Thanks for all the great reviews and comments - they're much appreciated. I'd also like to thank grainweevil for her excellent episode transcripts - simply couldn't have written this chapter without them.

Moonlight Shadow

Jim Keats woke with a start, his heart pounding and his mind racing with panic from some now unremembered dream. He blinked in the pre-dawn darkness and blindly reached out for his glasses, fumbling and cursing as he knocked over a wine glass which still contained the dregs of last night's attempt at oblivion. He sat up and now that he could actually see his surroundings, it all came rushing back to him. He had obviously fallen asleep on the sofa again and the hissing static from the tv reminded him that he had omitted to switch it off. He stood up and walked over to it now, sneering as he gave the set a hard thump. Nothing. Nothing at all.

But he wasn't disheartened by any means. Yesterday he had disguised himself as best he could and then he had reconnoitred Fenchurch East, looking for its weak points and hanging around hoping to pick up gossip from the officers leaving and entering the station. He knew that Hunt and Drake were still frustrated in their attempts to find him and he also knew that Viv was back behind the desk. And although CID had obviously taken Chris's death hard they all seemed to be pulling together rather than blaming each other. But that wouldn't last – Keats knew that wouldn't last. It couldn't. And if he had to help the process along then so be it. Ultimately it was for their own good – including his own of course.

Jim wandered into the small kitchenette and turned on the kettle. He smiled as he waited for it to boil. He had a good feeling about today. There was a change in the air – he could sense it. Finally he would find out Gene Hunt's secret, the secret that he was sure was the key to his returning home. He poured hot water onto instant coffee granules and took a sip of the hot black liquid which scalded his throat as he swallowed. He grimaced but then relaxed and almost seemed to relish the pain – a reminder that he was alive. He walked over to the window and looked across the road at Fenchurch East, still shrouded in darkness and only the occasional office light blazing to illuminate the gloom.

Today had been a long time coming, he reflected. He had been so close in Manchester, almost within touching distance of the secret. But then Sam Tyler had let him down, refusing to acknowledge the truth that they both knew – that Gene Hunt was the key to this world, and that the only way out of it was through him. Today he would put his final plan into action, his last ditch attempt to thwart Gene Hunt and go home.

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Not very far from the flat where Keats was hiding, another man had woken with a start, although his circumstances were very different indeed. Despite having a warm and naked Alex in the bed beside him, something compelled Gene to leave their bed, a restlessness that simply wouldn't go away. He couldn't even remember the dream that had woken him prematurely, but now that he was awake he found it impossible to just lie there. So now he was fully dressed and sipping on a mug of strong coffee, listening to the rain outside the window. Last night he had managed quite successfully to push away the lurking menace of Keats, but in the harsh reality of day he knew he could no longer ignore him. Keats had been systematically chipping away at his kingdom – trying to get at him with Sam and then with Alex – and for the life of him Gene still didn't know why. But it didn't really matter why – not any more. He simply couldn't afford to wait for Keats to reappear and cause havoc once again. With the familiar determined pout now appearing on his face he made his decision. No matter what Alex said, he would go looking for Jim Keats and he wouldn't stop until he found him.

Decision made, he gulped down the last of his coffee shrugged on his jacket and made his way quietly back towards the bedroom where Alex was still sleeping. He paused at the doorway, content just to look at her as she lay sprawled across the bed. He noticed with a smile that she had rolled over into the warm and vacant space that he had left, clutching the pillow that he had slept on and generally giving the appearance of being dead to the world. His heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he watched her like this, and he crept closer, unable to tear himself away quite yet.

He sat down carefully on the bed next to her and tenderly brushed her hair away from her brow. Before he could help himself, he was leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. For a moment he thought he had got away with it as she slept on seemingly oblivious, but then a smile played across her lips and she very slowly opened her eyes.

"Gene?"

"Didn't mean to wake you love. Go back to sleep." Despite his best intentions he leaned forward to kiss her again, this time softly on the lips. "Back to sleep sweetheart…you've got another hour before you need to be up."

