Chapter Five: 1995

Alex had been on her best behaviour for three days now. The conversation with her doctor had been a wake-up call to her and she knew that if she wanted to get out of that stinky, imaginary hospital in her head and to find her way home then she was going to have to play along and backtrack, big time.

She tried to play it the smart way, easing herself in. Didn't want to change too quickly and raise suspicion. On the first day she smiled at Gene and stopped using air quotes when she said his name. On the second day she apologised for her behaviour, claimed to be feeling much better and even gave him a peck on the cheek. Now, on the third day she was all flirty giggles and smiles. It helped, of course, that she had pickpocketed Gene's flask the day before and gave herself a large dose of Dutch courage to help her go through with the act of faking some luuurrrrrve.

She had been polite and accepting of all the other oddities that had come her way. She hadn't challenged or questioned them for a second. The ancient technology, the Britpop invasion on the radio, all the talk about New Labour on the news. She had even greeted her various visitors without question, despite having no idea who they were.

First there had been the young blonde girl who thought it was acceptable to describe the pros and cons of nipple piercings to her, then the geeky weirdo who was blathering on about the various genres of Cheerios, red spaceships and some girl called Robin who, from his description, seemed to have a fairly serious problem with her facial hair. Or perhaps she had misunderstood that part.

She felt like she was making progress now. She'd been about making her 'transition' to the new and improved Alex seem as realistic as possible, concerned that Gene might not buy it but she seemed to have chosen just the right path. Her reward was the relaxed look on his face as he sat be her bed, absently picking something off the sole of his shoe with a thermometer.

"You're looking good, Bols," he said. She still had to cringe when he used that name. She didn't like it. Put her in mind of soup bowls. Kept picturing someone trying to use her as crockery to assist in the consumption of some lovely soup.

"I'm feeling much better now," Alex said with a slightly tipsy smile, failing to add that the reason for feeling so much better was the pilfered scotch she'd downed about fifteen minutes prior to his arrival.

All the alcohol in the world wasn't enough to stop her reeling in horror when an amorous and frustrated Gene leaned close to her and made noises to the effect of wanting to join her in bed. With a slight look of horror on her face she politely but firmly pushed him away and instantly regretted the action that may have damaged her cunning plan, so some damage limitation was in order.

"I would love to… welcome little Gene back," she felt a wave of nausea rise into her throat as she managed to say the words that threatened to have her retching over the side of the bed, "but not here. Not in hospital. Horrible sheets, you see. All rough. I would rather have some," she flinched just a little as she reached out to touch his arm, "fun in silk."

"Not sure the NHS can stretch to your expensive tastes, Bollyknickers," Gene said, raising an eyebrow.

"Then how about having a quiet chat with one of those doctors you seem to get on so well with," Alex began pointedly, "ask then when I can come home."

Gene looked a little nervous.

"They don't seem to like me very much," he commented, "shoved too many things up their collective nostrils."

"All the more reason for you to be the one to ask them," Alex tried, "if anything will get me out of here early it will be the thought of escaping Gene Hunt on a rampage."

Gene thought about her words. They made a lot of sense. Threatening to jam a selection of objects into people's noses – and other less accessible orifices – certainly got results.

"You promise there'll be silk sheets involved?" he asked.

Alex gave a large, false smile.

"Would I lie to you?" she beamed.

Gene hesitated for a moment then ran his tongue across the inside of his lip, nodding slowly.

"Leave it wi' me, Bols," he said, "I think the National Health Service has taken you as far as it's ever going to. Time to try the National Hunt Service instead."

Alex gave another fake smile as he walked away to search for a medical professional to threaten, then made vomiting noises behind his back. This act was killing her, but it was a means to an end and she knew it was a small price to pay if it meant getting back on her feet and back into the wide world beyond.

It was only a few minutes later when a triumphant Gene returned to impart the good news.

"Two more days, Drakey," he told her, "just two more days and we'll be rolling around in those silk sheets."

This time, Alex's smile was far from false. Forgetting the part about Gene Hunt and some silk sheets - a thought that made the alcohol bubble in her stomach and threaten to come right back up again - she finally saw light at the end of the tunnel. Two days. Two more days and the stupid hospital and the doctors and nurses within it would be a thing of the past – there would be only Alex, her wits and her determination to find a way out of this place and get back home to Molly. The last few days had been a long and exhausting struggle but now she could see the fire exit looming large.

