Chapter 43

The silence had been broken on the way back to Gene's room only by the squeak that one wheel of the wheelchair was letting out. Gene felt as though his mind had switched off. After he'd seen that Simon was safe and sound for himself and stood back to watch Robin slowly lead him back inside to safety it felt a little as though Gene had broken down inside.

He didn't say a word on the way back down in the lift or along the hospital corridors. It was only when Alex pulled to a halt beside his bed he muttered.

"I could have bloody wheeled meself, I feel like a sodding duty free trolley."

"And the time to say that is now instead of when I was lumbering down the corridor with your squeaky wheel and running over my own toe?" Alex commented with her hands on her hips.

She carefully helped Gene back into his bed but he seemed not to need it for the most part. Watching him stand for a moment brought tears to her eyes, a gesture that Gene was not going to let go without comment.

"Oh do me a favour, Bolly. If you're gonna be weeping like a holy bloody statue every time I stand on me own two feet we're going to have to put some serious sand bags in place."

Alex smiled at him, her heart bursting a little like the day Molly took her first steps.

"Sorry, guv," she said quietly with a smile, hoping the 'guv' might at least placate him a little. She would still use that name every now and then. Gene always liked hearing it and it still felt right for Alex to use it.

As Gene organised his legs a little better, quietly thanked them for their co-operation and pulled up his sheets to mask the embarrassment of the smock Alex leaned over him and left a firm and forceful kiss on his lips. He wasn't expecting that out of the blue and looked a little shocked.

"Not that I'll ever dismiss yer lips at any time of the day but what was that for?" He asked.

Alex gave a tiny smile.

"Nothing," she said, "everything." She shrugged and sat back down by his side. It had been a hell of a day; in fact, a hell of a last couple of days, her head was in a spin from her visions the previous night, Simon's breakdown and Gene's legs beginning to co-operate again. She wasn't sure how to calm her emotions. From the look of Gene he wasn't sure either. Now that he was settled again and the fraught moments had passed his face became troubled, he looked at Alex and his expression dissolved.

"Fuck me, Bols, he was going to do it."

Alex swallowed and nodded slowly. It was just starting to hit her too.

"But he didn't," she reminded him firmly.

"But he would have done."

"Robin was there," she told him.

"He's always bloody there," Gene rubbed his forehead. It felt like Robin was forever bailing out his nearest and dearest. "Does he have a team of clones that go around saving the planet? It feels like he's bloody everywhere."

"He's not omnipotent, Gene," Alex sighed.

"I'm sure Stringer would agree with that."

"Omnipotent, not impotent! As you well know." Alex sighed. She thought about the sight of Simon and Robin on the roof and the relief they'd both felt to find Simon sitting there instead of standing on the edge. After he and Robin had left the room they'd spent ten terrifying minutes waiting, listening, holding their breath. Alex had stared out of the window watching for him, the most terrifying wait they'd ever had. Eventually a doctor had come past and Gene had demanded a wheelchair. He couldn't stand the thought of sitting around and waiting for news any longer.

He'd confided to Alex along the way that his legs might have been trying to get back into the swing of things. He had experimentally stood beside his bed the day before and although he couldn't take a step he was able to move one slightly and to hold his weight with only a little support from the bed. Simon's threat of suicide had given him the push he needed to take it all the way.

"I had a dream last night," Alex whispered before she could stop herself. She had to stare at the wall while she spoke. She couldn't face the thought of looking into Gene's eyes. "A nightmare. I didn't get a lot of sleep after that. And it was strange, because I actually dreamed…" she paused and swallowed, "I dreamed about someone on a roof. Going over. Taking their life. It wasn't Simon though."

Gene frowned.

"You dreamed about human splat zones?"

Alex closed her eyes.

"It wasn't the nicest dream I've ever had," she said quietly, "I saw it very clearly. They were standing there, just staring out. And then…" she paused and swallowed. "they just jumped. And I've never seen anyone act with such purpose in their life."

Gene stared.

"Shoebury?" he asked.

"I just said it wasn't Simon," Alex whispered.

"Who was it then?"

Alex flinched.

"Didn't see," she lied.

"You can't be sure it wasn't Shoebury then, can you?"

Alex shook her head.

"It wasn't him, Gene. They were smaller. Different hair colour. Different clothes." Breasts, she added silently.

"No wonder you looked like Night of the Living Drake this morning," Gene told her.

Alex wasn't sure how she felt about having a zombie movie created about her.

"Thank you very much for the boost of confidence," she said.

There were low, tired footsteps coming their way and both turned to see an exhausted Robin standing at the doorway. He leaned against the post as though every drop of energy had been drained from his body.

