A/N: Hi, well here I am on this fic for the final time. Call me stupid but I only just noticed that the site has taken out my dividers in the last two chapters. How irritating! I knew they were doing it with asterixes but with the squiggly little dashes as well? Outrage! Scandal! Anyways this rant was just my way of saying sorry that the ebb and flow wasn't what it should be. Hopefully these dividers haven't sodded off somewhere – this chapter needs them the most.

Thanks to everyone who's read so far. The traffic stats, as well as all the lists and alerts I've been put, have been staggering. But thanks especially to the reviewers, particularly those who took the time out of their days to review both chapters. Thanks to graciemay94, da ruth, FireUpTheFanFic (who left a particularly splendorous review, thank you so much, I squeed a little, I'll admit), A2A-Mad and Elliewelly1 (I'm happy to write a bit thanking any reviewers, not matter how few or amny, so it was no problem at all and I'm glad it made you smile, enjoy your holiday).

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I never have and never will. I was just borrowing them for a little while and now, sadly, it's time to give them back.

Chapter 3:

As Alex was making her mental decision to stop acting like such a girl and fight her way out of this, Burns was obviously coming to a decision of his own. The knife was back at her throat, the point digging into the side and cutting it slightly here and there, as an overstated threat. She would have to go about this carefully. As the knife convinced her to remain still and calm just for a moment longer, Burns' free hand began to roam her body. It was slow and jerky as if unsure and almost rather repulsed by her. She was certainly repulsed by it. She squirmed this way and that to try and keep it bay but this only served to make Burns prod the knife into her more.

"I have to cleanse you myself before you meet the Lord. You cannot stand before him impure as you are," he whispered against her ear, his breath hot against it. He began fiddling with her costume and even Alex saw the humour in his awkward one-handed attempts to navigate the skimpy outfit. She had had enough trouble getting the sodding thing on, at least it had come in useful for one thing. As she sensed him becoming more and more distracted by getting rid of her clothing she began arching her neck away from the blade that was getting less and less insistent. When she had mustered all of her resolve she ducked out of his way, aimed a kick at him and pushed him away from her with all the strength she could physically find within her, a small cry escaping from her lips from the effort. With the straining of her body in pushing him with all her weight behind the motion, she felt the blood spurt from her wound a little more enthusiastically. She pressed her fingers to it, feeling it stab in protest at her touch, the blood immediately trickling down her fingers. She didn't know why she chose the moment she did. She could have said she had done it when it felt right but when does anything ever feel right at times like this? It's always just a maze of wrong. A strange, muddling haze of wrong.

Immediately after pushing him away she began to move quickly, occasionally making contact with the odd object. At one point, the feeling of the floor beneath her changed from hard and flat to soft and thick, making her think of a huge rug beneath her feet. After that, she fell against something that felt like a chest of drawers and then against what she fancied as a bed. This must be one of Rosebury-Sykes' guest cabins, she asserted. She realised how much noise they were making and hoped that someone would hear and come to the room to find out what was going on.

All the while, he was right behind her, grabbing at her. A stray fist caught her face, spinning her around. She couldn't orientate herself. She had no idea where she was going, there was no escape and soon, he would catch her. So, in a deft but desperate last-ditch hope she ducked quickly and quietly. A searing pain in her head which extracted a pained sob from her told her that he had collided with her as she'd hoped, rather than the loud strangled cry and dull thud. He'd caught his feet and fallen. With the blood still oozing through her costume from the cut he'd inflicted she threw herself away from where she presumed he was lying as quickly as possible so he couldn't reach out and catch while she was stationary – as before the golden rule was keep moving. Quickly finding the edge of the room she kept her crouching position, as painful as it was. With her back to the wall she groped around the floor with the hand that wasn't pressing the cut to try and keep the blood in. She searched as best she could for something, anything to use a weapon but there seemed to be nothing to be found. Instead, she edged around the walls until she found the door, hoping and praying it was the one she came in through, the only one in the room. She shot to her feet, her back skimming the wall. As she did so she came into contact with the light switch. At first when everything was painted with bright yellow light she thought she was having a heart attack but the organ regained its life-giving rhythm as quickly as it lost it.