Alex sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You smell good. You could always come back to bed," she mumbled sleepily.

"Don't think I'm not tempted."

And for a second he was – but he could also see that Alex had almost fallen back to sleep already and he needed a head start on the day if he was to achieve what he wanted. He stroked her brow and watched as she drifted away from him. With a determined effort he finally got up and walked towards the bedroom door – although he couldn't resist turning around for one last look. He shook his head and closed the bedroom door gently behind him. "Soppy bastard." He shrugged on his overcoat and headed towards the front door, almost stepping on something on the doormat that had not been there last night.

He frowned as he picked up the large brown envelope. It was addressed to 'DI Alex Drake' on one side, and on the other side was stamped 'Property of the Metropolitan Police'. Also stamped in prominent red ink was 'Photographs - Do not Bend'. Mystery solved then – Viv must have sent over the photographs developed from the roll of film belonging to Sam. Gene stood with the envelope in his hand for a moment longer, debating over whether to leave the envelope here for Alex to open, or to take it with him and leave it on her desk. It was a short debate and he tucked the envelope inside his overcoat and left the flat.

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Gene was already onto his second mug of tea but still no sign of the rest of team making an appearance. He glanced at the clock as if to assure himself that it hadn't stopped completely. It was only 8.30 but the second hand ticked around the clock fact relentlessly. Still, the quiet start to the day had given him time to put his thoughts into some sort of order and he was ready to put his plan regarding Keats into action. He had a feeling Alex would fight him every inch of the way but he was looking forward to the argument. A good old barney always set him up for the day.

His gaze now wandered back to the brown envelope on his desk – the one he had meant to put on Alex's desk but had somehow forgotten. He looked at it now, his eyes narrowing slightly as he contemplated the imagined contents. He should wait for Alex…he wanted to wait for Alex. He had no idea what was going to be on those photographs and he had an idea that he might need Alex for some sort of support. He ran a finger around the edge of the envelope. Of course he could open it right now – he had every right after all. Sam had been his best friend…his only friend now you come to mention it, and these photographs could be the last tangible link to the mate he so sorely missed.

With a sudden determination he picked up the envelope and quickly ripped open the seal, extracting the photographs and turning them over. A wry smile crept over his face as the first photograph revealed a smiling Sam and Annie, very happy and very much a couple. "Big soft Mary," he muttered scornfully. But he remembered that he had been slightly jealous when they took up with each other. It had compounded his sense of loneliness…of separateness. But then he had eventually found Alex and that feeling had gone away…mostly. He continued to rifle through the photographs, each one bringing back a long-forgotten memory; Ray, Chris and himself all togged up in bad 70's fashion, a snap of the old CID offices in Manchester, a couple of his beloved Cortina – his pride and joy. And then he came to the last photograph.

At first he didn't recognise it, didn't understand what it was or where it was for that matter – an old decrepit farmhouse with a weathervane. For a moment Gene was too stunned for thought or action. He flipped the photograph over and someone had written something on the back – 'Farringfield Green, Hyde.' He stared uncomprehendingly at the words, still not quite understanding what he was seeing. But then hundreds of conflicting words and thoughts crashed through his head, each fighting for supremacy in his addled brain. He thought he heard the sound of crows but he also thought he might be going mad. But in the end the only word that mattered, the word that kept repeating in his head was Hyde. Hyde. Hyde. HYDE.

He moved robotically now, automatically, almost staggering across his office as he reached for his overcoat and threw it on, ignoring the sounds of the rest of the team as they finally wandered into CID. He turned to go but then turned back towards his desk, reached into the bottom draw and pulled out his revolver and holster.

"Guv!"

Ray was waiting for him as he emerged into CID but he kept on walking, not daring to stop for fear of what he would say or do.

"Guv? I've got an idea about Keats…a plan" Ray watched in despair and frustration as Gene stalked out of the office. "Well thanks a bunch Guv. Morning to you too."

