Yeah, so i have been horrible about updating this... Sorry! It's all written (except the very last chap)but I'm forgetting to post! Anyway, this chap is kinda explanatory to the whole world, to my view of it I guess. The rest of the fic will move between Gene and Stu, focusing more on Stuart of course, as this is his story.

Chapter 3: A Brother's Perspective

1983

Gene Hunt sat at his desk, regretting sending everyone into the pub the night before. However, he knew he did the right thing. He hadn't recognised Keats at first, but after two nights ago, the uncovering of his body, he remembered everything. He remembered his purpose, and all the painful memories that went along with it. All the DI's that had disappeared, all the DS's, the DC's. He had dared not make friends with any of them because they all had to leave eventually. But then he had forgotten who he was. He hadn't even remembered when he took Sam and Annie to the Pub. He had just gone there with them for a drink. He knew they were ready to move on, and was going out to say goodbye. As he approached the Pub, he knew somehow he wasn't supposed to go in. So he had told Sam to buy him a drink and he'd be in.

Gene closed his eyes, trying not to imagine Alex's face as she walked away from him. Her eyes had pleaded with him to not send her away, even after they kissed, after he said 'Go'. As her hand had reached out on the door, he was ready to call out to her, to tell her that it was okay, she could stay. But he knew that she had to move on, or someone new would be in his position ASA- bloody-P and they wouldn't have the proper training to do the job. He remembered the day it had been handed over to him.

Stu was right. He had made DCI by thirty. Earlier even. It was 1960 when DCI Thomas had taken him aside one night. Gene was only 26.

"I'm leaving Gene," he said softly. Gene had wondered when Thomas would be moving on. He was fast approaching sixty-five and coppers that lasted that long were unheard of. "You're going to be my replacement. But the fact of the matter is, there's a little more to it than you might expect."

Gene frowned. How was there more to it? Just more meetings, surely?

"I've seen you show some of the signs instinctively, but you've got to know what's going on. There's going to be some hard truths coming towards you tonight, and you aren't going to feel ready for it. But you are, I guarantee you."

Gene just frowned lightly. "I'm not sure I understand, Sir."

Thomas smiled gently. "This world, it's not what you think it is."

"What do you mean?"

"It's somewhere where we go to sort ourselves, after...after we die."

Gene frowned. "But sir!"

Thomas just shook his head, silencing him. "This is going to be painful to watch Gene. But it's imperative to your understanding."

The DCI led him to an interview room, set up with a home video system. A reel was already attached to the machine.

"Sit down Gene."

Gene sat, the DCI starting up the reel. It started with a clip of Queen Elizabeth the Second's coronation. Then it moved to him, 19 years old, looking terrified as he walked alone by a barn in the country.

A crash sounded from the barn. Gene jumped, pulling out his gun and creeping around the door. "Damn kids," he muttered to himself. He kicked it open, pointing his gun, trying to control the shaking of his hands.

"I'd drop that if I were you," said a deep voice.

The reel only showed the back of the man, but Gene could remember his face perfectly.

A gun went off. Gene watched himself fall to the ground as the man started laughing.

The reel ended, and Gene sat, staring at the wall in horror and disbelief.

"Why did you show me that, Sir? What good does it do to bring back the pain?"

"This is important Gene. You have to remember who you are. You have to remember why you're here. You're a Guardian, Gene. Not an angel by any means. You're just here to help coppers get over their deaths and then take them to the Pub. Sometimes though, they don't make it. You have to help them. Do you remember two years ago, when DI Wells died?"

"Yeah," he said darkly.

"Do you remember how you held him?"

"Yeah. It...it just felt like the right thing to do," Gene said. "Gut instinct."

"It's because you came to this world to be a Guardian. Your problems with your own death are so severe, that it's going to take years. The people you help are going to help you, and when the next Guardian comes along, you will know."

"How do you know?"

"I knew from the moment you stepped into my CID. You were a DC, hardly 21 and all the men looked up to you. Not many can do that. Plus the way you've advanced. You are the youngest DCI ever, Gene. And no one resents you for it either. They're all happy. There's another clue. And the biggest clue was how you arrived."

Gene frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Time fluctuates, Gene. When someone crosses over to our world, they have a residual memory of what happen. That includes what year they came from. They always come from the future, until the next Guardian comes. You'll know when that happens, just like I did. They arrive in this world the minute they left the last. Just like you arrived on coronation day, late in the afternoon."

"I don't understand."

"Let me give you an example. The last man that arrived before you was killed in 1950. He arrived in 1946. The real world doesn't move on the same time as we do. Two years there may equal seven or ten here. The further ahead in time the people come from, the longer you'll be here. So if you have someone in 1960 who arrives from 1974, you know you'll be here at least until 1974."

Gene frowned. "I don't even get a choice?"

"It's your second nature. You won't even be aware you do it," Thomas assured him.

"So...I become this Guardian thing. What happens if I forget my death?"

"You mustn't. If you do, a Tempter will come. He will try to win over your CID and if he does, your time is done. You don't get to go to the Pub either."

"What do you mean the Pub?"

"The Railway Arms. The entrance to heaven."

Gene's mouth dropped open. "No. No way, Sir. I can't believe this."

Thomas smiled. "Fine. Come with me."