At first she was robbed of her sight in a similar way to being shut in the pitch back, only this time it was like a negative picture. Before her eyes adjusted everything was bright white, fading to a dirty yellow then to a sepia colour until she could see the room before her, albeit with spots floating behind her eyes. As she had gleaned from her frantic rushing around, the room was indeed a cabin. The worn-effect wooden floor was covering in the middle by the thick and fluffy cream rug which had an ugly, dirty crimson stain in the middle from where the blood was running down her hand. Tucked at one end of the room was a spacious queen-sized bed with a silky teal bedspread and plush, plump cushions. It was indeed a guest cabin for any one (or two) of his lordship's most favoured guests – it was somewhere only staff would have had the keys to on a night like this and this served only to back up Trixie's story.

Somehow, she took in all of this in a split-second, barely giving a shocked and equally blinded Burns time to right himself and get up.

What through she would never know, be it sheer luck and good fortune or natural human fight or flight mode, she noticed a small wooden end table standing near the door. On it, in a little heap, sparkled a key-ring with tag and, most miraculously the key to the door. She thought he had put it in his pocket, but obviously she had been wrong – he clearly knew the rooms well enough to be able to navigate them in the dark, putting her at a serious disadvantage, right from the off.

She looked from the key to Burns and saw with a jolt that he was surveying her as she focussed on the key. Simultaneously, they moved. He tried to throw himself to his feet but stumbled and staggered, no doubt thanks to the disorientation of the fall and sudden illumination of the room. She lunged at the table and failed to stop in time, colliding with it painfully. Unperturbed she scooped up her prize and fumbled with the key, trying to get it into the lock. Eventually it turned. Clicked. The handle moved and the door fell open.

She felt the cool whoosh of the evening air and fancied that she could all but smell the freedom and safety awaiting her in the party above deck. All she had to do was get along the corridor and up the stairs. As she prepared to make a run for it a shifting movement above, at the top of the flight of stairs caught her eye. There was someone standing there. Should she cry out? Just as she began to hurry towards the bottom step the silhouetted figure above her who was beckoning and gesticulating at someone Alex couldn't see turned around at the sound of her footsteps. Eyes squinting she managed to catch a glimpse of his face, which moulded into an expression of shock and fear, presumably at the sight of her – ruffled, terrified, probably bruised and most certainly covered in blood. It was Gene.

"Bolls?" he shouted, springing into action and beginning his descent in Alex's personal Hell. "Jesus bloody Christ," he stopped briefly to stare at her in shock and take in her appearance. "Are you alright, what's 'e done to yer?"

"It's not as bad as it looks," she assured him and herself, "I'm oka…" she was cut off as he shouted her name. Her actual name, not Bolls or Bolly, and began to hurtle towards her. His source of panic became evident when Burns threw himself on her from behind, dragging her backwards. She screamed and reached out to Gene who was trying to catch up with them, but he couldn't make it. The door was shut and she was thrown into the room.

She ran to try and escape again but Burns held her off and wedged the high end table (the one that had held the key) beneath the handle. The light was switched off and everything was plunged again into black. Before she could get away Burns had pounced and she fell to the floor, hitting her head. His hands found her throat and began to close around it,

"You cannot escape the Lord," he hissed. "No one is exempt from his power and we must help him to judge those who sin."

She could hear Gene shouting to her but couldn't reply. She struggled until the strength left her and then her eyes flickered shut.

-/-/-

Prior to turning around to find Alex standing a mere flight of steps below him, Gene had gone into adrenaline-fuelled panic-mode and simply become the brash, angry D.C.I. Hunt to get him through it all in some semblance of a collected manner.

"Right, you two, start looking around for 'em. Just start checking wherever you can, bugger rules and regulations and where's 'off-limits': nowhere's off limits now. Ask people the last time they saw that bastard Burns and call in uniform as soon as you can," he instructed, tongue and vocal chords battling against the dryness of his throat and mouth.

"Where you going to start, Guv?" Ray asked.

"I'm going to find Rosebury-Sykes. Better let the posh tosser know about it, 'ave 'im make 'imself useful and get the guests of 'ere as fast as 'e can and tell us the layout of the boat, where they might be and the like."

