A/N: I will start with: RIP my computer, which died in late November. I will miss you. :( Sorry for the delay, but exams, other fics and slightly forgetting the plot for this one kind of held me back from writing... next to update will be A Lion In Distress, methinks. Please note as well that this is the last chapter for LWG, but there can be a sequel if people want one! Jazzola :)
There was silence in the Quattro as we headed back to CID, a man down but so nearly two men down; Chris was bewildered in the back, completely unknowing as to why my hand was resting on Gene's arm the whole way back, as though I was scared to let go of him, needed to feel his solid skin under my fingers; I'd even rolled his sleeve back to expose the scarred forearm beneath, gently massaging his flesh as we parked in front of our destination. Ray's wound was flesh only, a glancing wound that bled a lot but did hardly any damage at all; the doctors had stressed that he just needed rest and stitches and his body would soon do the rest.
My smile grew as I remembered the months of pure pain that I had eliminated, for myself and for many others. Mrs Hunt's tear-stained face came back to me sharply, her shaking hands grasping a picture of Gene in his infancy, the half-smiling little boy totally oblivious to his bloody fate; I had saved her from the agony I knew too well, losing a child. Chris and Ray had been spared losing their Guv. My beam widened.
"Yer look like a cat that's been in the cream, Bolls," Gene commented, opening the door of the Quattro and stepping out, giving Chris a disapproving look as the young DC remained where he was, staring at the back of Gene's seat.
"Oi, Wonder Chris! Yer gettin' out or what?"
Chris hurriedly fumbled his door open, bailing out with a hasty "yes Guv" and all but running to the station, disappearing in a whirl of denim jacket and highlighted hair into the entrance. Gene shook his head at the retreating figure.
"What's got inter 'im?"
I giggled, sliding my arm round Gene, once again needing to feel his firm body under my fingers. He raised his eyebrows at me, but it was for the benefit of the watchers only; I could tell from his gaze that he understood.
"Just can't get enough o' the Gene Genie, can yer, Bolls?"
I grinned at him, slipping my fingers under his shirt, stroking his back. He tensed beneath me, hurriedly drawing his coat across to hide something just below his belt as I laughed.
"Enough o' that, Frilly-Knickers, save it fer later," he hissed to me, no real malice or discipline behind his words as he stalked towards CID, keeping the coat across his front. I walked after him, my smile still intact, the only fly in the ointment being that my chances of returning to 2008- and my daughter- were gone.
Oh, come on, Alex. Did you really think you'd just wake up from being shot in the head and everything would be alright again? You'd not have any real damage from it, you'd just be completely back to normal with your little girl and Evan. No. Even if you'd still been the full compliment of sandwiches for a picnic, you'd have had to face Evan- the man who had an affair with your mother and didn't tell you, not even when you named your own daughter his goddaughter along with you, and he knew all along what happened with Arthur Layton and didn't once tell you, didn't sit you down and explain everything when you were old enough. It would never have worked, especially as you'd have taken yourself and your daughter out of his life and then God knows what would have happened. You certainly wouldn't have ever met Gene, for a start.
I didn't even notice the little girl sitting in the entrance as I passed by, wrapped in my own thoughts, Gene firmly in my line of sight. I knew I wouldn't be letting him out of it for a while.
Face it, Alex. From the moment Layton's bullet entered your head, you belonged here in the 80s, without Evan and with people who really do care about you, like Gene and Shaz and Chris and, well, maybe Ray.
My heart panged for Molly, the smile I loved, the prominent birthmark on the smooth cheek that I'd caressed so long ago as she shivered in my arms, the memory of the barrel of a gun staring down at her like a soulless, deathly eye still firmly in her head. My arms curved a little of their own accord, remembering cuddling her, holding her close, reading her stories with her curled up in my arms in bed; my soul ached for her, my little girl, my Molls...
But sometimes you can't have everything you want, can you? Molly will be OK. She has people who care for her as well. The pain will subside one day. Hopefully, anyway.
Gene banged into his office as soon as he got in, taking his coat off but still keeping his back to the office as best he could as he sat down in his chair, pouring a tumbler of whisky, the office in order with his name on the door and his very good self resting behind the desk, as always. Just for a second, the memory of an unfamiliar, unwelcome face behind the glass panels came back, and I shuddered, pretending to be cold when I got some strange looks from the people around me.
They all think I'm nuts. I don't care. They should try coming from the future straight into 1981, having been shot by some psychotic, greasy-haired, over-the-hill bastard, and appearing sane whilst they're doing it. Besides, the people who matter don't think I'm mad, and if they do- Gene- they like it.
A little shadow passed by the window as I sat down; blue eyes peered at me, widening. I only just noticed them, assuming it was someone's lost child or someone waiting for someone else in the entrance staring at CID, doing something to occupy themselves while their friend or relative sorted their business out.
It didn't quell the little flicker of recognition that I felt.
I turned back, a little creeped out by the whole thing, standing up to go into Gene's office, craving his proximity once again. Still my mind didn't quite accept that he was back, that he'd come back; I saw him looking up at me, the tiny smile that curved his lips, and moved towards the office.
One door opened softly.
In unison, the whole office looked up to see the little girl standing in the doorway, typical 80s kids clothes framing a slim body, one not yet quite blossomed into womanhood but on the brink of it, long, slightly mousy blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, a distinctive birthmark on her cheek.
My heart all but stopped as the little girl turned to look directly at me; a jolt of recognition and joy slammed through me. The smile on my face redoubled.
"Molls!"
Second A/N: I hope you liked it! There may be a sequel if you guys ask :) Thanks for reading, and please remember to review! Jazzola :)