"He's probably just had an argument with ma'am," Shaz said, "you know what they're like."

"Yeah well. No need to take it out on us now is there?"

Shaz smiled a little sadly. "I'll make you a cup of tea shall I?"

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Alex hurried up the steps and into the station, desperately late and more than a little annoyed that Gene had apparently not reset the alarm clock, nor phoned the flat when she was late. Not that she was particularly worried about a bollocking from her boss of course, but she didn't like to take advantage of her relationship with Gene and besides, it was unprofessional.

"Morning ma'am," Viv said, as she hurried past the front desk.

"Sorry Viv, can't stop. I'm late."

"Guv's gone out if that's what you're worried about ma'am."

"Oh." Alex came to a halt and turned back towards Viv. "Did he say where he was going?"

Viv shook his head. "Didn't say anything at all. Just walked straight past the desk and out. By himself."

"How odd." Alex couldn't recall Gene mentioning any business outside the station today – but she supposed something could have turned up earlier. "Anything going on I should know about?"

"Apart from Keats you mean?"

"Keats? What about Keats?"

"Ah."

"Viv?"

"It's probably nothing to worry about, only we think he was spotted hanging around the station yesterday. I told the Guv before he left here for the night but he said he'd sort it today."

"Shit. Anything else?"

"I don't think so. Oh, did you get the photographs?"

"Photographs?" Alex was beginning to feel totally out of the loop and she had only been gone from the station overnight for crying out loud.

"From that roll of film you gave me. I told the duty sergeant when I left last night to make sure you got them straight away. He said he sent them over to your address last night – probably slipped them under the door."

Alex felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "The Guv must have picked them up," she said, trying to cover the panic she was now beginning to feel. "I'm sure he's put them on my desk."

She turned towards CID and quickened her pace, bursting through the swing doors and nearly knocking over Terry in the process. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Alex! Have you heard? About Keats?" Ray said, as he watched her rifle through papers on her desk.

"What? Oh yes. I just need to…..I need to find something first."

"Yeah? Well I've got this plan and we need to…." He watched as she walked straight past him and into Gene's office. "It's like I'm talking to me bloody self today. Well sod 'em both. This is my investigation now and I'll get Keats without their help."

Shaz was watching proceedings with unease. "There's something going on….something's not right."

In Gene's office it hadn't taken Alex long to find what she was looking for – the empty brown envelope and several photographs scattered over his desk. She picked them up one by one and discarded them quickly until she reached the final print which had landed face down on the floor. She picked it up and read the words 'Farringfield Green, Hyde'. The name meant nothing to her although Sam had mentioned Hyde in his transcript of the time he had spent here. Although a real place, Sam had also used it as metaphor for 2006 – the place and time he thought he belonged. He had also mentioned that Gene had retained a deep suspicion of Hyde, which hadn't abated when it was revealed Sam had been transferred from there. She turned the photograph over and almost immediately she felt her legs turn to water.

"Oh God!" She clasped one hand over her mouth as she tried to contain the shock of seeing the by now familiar farmhouse. She closed her eyes and once again she saw the television news flash and heard the sound of crows. The newscaster's voice disjointedly echoed in her head. 'Police in... body... shallow grave on... police officer...' She slumped to the floor. "Oh no, please no."

"Ma'am?" Shaz peered around the door to find Alex sitting on the floor. "Are you alright ma'am?"

"Not really Shaz no." She took a few deep breaths as she tried to quell the rising sense of panic – it didn't really take detective to figure out where Gene had gone.

"Do you feel faint? Shall I get you some water?"

Alex took a final deep breath and pulled herself together. "No. No water. What I need is a map."

"A map? What of?"

"Greater Manchester and Hyde. And hurry Shaz – I need it in the next ten minutes."

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After hours of relentless and at times quite reckless driving, Alex finally arrived at, what she both hoped and dreaded, was Farringfield Green. She stepped out of the anonymous but efficient pool car and stretched aching limbs, while at the same time scanning the horizon for any sign of Gene. The deserted farmhouse lay just in front and with impeccable timing she thought she heard a rumble of thunder in the distance. Given the short December days it was almost dark already with shadows skittering across a full moon, but even in broad daylight this place would have been inhospitable and unwelcoming.