Ray and Chris nodded their agreement at this plan of action and began making their way off, talking amongst themselves, throwing suggestions back and forth.

"Oh and Skelton," Gene called and Chris turned around. "Take off those ridiculous glasses and that bastard cape, no-one's going to believe you're a copper if you tell them so dressed like that," he instructed.

"Roger that, Guv," Chris said and obeyed as he hurried off.

Catching an immediate sight of his lordship standing, mercifully, alone to his right he made his way over.

"Good evening your lordship," he began, clearing his throat and saw Rosebury-Sykes panic as he tried to place Gene – it would be to no avail; they'd never met in their lives.

"Evening, my good fellow," he smiled and boomed in the end, a nice safe greeting. "Enjoying the party? Anything I can do for you?"

"Urm, I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news sir, and you're not going to like it."

But before he could deliver the death blow to this social event, Gene who was, by this point, chewing his bottom lip, fiddling with his hands and the tassels on his poncho and bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet out of an appropriate sense of urgency, was saved the job.

Rosebury-Skyes' general dogsbody (probably awarded the title of butler or something else inappropriate to his role) hurried over, black suit tails trailing.

"You're never going to believe this sir," he began with the look of a Doomsday Prophet on his face.

A few moments later, his lordship was beet red.

"What is this nonsense!" he cried after being told that there were two men claiming to be officers of the law and rushing around the boat searching through the rooms and using foul language and threats in order to quiz guests, all the while telling tales of an abduction.

Good ol' RaynChris. Gene felt a prod of pride. He'd taught them well.

Then Rosebury-Sykes heard the words 'they said they've called in the uniformed police and are talking about a rapist and murderer' and all but exploded in a way that rivalled Hiroshima.

All the while, Gene was more than eager to begin searching, praying no longer for Alex to be out of harms way but that Burns hadn't left the boat. If they were still here they would find them in no time and hopefully in time. If he'd taken her elsewhere then…well Gene would leap that hurdle if it materialised. All he could do now was hope for small mercies. Still, out of desperation to see the boat cleared and path made easier he briefly blurted out a story to Rosebury-Sykes who moved from anger to disbelief to acceptance in a surprisingly short time. But Gene suspected that he wasn't so much accepting as of the opinion that it was better to believe the insane ramblings of the cowboy in front of him and deal with it later if it proved to be a sick joke as opposed to suspending all belief and risking someone's life.

Soon, he was providing a verbal layout of his boat and instructing Gene where to look as they ushered guests away as quickly as possible. It wasn't long before Gene came face to face with his two officers, both of whom had found nothing more pressing than a few drug pushers who would be dealt with when the time was right.

Just as the sirens around the city became audible Gene heard something more in the clear evening air. Sporadic thuds coming from below where he was standing invaded his ears. Then a shout, someone crying out in pain or fear or anger. Then a scream and a sob. More thudding. His heart skipped a beat. They were definitely still on the boat. He shouted at Rosebury-Sykes and his dogsbody for assistance and to tell him where the noise could be coming from, beckoning and pointing for added affect.

It was then he whirled around and saw the tiniest, most narrow flight of stairs imaginable literally just to his right, a few feet away. Extending from them was a thin corridor with four strong-looking oak doors, two on each side. Just as he looked down the furthest door from him on his right burst open violently. That was when he saw her. His heart leapt at the sight of the terror on her face. He'd never seen anyone look so afraid and vulnerable.

She had two angry looking red marks on her neck and collar as well as some gently bleeding cuts on her throat. He remembered staring, fascinated at the skin there that very day. He had almost been able to see the pulses there giving him confirmation of her continuing life flow. The beating had been tantalisingly wafting her perfume over him, hence his fascination with her throat at the time. He'd imagined being able to lean in closer, press his nose, his lips closer to the scented areas. He'd cut himself off as soon as he'd imagined that far. It was quite far enough.

Angry bruises were already appearing across her shoulders and tops of her arms as well as a small round one on her cheek, the blood from her veins pooling under her soft, smooth skin. Her make up was smeared across her face and her hair was sticking up oddly in places, while other parts hung limp, practically straight. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from her tears and there were already dark shadows under them.