"I'm taking Simon home now," he said quietly, "he's in the car. He's going to stay with me for a few days,. I though you should know."

Alex gave Robin a slightly crooked smile.

"You did an amazing thing today," she told him quietly.

"Maybe I'd believe you if I wasn't responsible for half of it," Robin said quietly.

"Robin, you can't blame yourself," Alex told him quietly, "Simon had been troubled since he arrived. While he's certainly struggled more with the idea of living without you he's been heading down a destructive path for a very long time."

"None of us stopped him though," Gene's voice was low and steady," did we?"

"No one knew he was going to do that,"Alex told him.

"We should have seen the signs."

"Sometimes they're not that easy to see," Alex told him.

"Simon is good at covering up," Robin said quietly, "all the stuff he went through when he came home from eighty five… he covered up for weeks." He shook his head. "But I still wish I'd seen how low he was getting," he shuffled a little uncomfortably at the doorway,. "Listen, I've got to get down to Simon. I just wanted to ask a favour."

"Name yer price, Batman."

"Of AIex."

"Oh," Gene hesitated, "then name yer price to her."

Robin stepped forward.

"Simon's going to need some help," he said a little reluctantly, "professional help. I thought maybe you' know someone…?"

"I do actually," Alex nodded slowly, "I can drop her number round later for you."

"Thank you," Robin nodded gratefully. He gave them both a nervous wave then turned and walked slowly back to the door before Gene called,

"Robin."

Robin hadn't been expecting the use of his real name. He turned around nervously.

"Yes?" he asked.

Gene breathed out with a loud sigh.

"If you hadn't –" he paused. He wasn't good at this kind of thing. Didn't matter how many years had passed he still struggled with the whole emotion thing. He shook his head, "I'll just say there's always going to be a bottle of brandy tucked away in me filing cabinet for you."

Robin hesitated. He understood what Gene was trying to say.

"I'm just grateful he's still here," he said quietly.

"Makes two of us," Gene said soberly.

Robin nodded and gave them a slightly awkward smile before he left. The silence that fell was a little uncomfortable and Alex got slowly to her feet.

"I think I should head out for a moment," she said with a slightly anxious smile. Leaving Gene's bedside hadn't done her any favours the last time, after all.

"Thought you were going to glue yerself to me arm today?" Gene said slightly accusingly.

"I want to find that number for Robin," she said quietly, "and besides, you know what the doctors told you. Now you're on your feet you can wear your own clothes."

"Bed clothes," Gene reminded her crossly. "I don't have a pair of pyjamas to me name."

"Yes you do," said Alex as Gene stared at her blankly. "Don't you remember? Last year? the fancy dress night at Bask?" she paused. "You went as one of the Bananas in Pyjamas." She saw Gene wince a little at the memory.

"No idea what you're talking about, woman," he lied.

"You used those face paints and couldn't wash them off," she reminded him, "you looked like an extra from The Simpsons for two weeks."

"Yes, alright, thanks for the trip down memory lane," Gene mumbled.

Alex smiled.

"I'll just get the pyjamas," she said, "and buy a few things . The cupboards are bare."

"You go within twenty feet of the fruit and veg section and I'll shove pears where the sun doesn't shine," Gene threatened.

"That would be a shame," said Alex, "since I was thinking of paying a visit to McDonalds on my way back."

"All previous threats of pears are now officially revoked," Gene told her.

Alex smiled.

"Thank you," she said.

~xXx~

Simon stared dead-ahead out of the windscreen as the door opened and Robin parked his backside in the driver's seat.

"Alex is going to give us the number later," he said, "I'll take you back to mine," he noticed Simon's expression. "Are you OK?"

Simon didn't move.

"Was I really going to do it?" he whispered.

Robin glanced down. He bit his lip and nodded.

"I think so," he whispered.

Simon closed his eyes.

"Shit," he whispered, "how did I get this low?"

Robin shook his head slowly.

"Don't think about that," he said quietly, "just think about how you're going to get strong again,." He looked at him seriously, "because you will. And I'll help you."

Simon looked down. He wasn't sure he deserved Robin's help. He'd been so spiteful, so nasty, every time the subject of Kim had come up he'd said the most god-awful things. He hadn't really meant them; his anger and his jealousy had run away with him. He was amazed that Robin was prepared to stand by his side, but after all the times he'd been there for him in the past he shouldn't have been so surprised.

"I will," he said quietly, he saw Robin glance at him curiously and turned to face him, "get strong," he explained, "I promise."

Robin gave him a tiny smile.