"Perfect," she whispered.

For once, that night, she was going to have sweet dreams, she was sure of it. Sweet dreams of freedom. And she deserved them.

Gene also had a feeling he was going to have sweet dreams that night, but his were going to involve himself, Alex, silk sheets and a lot of spreadable chocolate. The moment the doctor said – under duress – that he was happy to discharge Alex in just two days he felt his spirits lift greatly for the first time since her shooting and he could see an end to the ordeal in sight. He was happy. Deeply, truly happy.

Unfortunately, that happiness was only to last as long as it took to get back to CID and open up a parcel.

~xXx~

"Shoebury, a word."

Simon glanced up. Gene's tone surprised him. As he caught sight of his expression he began to feel anxious.

"Something wrong?" he asked nervously, "has something happened to Alex?"

But Gene didn't reply. He simply began a slow but determined walk back to his office. Simon swallowed nervously. He didn't know what was going on or what the matter was with Gene but something certainly wasn't right. Feeling nerves beginning to jump in his guts he stood up and began to follow him, both Vickery and Lindsay staring after him as he went.

He began to chew on his lip as he reached Gene's office. It was a nervous habit that he'd picked up from Robin. He wasn't sure why but he had a sinking feeling that something very, very bad was about to unfold.

"Shut the door," Gene told him.

Simon closed it right up and looked on a little anxiously as Gene closed the blinds to shut out prying eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Sit down, Shoebury," Gene said.

Simon's nerves began to increase. He nervously took a seat and looked at Gene expectantly as he pulled out a box and lifted up a video cassette from within it.

"What's that?" he asked. The last time he saw a tape it had contained something very, very grim indeed and he hoped this one was not from Keats's personal video collection.

"Evidence," Gene said gruffly, "this was supposed to be security camera footage of a suspect fleeing from a shooting. Sent our way to help with our enquiries." He turned the tape over in his hands once or twice. "Except, I think they must have sent me the wrong thing because this is some kind of poofy porno."

Simon stared on. He couldn't even pretend to know where Gene was heading with this.

"I don't understand," he said quietly.

Gene took a short walk to the TV/Video combi in the corner of his office and shoved the tape roughly inside. As he glanced back at Simon, Simon noted one side of his upper lip was raising ever so slightly in a half-sneer.

"Maybe it will start to make more sense when you watch the thing," he said.

The screen burst into life with a fizz of static which cleared abruptly as the tape began to play. To begin with Simon wasn't sure what he was watching. There were a couple of figures tussling in what appeared to be the roof of a building.

With a gasp and a hand over his mouth, the contents of the tape became very clear indeed.

"Shit," he breathed.

"It's a good one, this porno," Gene began, "look, it's got a plot and everything. Some kind of fight. Why do you think that is? Could it be because one of them is a mad man whose been shooting his gun as often as he shoots off his mouth?"

"Gene…" Simon felt his heart begin to race.

"And now it turns into an action film," Gene commented at the image of a tumbling Simon plunging over the side of the roof, holding on by a single hand, "course, I prefer westerns meself. But the stunts are pretty good, if you like this kind of thing."

Simon swallowed. He didn't want to watch the rest of this.

"Gene, listen," he began, getting to his feet but a bark from Gene put him in his place.

"Sit down, Shoebury!"

Like an obedient dog, Simon had no choice but to follow his instructions. As Gene's yell sent him reeling back into his chair he watched the strange sight of Keats grasping his hand and pulling him back to safety.

"I don't want to watch this," his voice broke a little as he spoke quietly.

"Oh, I think you should give it a chance," barked Gene, "the action's only just starting to hot up now."

On the screen before them the black and white image of Keats placed a hand on his own chest to feel his heart beating. Simon felt his lips turn dry and ran his tongue across them. He remembered every moment of the strange exchange they'd had on that hospital roof but had been working to block it out for the last week. It had disturbed him to see it again, shaken him inside.

"Stop the tape, Gene," he whispered a plea.

Gene ignored him.

"Could do with some popcorn right about now," he said, eyes fixed on Simon as the tape showed the two rooftop figures just staring at each other. "You'll like the next bit," he said coldly. On the screen, Keats reached out slowly and pulled up Simon's blood-smeared shirt to see the wounds that lay beneath. "Funny, thought you were supposed to be the shirt lifter."