As she hurried from under the doorway he caught sight of all the blood. Her hand was clutched to her breast with blood dripping across her fingers. It had soaked her outfit, making the black material look thick and shiny.

It felt like he had stared for ages, as well as shouted out to her, but in reality it was only a few seconds, half a minute. But it was half a minute too long. He saw Burns, who had a gash on his head, at the hairline (at least Alex was putting up a good fight) shoot out behind her. Gene threw himself down the stairs, shouting for Chris and Ray to help him, but he was barely halfway down before Burns had dragged Alex back inside, slamming the door shut.

With the momentum of running down the stairs and the along corridor carrying him he continued into the door, knowing it would hurt before he made contact. Not really caring. He hit the door with his shoulder and it really did kill. But it didn't matter. Neither did it work. The door was thick and strong. It would be hard to break into from such a small corridor. His hand groped for the handle which he tried to open but it wouldn't move – Burns had wedged something underneath it. The door was stuck fast. With his ear pressed to the door he could hear all the sounds of a struggle slowly dying away.

Shit!

"Bolly!" he called as loudly as he could.

No reply came in any form – a shout, a scream, the sound of her punching the bastard the way she'd punched him.

Shit.

"Bolls!"

Nothing.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

He struggled with the door and soon a host of uniforms surrounded him like bees in a hive. They all began the task of getting into the room, working together. All he could do was pray it wasn't too late. All he could hear was the ringing of the words 'if anyone else gets hurt, if anything goes wrong, it'll all be your fault Hunt.'

-/-/-

If ever there was a time for self-reflection and exploring the meaning of life, now was it. It wasn't that she was aiming that deep but she did allow herself to wonder how her life had gone this wrong. Watching her parents get blown up as a little girl, left to be a single mum when the man she thought would love her forever made a run for it (although, granted she had been given a beautiful, bright, intelligent, wonderful daughter in return), shot in 2008 and left for dead (whether she actually was dead or not was all guesswork), stuck in 1981 with the constructs of her traumatised mind and now attacked in her own bloody fantasy. How was that amount of bad luck fair in any way?

It was a cliché, but she felt rather like she was floating away from herself as her body starved. Her head was pounding and her limbs throbbed as her muscles and organs begged her lungs for air. Her lungs begged her heart, but it could not help them. She felt dizzy and weak and she knew that there was no fighting this, although she gave it a bloody good try. It felt like she was battling for oxygen for hours and hours but she knew it could be only seconds – she knew enough about science to know that she would not last longer than a few minutes, tops.

She wanted to struggle more, but couldn't. In her mind's eye she pictured herself giving up the fight in much the same way in 2008. She couldn't allow herself to do that, yet she was giving up here. Or was she? Was she supposed to let go of this world and stop fighting it in order to get back? Were the events of 2008 keeping her in this world to keep her safe? Or was it that this world was keeping her from 2008, was it secretly, softly, gently killing her? Her mind became dizzier and dustier and mustier and in the end she gave up thought entirely.

She could still hear the sounds of the outside world trying to force its way in and eventually, it seems, it succeeded. Because one minute the room was dark and shadowy and only getting blacker, then light filtered in. It didn't flood the room exactly and nor was it bright because it was coming from the doorway. Someone had flung the door wide and what was left of the evening light tiptoed into the room. From where she was lying Alex craned her neck to see what has happening and to shout for help, although all that came out was a scratchy moan. Her eyes, now refusing to focus properly, just about fixed on a figure standing tall in the doorway. She heard her name being called and her eyes shut for a minute. Someone grabbed Burns and pulled him away, the pressure on her throat finally relenting. But by now her body was screaming at her, her limbs were stubbornly refusing to move and her head felt as though it would explode. Her eyes protested and tried to look at the figure in the light, it was Gene, wasn't it? She prayed it was.

"Alex?" The voice was deep and urgent.

"Alex?" Actually it was quite harsh and cold. She didn't like it that much.