For a moment she hesitated, glancing around and desperately hoping she would see Gene – or not see Gene – she couldn't quite make her mind up which outcome she was dreading most. And then she saw it – the scarecrow of her nightmares, helpfully illuminated by a coruscating flash of lightening. And also illuminated was the man standing beside it – as still as any scarecrow himself, unmoved by the gathering storm overhead.

"Gene." She said his name softly to herself, almost afraid to disturb him. She had failed – she realised that now. She had wanted to be the one to tell him the truth, to try and explain…but she had left it too late. She realised that now as she walked towards the small hill and the solitary scarecrow. She tried to make the excuse that she had only just come to terms with the truth about Gene herself – how could she possibly have been expected to explain it to him? He would never have believed her – she could hardly believe it herself. Even now she was clinging onto the vain hope that this place was not what she thought it was. She wished that whoever was buried under there was anyone but who she thought it was. Keats or Sam or….. However all doubts were dispelled when she reached the scarecrow and another flash of lightening revealed the epaulette number on the ragged coat the scarecrow was wearing '6620'.

She turned to face Gene, who so far had not acknowledged her existence. He looked to be in shock, his face pale and stricken as he stared at the ground beneath the scarecrow. He was also pointing his revolver at the spot although to what purpose Alex didn't really know. She removed the epaulette number from the scarecrow's coat and cleaned years of grime away with her thumb. She slowly walked up to Gene until she was stood in front of him.

"Gene?" She placed her hand gently on his arm, lowering the gun without any resistance.

He started at her touch. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you known?"

"Not long. Since the photograph I suppose. You've been haunting me you see – your younger self has anyway. I'm sorry."

He brushed her aside. "There's a body….."

She watched helplessly as he holstered his gun and moved towards the scarecrow. "Gene, there's no need…please….please don't do this!"

But he was unheeding as he grabbed the shovel he had obviously brought along for this very purpose and started to dig. It was a shallow grave and it wasn't too long before Gene brought the shovel down and hit something solid with a sickening thud.

Alex leapt forward. "Stop! Let me." She sank to her knees and began digging with her hands, wincing with compassion as she came across a skull with a large hole on the left hand side. She glanced at Gene but he seemed to have gone back into trance mode, staring unseeingly at the contents of this makeshift grave. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the remains, as she pulled back the fabric of what was a police issue tunic, and found the remains of a small leather wallet. And even though she knew what would be revealed she had to know for sure. She opened the warrant card and received the confirmation she had dreaded. "PC Gene Hunt, Manchester City Police." With tears in her eyes she turned and handed the warrant card to Gene.

His lips moved silently as he read the words on the warrant card over and over again, his face a picture of incomprehension and then slowly dawning realisation. His eyes scanned the horizon like a man lost or one who has finally woken up from a dream. And then without a word he turned and headed for the farmhouse, leaving Alex trailing in his wake.

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By the time Alex caught up with Gene he had gained access to the farmhouse and stood in the dusty and derelict old kitchen, bedecked with fading patriotic bunting. He still had the warrant card in his hand but was looking around as the memories came flooding back.

"Gene?"

"He was just a kid….bit skinny after the rationing an' all….and then again living in the Malayan jungle on half-rations didn't help."

"No. I don't suppose it did."

"Didn't matter. He was keen was all that mattered. That's what Harry Outhwaite said. PC Outhwaite….his first mentor."

Alex nodded but didn't interrupt. She knew it all had to come out – no matter how painful.

Gene was still looking around the room, taking in the commemorative bunting, hearing the long forgotten sounds of celebrations.

"It was 1960, Princess Margaret's wedding…nothing like a Royal Wedding…good excuse for a knees up. Young lad here was sent over to Hyde on secondment for a few weeks – get him out of the way."

