A/N: Part 2 of today's double dose

Chapter Twelve: 1995

Simon's advice had fallen on deaf ears. Gene was not in the mood for going to sleep, nor was he in the mood for putting away the bottle and enjoying a nice, healthy glass of water instead. The more he thought about his conversation with Simon the more he began to slot the pieces into place. There was something very different about the Alex he had seen since she'd woken from her coma. It was more than amnesia, of that he was pretty certain. Even if there had been gaps in her memory she surely wouldn't have been so fundamentally different. It wasn't that she had forgotten the last fifteen years – it was that she hadn't lived through them at all.

He remembered the two Alexes, the one on the screen in 2010 and the one on the hospital floor in 1995. Both wanted to live.

He remembered Alex, fading in and out just the day before. He remembered her disappearing, waking up in her own body and then coming back to him.

What if she'd been fighting to stay? What if she'd been fighting too hard? What if she wanted to be in both places so much, so strongly, that something… snapped? Something changed? Something broke inside of her and the Alex who awoke from her gunshot wound in Gene's world had found the wrong place? Taken a wrong turning?

He knew he needed to find out for sure.

~x~

As he roughly pulled on his jacket and boots, Gene knew there was only one way to know for certain whether any of the Alex he knew was left. He realised during the course of his conversation with Simon how much sense his unwanted thoughts were making. He really didn't want to go down that avenue but his mind wouldn't make any detours.

This was not his Bolly.

If Alex had somehow been 'reset', if she was back to square one, if Alex circa 2008 was back again then this was not the woman he'd shared 15 years of his life with. He didn't want to fight for all those years. He didn't want to battle and get to know her all over again. He wanted the woman back that he knew. He wanted back the woman who came back from The Railway Arms, who'd stood by his side to rebuild a crumbling world, who knew exactly what to say and do to make him complete. He didn't want to go through the last fifteen years all over again – albeit with more computers and fewer shoulder pads – he wanted his Alex.

There was one question that remained. If this wasn't his Alex then where was she?

First things first – he had to make sure there was none of his Alex left in there. If there was the smallest trace of her tucked away then he could coax her forth. He was sure of that. But if there was no trace of his Alex then he needed to know for certain, because the next step would be to find out where his Alex had gone. And, frankly, that was a question that scared seven shades of shit out of him.

He knew perhaps he shouldn't be attempting the following conversation in his current state, his brain addled by lack of sleep and the effects of the half a bottle of scotch inside of him but those same factors were the ones stopping his common sense from kicking in and before he could talk himself out of it he'd slammed the door behind him and stepped out into the cold night air.

He walked slowly to Alex's flat. He needed the time to work out what he was going to say. He'd had some awkward conversations in his time but this was going to be up there with the very worst of them. It was going to be even worse than trying to explain away the sudden disappearance of Simon's Red Dwarf collection earlier that night.

He approached the flat nervously and knocked on the door. When no response came he tried a little harder. After the second attempt saw no reaction he fumbled in his pocket, mumbled "Fuck it," and pulled out his key.

X

Alex woke with a start after the second knock. She'd finally allowed the alcohol to let her slide into a troubled sleep, fraught with nightmares and cold sweats. She sat up, the silk robe still wrapped around her body. Her heart was pounding as she stared at the clock. Half past four in the morning?

The sound of the key turning in the door took her anxiety up another notch. She was torn between running out to confront her intruder and hiding under the covers. Eventually she chose the fighting option, picked up a hair brush to fend off her attacker with and ran into the lounge. She found, standing in the doorway, a darker Gene Hunt than she had sent away earlier that night. His face reflected all the worries, the strain and the anger that he'd been trying to keep to a minimum.

"You again!" she cried angrily, "you almost gave me a heart attack."

Gene looked grim.

"We need to talk," he said bluntly.

"I said all I needed to say when I told you to leave my flat," Alex told him.

"Then it's my turn to speak," said Gene.

Alex began to feel vulnerable and self-conscious in her robe. She pulled the belt around and tied it firmly.

"You have no right to be here," she said firmly, "I'm calling the police."

"I am the bloody police!"

"Then I'll make a citizen's arrest!"

"You're a bloody detective, woman!" Gene cried, "Make a proper arrest!"

"Don't worry, I will," Alex snapped, hairbrush held aloft.

"But before you do," Gene began, "hear me out."

Alex stared at him. There was nothing he could say that would mean a thing to her, of that she was certain.

"You'll be wasting your breath," she warned.

Gene nodded slowly, took a step inside and closed the door behind him.

"Never made me shut me gob before," he said. He looked at her seriously. There were nerves and confusion in her eyes. "I just want you to listen, then I'll leave.