"Alex!" it boomed and her eyes shot open. She tried to scream. The sound was taken from her. It wasn't Gene standing over her. The bright white face leered over her and grinned, showing off straight, tombstone teeth. "You're going to die, Alex. There's no one to save you." His eyes narrowed and his singular, painted eyebrow arched. Lipstick-red lips pressed together. She'd never liked clowns.

"No," she said in a whisper. "No, I can't be,"

"You're talking Alex," he said in a voice that was mock-soothing. "Your body can't talk, not right now; it's too painful, isn't it? So why are you answering me?"

"I'm not, I can't, I mean..." she began to panic. Maybe she was dying, maybe he was taking her to Hell.

"It's all Hunt's fault Alex, if only he let you arrest that man, this never would have happened. He's killed you Alex," he smiled again. "And to think you thought you might be friends. Maybe more. Well not now," he threw his head back and laughed a deafening, satisfied, sickening laugh. "You're going to come with me now, Alex," he instructed, holding out a painted hand.

"No," she whispered, "please, I don't want to," she knew she sounded like a child, but it was how she felt. Lost and alone and, above all, scared. She looked around her and the sounds of people hurrying around her were fading, she couldn't see their faces so clearly anymore. She imagined if she just gave up on life in 2008, if she didn't fight. She'd lose Molly. She'd lose everything. That couldn't happen. She wouldn't give up there. So why should she give up on the world inside her own head. It wasn't right. And it most certainly wasn't D.I. Alex Drake.

"No!" she cried, "it wasn't his fault, he was only trying to help," she tried to defend Gene.

"That's not true Alex and you know it, listen to me. Trust me."

"No! He's a good man and I trust him not you - you're just here to scare me, you're not real. You're just in my head and I don't know how you got there, but it's time you pissed off!"

The white face dangling above her creased into shock, surprise. Then it disappeared. Out of it burst Gene's own face. His body was there too, his hands reaching out to stroke her hair. His lips formed gentle words she couldn't hear. He instructed police officers she could no longer see. She lost consciousness and stopped trying to get it back now – she knew that Gene, along with her constructed paramedics, would take could care of her. He wouldn't let her die.

-/-/-

At first, she thought it was a hangover. Really, she did. It was true; she had once had a hangover so bad that she was able to mistake attempted rape and murder for it. But just for a second, then it all whizzed back into her brain. Knowing she was in hospital, she forced her eyes open and saw four faces staring at her from above. Chris and Shaz to her left, Gene and Ray to her right. A dry moan drifted from her parted lips.

"Y'alright ma'am?" Shaz asked concernedly and, although Alex knew she meant well, she felt like pointing out that actually, she had just been attacked by a religious nutter, so it might take some time.

After that, they all started talking at once, trying to get their side of the story in first, as well as their well-wishes and concerns such as 'I was so scared you were going to die, ma'am, but I'm so, so glad you're safe,' from Shaz or, 'I really thought you'd had it boss, I mean ma'am,' from Chris or even 'we were worried you'd lose your tits the way he'd slashed you, Drake. That would have been a loss to Fenchurch East, I can tell you,' from Ray, the sensitive soul he was.

At this, Gene stood up and clapped his hands together so that they all jumped.

"Alright! All of you out, now! Give the lady some air, she's 'ad quite a night, let 'er rest!" he barked. Alex had never been so grateful of anything.

Gradually the three others made their goodbyes and filed out, Alex thought Gene was going to leave too, but after coughing awkwardly, he mumbled a request to stay for a bit, which she willingly granted. He told her what she expected to hear, that they were all frantic with worry by the time they'd worked out Burns had taken her, that it was so difficult to get through the door and Gene didn't think they'd make in time and that once in there, Gene was praying that the paramedics and doctors could reverse the damage which, of course, they had. Wonderful, wonderful constructs. Although, she had to admit she was starting to doubt her beliefs there.

After a small silence, Gene ran a hand through his hair and said,

"Jesus Christ, I almost lost you there Bolls," and she was touched at his obvious relief. She hadn't known he cared. She nodded slowly and swallowed, testing out her voice. It was scratchy and a bit gravelly, but it worked.

