.

"Not unless by 'the news' you mean 'videos of Pinky And the Brain," said Robin.

"I've been having an X-Files marathon," Simon shrugged and Gene rolled his eyes.

"It's so good to know me team's keeping up to date with current affairs," he frowned, and sighed as he walked back to his desk to lift up a folded newspaper. "Thought you ought to prepare yourselves for the headlines," he said as he opened it out and spread the front page for them to see. The photograph of a young man with dark hair and dark eyes lying in a hospital bed was the last thing they expected to see and initially they couldn't work out what or who they were looking at but the moment the penny dropped all three reeled back in shock.

"Oh my god," Kim's hand rose to her lips as a genuine feel of sickness washed over her.

"Shit," Robin had to turn away.

"Oh my god is that –" Simon's open moth and wide eyes showed his desperate confusion as he looked at Gene.

"He's awake," was all the Guv could say.

"Fuck," Robin closed his eyes while Kim tried to deal with the image she was looking at. She'd never seen Keats so young.

"He looks just like –" she began but Robin cut her off.

"Don't say it," he snapped.

"Rob," Kim whispered as she watched him leave the room, pained by the similarity between the young Keats and the image he saw in the mirror every day. She cursed her big mouth for uttering her own observations and set off on his trail, terrified to imagine how the realisation could affect him, leaving Simon to pick up the paper and stare at the picture.

"I knew the time was close," he whispered, "I just didn't think…"

Alex nodded.

"I know," she whispered, "none of us did."

Simon stared at the picture, feeling strangely churned up inside. The likeness between Keats's younger self and Robin was truly uncanny and was putting more thoughts in Simon's head. He blinked a few times and tried not to go there.

"He woke up with no one," he said quietly, "no friends, no family, his mother died while he was out cold…" he closed his eyes, "no wonder he ended up so twisted."

"He woke up that way, Shoebury," Gene reminded him, "he'd spent the best years of his coma making me life a misery, pulled the team apart, killed you and discovered the joys of gas and air. When he went back to his own cesspit he was already best buddy pals with Beelzebub."

"I can't help but wonder though," Simon mused quietly, leaving the point hanging until finally Gene asked, annoyed;

"Can't help… but wonder… what?"

Simon sighed heavily, his heart pounding.

"How differently things could have been if he was properly looked after," he said quietly, "instead of left to fester. Passed around from one person to another," he laid the newspaper down, "without anyone to care."

Gene fixed a glare on Simon.

"I hope you're not suggesting that you care for mister Keats junior?" he asked and Simon looked away.

"I just feel sorry for him," he said quietly, "it can't have been a happy life. He had no one, Gene. Nothing waiting for him when he woke up."

"Neither did Batman," Gene pointed out, "and he turned out alright."

Simon had never seen the parallel before but Gene was right. Robin has woken from his coma to nothing and no one. Simon was dead, he had no family, he was facing charges and he was suspended from his job. To see the person Robin became despite that was surreal. He and Keats might have shared half their DNA but they lived their lives as complete opposites.

"Rob met the right people to help him," Simon said quietly, "Kim," he looked at Alex, "you." He saw her smile a little, "if he hadn't gone through that whole thing… I don't know. It was like he had an unintentional intervention."

"We all did," Alex said quietly, knowing both herself and Kim had garnered as much from the experience as Robin had.

"If only someone had done that for Keats," Simon said quietly, "just shown him they cared."

"What, without a bloody sickbag?" Gene asked and Simon shook his head crossly.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!" he cried, "he doesn't have a chance."

"Simon," Alex began seriously, "we all know that we can't change the past. Even if we tried to interfere it's not going to change Keats."

"Believe me, I'd have pulled the plug years ago if it would have made any difference," Gene told him.

"But we can at least try to stop this Keats from going the same way," Simon told him.

"It's already happened," Gene told him, "It happened where you came from so it'll happen here, nothing we can do about it."

"But we could try," Simon insisted, "at least then there'll only be one evil Keats in this world! Imagine having two of them side by side!"

"They won't be side by side!" Gene barked, "One'll be flat on 'is back, the other one's buggered of back into his sewer."

"But he could –"

"Simon," Gene began sternly, "stay away."

"I never said –"

"You didn't have to," Gene said firmly, "I can see the rusty cogs in yer brain working away. You think you can go and rescue Mister Keats Junior from a life of unpleasantness. You're wrong."