Alex hesitated. Maybe this was the only way to get rid of him for good.

"Then get it over with, 'Gene'," she sighed.

Gene took a deep breath. He looked at the floor, not sure he could meet her doubting eyes.

"Let me guess," he began, "You got shot in the head and woke up in the past. A strange place, strange time… strange people. Well…" he corrected himself, "all of 'em are strange except for one. The others are long gone, but I'm still here. I'll be here until the end o' time. And for the last fifteen years you've been by my side."

"I think you're delusional," Alex said, almost feeling concern for this particular construct, "I think you should seek help for these… strange notions."

"Nineteen eighty one, a new DI shows up at my station," Gene finally looked at her, "Dressed as a tart, head full of fancy ideas about psychiatry and brains. You took my team in hand and showed them there was more to life than collars and filling the cells. Shook me up an' all. Helped me survive when times started changing. Changed me, too. Despite me best efforts."

Alex stared at him. If his words were supposed to be jogging any memories they weren't working.

"I can't give you what you're looking for," she said quietly.

"And time moved on," Gene continued, "I almost lost you. Gave you up. But you came back. You knew it wasn't your time. Always were a step ahead of me. We stared hell in the face and won, Bol- Alex," he corrected, "and for a decade we've been equals. Best team this side of the millennium. Which, by the way, I'm already bloody up to my eyeballs in boredom of hearing about!" he paused to give a sigh and rub his forehead. "See, the thing is, without you it's like I lost a limb. Or half me brain. I'm not used to doing all this without you."

"All what?"

Gene felt his eyes closing before he could stop them. His mind wanted to answer "Breathing," but out loud he said,

"Waking up. Working. Helping them all. Getting pissed. Going to bed. Solving the clues." He sighed, "God, I could do with your Madame Logic head and yer Psychology now." He shook his head slowly. "I can't get used to doing any of this on me own. And I don't want to." He began to walk slowly towards her. "I used to call Fenchurch East 'my station'. It's ours now. All of it's 'ours'. So was yer flat until you came down all Evan White on the Ts and Cs."

Alex froze.

"Evan?" she whispered, "what do you know about Evan?"

Gene ignored the question. That wasn't part of his speech.

"Every day I wake up with you beside me," he said, "and I drive you to work. Then we collaborate all day over the scum we're trying to scrape off the pavement. Then we sample the best that Fenchurch's nightlife has to offer and, if we're lucky, get to enjoy a couple of rounds o' bedroom Olympics before we fall asleep and do it all again tomorrow." He stood so close now she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "That's the life I've been living for more than a bloody decade. And if there's any of you – Alex, my Alex – left inside that head," he reached out and laid his fingers against the side of her forehead, "then you'll remember it too. Every bloody day of it. And if there's not…" he exhaled, a flood of anxiety escaping in his breath, "if there's not, then I've lost everything. Everything I thought my life was about." He leaned in closer, so close he could feel the warmth of her body almost touching his. "So, Alex, tell me. Is there anything left? Anything at all?"

The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

So did the knee in his groin.

As he cried in pain and doubled over, the sensation of Alex's knee making a swift upward movement into his groin being one he hadn't anticipated or prepared for.

"Get your alcohol-riddled hands – and the rest of your pickled body away from me!" she hissed.

Gene looked up at her from the puddle of pain he'd collapsed into on the floor. His last ray of hope that any of his Alex remained inside that pretty head had all but vanished. There was no doubt in his mind that this was a very familiar Alex, just not the one he wanted to see. Alex circa 1981 with a nineties twist.

He felt thankful that the alcohol had numbed his body to a degree where he only felt a fraction of the pain and regained his composure as quickly as possible. With one last cold, hard stare in her direction his heart admitted defeat, but his will was a strong as ever.

"Whoever you are, I'll say goodbye," he hissed, "and the next time I see you, my Bolly will be back in that head."

"You won't be seeing me at all," Alex cried, throwing the hairbrush at him, "I'll be talking to your super first thing in the morning! Your job will soon be a distant memory. Get out. Go!"

Gene tried to straighten up a little, then slowly left the flat. The violent knee had hurt his tackle and the reaction had hurt his pride, but at least now he knew for certain. Something had happened – he didn't have a clue what was behind it but his Alex had vanished and a new Alex had taken her place. He wanted his Alex back. Needed her back, for all the reasons he'd listed and so many more.

For now, he was going to go and seek comfort in the other half of his bottle of scotch. Them tomorrow, when the Alka-Seltzer had done its job and he could stand being in daylight again, he was going to work out where the hell the Bolly he'd spent fifteen years getting to know had gone – that was phase one toward getting her back. Phase two? Well, the next step would have to wait until he was sober.