They walked to The Railway Arms together, neither speaking. Gene was still pondering all that he had been told. As the approached, Thomas started speaking again.

"I'll walk in. Wait about thirty seconds after my shadow disappears, and you can go in. You'll feel it when it's the right time.

Gene nodded and let DCI Thomas go in. Strangely, he felt like he should walk away for a moment, but that feeling passed and he walked into the pub, looking at Nelson.

"Where's DCI Thomas?"

"I haven't seen him all night, mon brav."

Gene frowned. "But he just came in here."

Nelson shook his head. Gene was amazed. Was it possible? Had Thomas really just gone to heaven? Was he really going to be a DCI?

Gene laid a note on the bar. "I'll take a pint."

DCI, he thought. I can drink to that.

He was roused back to awareness by a face in his window. Gene turned to look at it, but nothing was there. Sighing, he sat down and grabbed the book on the new car he was looking at. He half considered just getting a new Quattro, but he couldn't. The Quattro was Bolly's car, just like the Cortina was Sam's. He was almost glad that the scumbags had murdered the Quattro.

Gene stopped when he heard screaming from the office. He looked up, staring a moment at the man who had just crashed into his CID. He stood, moving towards the door.

"Word in your shell-like pal?"

The man stopped, staring at Gene. "What the bloody hell are you supposed to be?" he asked rudely.

"In my office, now," Gene said dangerously.

"You think I'm going to..."

"Now, Inspector." He knew it was an inspector. Inspectors always came first. A new sergeant would come next, and then a WPC. He had enough DC's that Chris didn't need a replacement.

The man stared at him a moment before stepping insolently into Gene's office. "What year is this supposed to be?" he asked.

"What year do you think it is?" Gene asked lightly. Normally, he wouldn't put up with this crap, but he wanted to know how far in the future he would be in this station.

"It's 2008."

Gene smirked. He had to make fun of the man now. It was all part of the job, one, he had to say, of his favourite perks. "You're a regular spaceman, aren't you. Tell me, do you have flying cars? Has it come out that Doctor Who is real after all?"

"I don't have time for this," the man muttered. He started to walk out of the office, but Gene sprang into action, grabbing the man's lapels and shoving him into the filing cabinet. A memory flashed across his mind of doing the exact same thing to Sam ten years earlier.

"Let's get a couple of things straight. One: It's 1983. Not 2008. Two: I'm your DCI. I own you. I tell you when you come and when you go. You don't breathe unless I say so. The sooner you know that, the better. Got it?"

"Yes sir," the man said stiffly.

"Guv."

"What?"

"You don't call me sir. You call me Guv."

"Yes Guv," the man sneered.

Gene shoved him against the filing cabinet again. "Terry and Bammo will show you around. Out."

He let go and the inspector stalked out, where Terry and Bammo met him. He heard the man announce his name and froze.

"Peter Wells," he said. "I was named for my grandfather. He was a really great copper in Manchester. Murdered in 1950 during an armed blag."

No. This twat couldn't be Pete's grandson.

"Sorry Pete," he muttered.

As he poured himself a whiskey, he thought about what the inspector had said. 2008. He did the math in his head. He'd be sixty four in 2008. But that wasn't what was concerning him. Alex had said she was from 2008. Two officers from the same year? That was almost unheard of. Time was slowing down incredibly quickly. Gene wondered how many months Alex had been dead in the real world before the new inspector had been injured. The only problem was, he couldn't ask the man directly.

However an opportunity presented itself before he could think of one. "DI Drake?" Wells asked loudly.

Gene stood and moved out into the office. "I'd very much appreciate that," he said, making sure that Wells knew he wasn't just asking politely.

"DI Drake?" Wells questioned, holding the name plate.

"DI Alex Drake. She was the DI before you. Gunned down during a job," he said, wincing inwardly.

Wells' lips mouthed the name. "But I knew a Drake! She died in 2008, about a month ago!"

CID snickered. "I've already told you it's 1983, you twat. And Drake died yesterday afternoon. Not a month ago, twenty five years in the future."

CID was still. "Guv?" Terry questioned. "DI Drake?"

"She was injured when they started shooting at the Quattro. Daft mare hid the wound until it was too late." His voice caught a moment.

"What about Ray and Chris and Shaz?"

"Ray decided after Drake died that the army was a good idea after all. Right now he's in a recruitment office. He wouldn't listen to my attempts to get him to stay. Chris and Shaz are eloping. They're in Manchester at the moment."

"Is there going to be a funeral for the Ma'am?"

Gene shook his head slowly. "The wanker of an ex-husband came in with her daughter. He was listed as her next of kin. He specifically said none of our sort were allowed at the funeral. Didn't even let it slip where she'd be buried. We can do a memorial service soon, okay?"

CID nodded, all of their faces morose.

Gene retreated back into his office. His thoughts kept straying back to Pete. His grandfather had been Gene's DI. What an ill fated family. Gene thought back to the last night of his DI's life. Stu had stood there, looking amazed that there could be that kind of violence in the world.

Gene shook his head. He shouldn't think about Stu. He knew what had happened. Stu had promised he'd get clean, screwed up and died because of it. He had lost his second chance. It wasn't fact, but Gene was certain Stuart Hunt had gone to hell.

to be continued