"But –"

"What is it he calls you, Shoebury? The one that got away." Gene watched Simon lower his head, "what do you think he's going to do when he sees your face? Hmm? First thing he's going to do is try to fry you alive by the power of his eyeballs. Second thing he's going to do is get better so he can do it for real with a blowtorch."

"He might not remember," Simon said defensively, "his memory was full of holes, he didn't even remember Alex until he found out I was searching for her."

"Exactly, Shoeboy," Gene scowled, "something about you jogs his memory."

Simon stared at Gene but he could feel his hopes sliding away. If nothing else the use of the name 'shoeboy' told him Gene meant business. And Gene had been right about one thing – something about Simon seemed to jog his memory.

"I just thought…" he closed his eyes and licked his dry lips, only too well aware that whatever he said was only going to make him more unpopular, "Gene… he asked me to help him, he begged me to. In the courtroom. And before that. Months ago. He wants to be human again but he's not strong enough, and I thought maybe if I could help him before the rot set in –"

"He's not a bleedin' oak tree!" Gene cried, "and I'm warning you, Simon, meddling with Keats in his formative youth is only going to lead to trouble. Do I need to call upon me filing cabinets to back me up?"

Simon stared at Gene. It bordered on a glare but he wasn't quite that brave. Finally he dropped his line of slight and tuned around.

"No," he mumbled, "excuse me."

He left the room dejectedly, slamming the door behind him, leaving Alex and Gene alone.

"That was harsh," she told him.

"I didn't see you disagreeing with me, Bols."

Alex exhaled with a deep sigh.

"That's because I don't," she told him, "disagree, I mean. I know you're right." She shook her head, "I just can't help feeling…"

Gene glanced at her as she trailed off.

"Feeling what? Me biceps?"

Alex shook her head.

"Nothing," she said, not even rising to the bait. When she thought about it Simon had been the only one that had ever wanted Keats to change. Everyone else had wanted to destroy him, lock him up, send him away, but Simon had wanted to help the monster be a man. The other approach had never worked.

"Maybe Simon's the one who deserves a chance after all," she thought to herself.

~xXx~

Feeling furtive and underhanded, Simon crept to his office and closed the door. He peered through the glass to make sure no one else was around. All he could see were Robin and Kim in the doorway to Kim's office, Robin's head bowed with misery while she tried to rub his arm reassuringly. There were still times when Simon resented being part of Gene's lineage but, shit, he couldn't imagine what Robin had gone through when he discovered he was related to Keats.

Quickly he crossed to his desk and took a seat, then opened his drawer and pulled out his book of useful numbers. He flipped through the first few pages and punched in the right number, waiting a few seconds for the call to be answered.

"Fenchurch General?"

He swallowed.

"Hi," he said nervously, "I need to speak to whoever is responsible for the care of Mister Jim –" he flinched, "James Keats."

"Could you hold please?" the voice asked.

"No problem."

A tinny version of Greensleeves rattled down the line until a voice took over.

"Long-term rehabilitation unit?"

"Uh, hi," Simon cleared his throat, "I'm calling about James Keats."

"Right?"

Simon hesitated.

"I-I would like to know visiting hours please," the words slipped out before he had a chance to think them over.

"At the moment he's limited to seeing family and close friends."

"I'm a detective," Simon blurted, "My name is Simon Shoebury, I'm Detective Chief Inspector, running a division of Fenchurch East CID."

"I'm afraid Mister Keats is going to be unable to answer your questions for some time, sir."

"I don't want him to answer questions!" Simon cried, "I –" He froze. Exactly what did he want? He cursed himself for not thinking that far ahead. "I wanted," he swallowed, "to bring a gift from the station. A gesture of support for his plight. I experienced a coma recently and I have," he flinched, "every sympathy for his situation."

There was a hesitation on the line.

"I'll have to check with his doctors."

Simon closed his eyes.

"That's fine, I understand," he whispered.

"I think, considering your status, that we can allow it," the voice told him, "if you can arrive at the beginning of afternoon visiting hours, three o clock, then you can speak to his doctor directly."

Simon felt his face twitching its way into a smile.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"We'll see you then, Sir."

"Thank you," Simon whispered again, "see you then."

He felt a pang of guilt as he hung up the telephone but not enough to reconsider. He could see things from Gene's point of view, he really could. But at the same time he couldn't shake the image of Keats pleading with him, begging him for help.

"I'll help you," he whispered his promise to thin air. He'd never felt so determined in his life.