"Just switch it off!" Simon begged, getting to his feet again. On screen at that moment, Keats reached forward and laid his palm on Simon's chest, feeling for his heartbeat. Seeing it played back to him made Simon feel sick and anxious inside. "Please, Gene."

He reached out to stop the tape but Gene blocked him easily, grasped him by the shirt and pushed him back into the chair.

"I said sit down!" he yelled, "We haven't even reached the best part yet!"

Simon swallowed hard and tried to block out the sight of Keats reaching out to his face, gently running a thumb across his cheek. He looked down, shame rising inside of him and spreading as a pink glow across his cheeks.

"Very touching," said Gene, "give that man an Oscar."

"I was bleeding," Simon protested, "he was wiping the blood away."

"Then why has he got a small blimp inflating in his trousers?" scowled Gene. He pressed pause and froze the figures on the screen, Keats's hand stretching out towards Simon's cheek for the second time, then turned to stare at Simon with something approaching fury across his face. "One thing, Simon. What was the one thing I said to you after he put a bullet in Bolly's head?" he paused for just a moment. "Get him. That's all I wanted. Get him."

Simon felt tears springing to his eyes, even though he couldn't explain why. Guilt? Shock? He wasn't sure.

"I was trying, Gene!" he protested, "I chased him up to the roof –"

"And then you whispered sweet nothings to each other and let him disappear!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Simon cried, getting up again. This time Gene didn't instruct him to sit down.

"You had the chance to get him, Shoebury!" Gene cried, "There he was, there for the taking!"

"I didn't know he was going to take a flying jump and vanish into thin air!" Simon protested, perspiration beginning to appear across his forehead.

"But you were happy to let 'im inspect yer pecs while Alex lay dying in that hospital room!"

"For god's sake, Gene, it wasn't like that!" Simon cried, "That human side came out again… just for a moment…"

"And you thought you'd help him do some coming out of the closet as well?"

"Don't be stupid!"

"I've seen the tape three times now, Shoebury! Keats was two seconds away from joining the back door brigade when Metal Mickey arrived and literally saved your arse!"

"Look," Simon cried angrily, "nothing happened, nothing was going to happen. I almost fell off that bloody great building – I was terrified. I couldn't move… didn't know what to do. Keats…" he closed his eyes just for a moment. "he had an attack of humanity. He saved my life."

"After trying to end it!"

"Well what do you want me to say?" cried Simon, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't know he was going to jump off the roof and disappear faster than a bottle of scotch in your office!"

Gene took a step towards him.

"Getting personal now are you, Shoebury?" Despite being just a little taller, Simon knew Gene had the strength and the bulk and felt more than a little nervous as he edged closer, "I put my trust in you. Get Keats – that's all I asked you to do."

"Don't you think I've been cursing myself every day since?" Simon cried, "what could I have done any differently?"

"Tried slapping a pair of handcuffs on him instead of getting little Jimbo excited?" Gene suggested angrily.

"I did no such thing!" cried Simon.

"No, you just sat there gazing into his bloody eyes!" Gene spat angrily in his face. He took a deep breath and a step backward. He knew that his temper was reaching epic proportions and could see himself getting into trouble if he didn't try to quell his fury. He turned away, no longer wishing to look Simon in the eye. "You were supposed to get him, Simon," he said despondently, "to get him for what he did to Alex. Now he's vanished into thin air. You had the perfect opportunity, and you blew it."

Simon felt something rising in his chest; a lump of guilt that made it hard to breathe. The awful part was that he knew Gene was right. He was spot on with everything he'd said. Simon should have taken the opportunity to grab Keats as soon as he'd caught his breath, but he didn't. He'd been caught in that same hypnotic state that Keats had used to reel in Kim, and had even tried on Alex. How did he let that happen? He had replayed that moment over and over but still had no answers.

"I'm sorry," his voice crackled with tears he was determined not to give in to, "I'm so sorry, Gene."

Gene looked back at him, just for a second. His eyes barely made contact with Simon's stare. He couldn't stand to.

"Get out of my sight, Shoebury."

Simon felt himself deflate as Gene's words hit him.

"Gene…"

"Out."

There was no arguing with that tone. Gene had spoken.

Feeling as though someone had just ploughed up his heart, Simon slunk to the door and slipped out of the office like a disgraced cat who'd done its business behind the desk.

One strange moment of hypnotic allure from a madman on the hospital rooftop and the friendship he and Gene had started to build had collapsed like ten tons of stone balancing on a snail's shell.