"But why?"

He glanced at her. "Harry Outhwaite was a veteran of the war, decorated hero and all that. But he took the occasional bung to look the other way, nothing big, bottle of whisky, joint of meat for Sunday, that sort of thing. But shiny new copper here thought he knew better. Shopped him."

"It was the right thing to do."

Gene nodded. "A month later Harry hanged himself with his own belt. He couldn't handle the shame. Everyone hated that young copper for squealing – hated him even more when Harry topped himself." Gene looked around the deserted farmhouse kitchen again. "Then one day he gets sent over to Hyde to help out. Celebrations are going strong, people dancing….drinking. Then he gets a call – been a disturbance and could he go and investigate." He looked at Alex. "Said they'd send backup….but they didn't. He couldn't wait could he? He remembered what had happened to his mates that time in the jungle – they'd all been killed and he'd just laid there pretending to be dead…he wasn't going to be a coward this time. Not this time. Besides they were probably only kids in there messing about…."

"Except they weren't kids were they?" Alex whispered.

"It was a set up. Some mates of Harry Outhwaites' had set him up. He went charging in there and…" He paused and winced, closing his eyes against the memory.

"They had a shotgun."

Gene opened his eyes. "He didn't deserve that did he Alex? Didn't deserve to be shot in the head and buried in a shallow grave with his mother always wondering what had happened to him?"

"No you didn't deserve that." Tears were running silently down her cheeks now and she longed to reach out and comfort him. But she couldn't – not while questions of her own buzzed and tormented her.

"Why didn't you tell me? All your swagger and arrogance? Why couldn't you just tell me?"

"You think I knew? All the time we've been together you think I've been hiding this?"

"Then why?"

"Because I forgot that's why! I forgot everything that happened. Christ knows I wish hadn't remembered. I woke up and I was just….here."

"And what is here?"

He laughed mirthlessly. "You think I know the answer to everything? I know nothing Alex. I'm not some bloody fairy with wings and a harp."

"You mean an angel?"

"Whatever. All I know is that it's where coppers come to sort themselves out….Sam, Chris, Summers, Mac…."

Alex shook her head, unwilling to accept what she was now beginning to understand. "But you're talking about people who are….people who are dead!"

Gene began to reach for her. "Alex, it's okay."

She pushed him away. "No! It can't be okay! How can it be okay? Do I mean nothing to you? You helped them all….you've got to send me back to my daughter…..I'm not dead….I'm not…I'm not…." She felt Gene's arms go around her but as he held her she remembered the abrupt waking from her coma, the slam of the door, the clock at 9.06 and her body lying eerily still in an empty room. "Nooooooooo!" He knees buckled and they both ended up on the floor, Gene's arms still around her. She clung to his overcoat, sobs wracking her body as he simply held her tight against him. "My little girl…my baby."

"I'm sorry." He said it quietly, almost to himself. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do for her except let her cry and mourn and just be here. He held her closely against him, not even feeling the cold hard floor beneath them, content just to hold her close and stroke her hair as she sobbed into his overcoat. Eventually she quieted, with just the occasional shudder as she rested her head against him.

"So…what happens next?" she said finally, her voice still weak with tears.

He looked around at their bleak surroundings. "I have no bloody idea. I think St Peter and choirs of angels are probably out of the question don't you?" He was rewarded with a weak smile. "So in that case, I think we'd better get out of here and figure out what to do next." He stood up, helping Alex who was still a little unsteady on her feet. They paused on the threshold of the farmhouse and took a last look around before leaving, both lost in their separate thoughts.

Gene moved first leaving Alex still glancing around the dusty old room. He opened the door and then looked back at her, holding out his hand. "You coming?"

She looked at his hand and then up to his face which wore an expression of doubt and uncertainty. She took his hand without any further hesitation. Whatever was going to happen next, she knew that she only wanted to be with Gene when it happened.

"Good," he said, a little of the old swagger returning. "Let's get out of here."

. . . . . . .to be continued.