"I know, I almost lost you too. I almost lost myself, I almost gave up," she admitted. "I don't know why, but I didn't really fight it properly at first. I just sort of accepted it was happening. Then, just in time I guess, I realised that it didn't have to be that way. That I could fight to death if I wanted to. So I pushed him away and tried to run. I almost succeeded too,"

"I know, I saw you. You gave me a bloody fright," he replied, tempted to add in how terrified he was when he saw the pain and fear on her face and the blood everywhere. But he didn't say anything. Best not too, not right now. So, being the Gene Genie, he decided to make a joke of it instead, because that's the only way he can deal with the fact that he was honestly going out of his mind with the worry that he might never see her again.

"I must say though, I'm surprised to 'ear that it took you a while to put up a good fight Bolly," he asserted.

"Why?"

"Why? 'Cause it took you all of about two seconds to decide to slap me on the cheek and punch me in the chin!"

She grinned and laughed a little – as much as her aching throat allowed.

"It's weird, there were times when, although he had a knife and was saying lots of things from the Bible about cleansing me and whatnot it didn't feel like he was a threat. He was terrified, that much is for sure. Irrational, angry Ryan Burns took him over and he just couldn't stop his alter ego. He didn't want to do it, but he just couldn't stop himself. And I know that sounds like bullshit to you," she added before he could butt in – he'd raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth.

"But I was there. I heard him. I felt his fear. And I mean, I genuinely was scared but you could tell he hated what he'd become – the people who love the pain and the fear and the death, they get good at murder; they revel in it. Burns hated it and he was terrified; he wasn't so great at this raping and murdering lark, there were times when he got really easily distracted."

"Well s'a bloody good job 'e did, that's for sure," he said forcefully and she smiled.

"Thanks," she said, "for saving me. Or for helping. Or for whatever you did."

"Well, I'm just glad you're safe an' that you're going to be alright," he said somewhat sheepishly.

"Thanks,"

"An', er, I'm sorry. About our argument. I realised what you said about it being my fault if someone got 'urt. An' it would have been down to me if 'e, well you know, if 'e'd killed you or raped you for that matter,"

"No, look Gene, I was angry, I'm sorry, I wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself for anything."

"But I would've though. Look, I shouldn't 'ave fought you, we should've worked together more and it's my fault I'm sorry," his eyes were entreating her to understand. To stop him floundering like some hooked fish.

"Friends, Gene?" she asked.

"Yeah, friends Bolls."

There was a silence while he looked at her, his eyes roaming her face. Somehow, (call it women's intuition) she knew what he was thinking, what he was going to say. Part of her wanted to agree, to say yes. But she knew it was too soon and she didn't want it to happen here, in a hospital. She needed more time – it was a woman's prerogative.

"Listen, Alex, while we're, you know, being 'onest with each other an' all that, well recently, I've been thinkin', there seems to be something more between us and I really think I should add to that 'friends' agreement," his hand seemed to want to edge closer to hers but kept denying itself. He was nervous, she could tell and that was the reason behind the awkwardness of his words. It was cute though, that blush on his cheeks and his attempts at admitting he'd like to be more-than-friends gave her butterflies a bit. She just wasn't ready yet. In time, though.

"See Bolls, I think we've been gettin' on really well up until today but we've made up now. It was just seein' you in so much danger made me realise something. You might be a pain in the arse sometimes but I can't deny that you're...attractive," 'oh great,' she thought. He didn't stop, "and, well I know, I'm not the freshest flower in the bunch but I got more to offer. And, on top of that I can't deny that I 'ave been imagin' you in th..." Alex's hearing did a double take. Ok-ay maybe that was enough for one eventful, stressful, near-rape-and-murder night.

"Don't push it Hunt!"

"Well 'ere me out, it's just that..."

"Forgotten that punch have we?"

"Best just leave it, eh Bolls?"

"You're learning Hunt, you're learning."

A/N: So, that's it, that's the end. I hope you've enjoyed reading, sorry it was a bit short but that's just how my evil muse is. I have something longer (hopefully) waiting in the wings, no promises though, but I hope I'll see you all there! If anyone has any suggestions, complaints or requests (as well as general comments) feel free to add them into a review or PM me. Thanks again for joining me on this three-shot! Alissa =)