"I know you will," he said. He started the car and looked at him. "Come on," he said, "we'll pick up some of your things and go back to mine." He saw Simon looking a little nervous. "You can raid my wardrobe. Anything that looks like it's been within seven mils of a boyband is automatically yours; deal?"

Simon closed his eyes and gave a nervous laugh.

"No deal," he argued.

"Well someone's got to have them," said Robin, "otherwise they'll just go to the moths."

"Looks like you're going to have a whole flock of very fashionable moths then," said Simon.

Robin gave a genuine smile as he pulled out of the car park and began to drive away. The day had been horrid and torturous and Simon had been on the journey to hell and back but this felt like a new start, for Simon, for their friendship, for the future. Perhaps Simon would never have Robin back as a lover but he was slowly gaining a best friend instead. That was something to cling onto.

~xXx~

Alex backed out from the wardrobe with a dusty box and sneezed.

"This had better be the right one," she mumbled as she opened it and watched a spider scuttle out from inside. Lying on the top were a few old shirts of Gene's, an apron with Fuck Off, I'm Barbecuing embroidered on the front and finally a pair of blue and white striped pyjamas. She suspected that Gene was going to hate them every bit as much as the hospital gown but hopefully he'd only have to wear them for a few days and then would be allowed to start wearing some proper clothes. That was a relief. She realised that seeing Gene constantly in hospital dress had been really wearing her down, a constant reminder of the serious condition he'd been in. That, coupled with seeing him actually take his weight and managing a step or two, had helped to ease a little of the anxiety that had been attacking her.

Packing the shirts back in the box she pushed it into the wardrobe, closed the door and got to her feet. Despite her strange and traumatic night she felt a little safer being on home territory now. She supposed that might have been because she knew that she was on a countdown now to the days when Gene would be re-joining her. He still had a way to go but he'd soon be back where he belonged, both in his own home and behind his desk. Hopefully if he continued to make progress he wouldn't be stuck behind that desk forever, either. She silently made a wish that his progress would continue as she folded the pyjamas and took them downstairs.

She left them on the kitchen table and raided the fridge for a few Gene-friendly snacks. Anything that vaguely resembled fruit or had a fruit-related flavour was out. She had paid a visit to the supermarket on the way home and bought enough essentials to allow her to replenish both the kitchen cupboards and her strength. The stale sandwich had taught her a lesson about at least having a loaf on standby. She suspected that now she felt a little more settled about Gene's progress that she might be willing to leave his side a little more and return home every now and then so food was a necessity.

Her own lunch was sitting on the side. She couldn't be bothered making something so she had picked up a pasty on the way home. Gene had reacted very strangely when she'd said she was going to buy one and made comments about checking their finances to see if they could afford it. She'd decided to humour him and then make a fast exit.

Normally she wasn't much of a pasty girl but she just needed something stodgy and junky. Comfort food. Funny how the relief of seeing Gene on his feet had spurred her appetite to return. She could feel her stomach preparing to release a cacophony of empty growls and decided the pasty had to disappear sooner rather than later so she took her plate through to the lounge, sank onto the couch and flicked on the TV.

The news played away as she bit into her pasty, sending a shower of pasty crumbs into her cleavage. She swore and manically swept at them but managed to send most of them further down her clothing instead. Crossly she set her pasty back on the plate, got to her feet and flapped them out of her top. She began to see why pasties were usually not her food of choice. She sat back down and pulled the plate back onto her lap. Gene would have a fit, she thought to herself. Eating a pasty on a plate was like blasphemy to Gene. They should have been eaten straight from the packaging.

She stared vacantly at the TV, caring less for the news than she did for Gene's stripy pyjamas. She sighed as she took another bite of her pasty. She couldn't shake the thought that they should have spotted the signs sooner. As a psychologist she was especially angry with herself. She had gone into guilt mode. She knew Simon was low, she just didn't realise he was that low.

It wasn't the first time she had blamed herself for someone ending up on a roof, as she noted a little crossly. She remembered all those months she spent going over and over her notes on Sam Tyler; listening to his tapes, trying to work out how she could have missed his suicidal tendencies. There was a reason for that. It was because he hadn't had any. He had never wanted to end his life – he wanted to get it back.

She couldn't believe her mind was going over that subject again.

"For goodness sake, Alex," she scolded herself, "stop stressing about Simon, stop stressing about roofs and stop stressing about Sam bloody Tyler."

"…Sam Tyler."

With a fizz of static the TV echoed her words. She froze, her eyes instantly turning to the screen while the rest of her body remained perfectly still.

"What?" she breathed.

The picture was still fizzing and jumping a little as though picking up a pirate broadcast as a newsreader looked seriously into the camera.

"The unfinished draft was discovered by her godfather; acclaimed beard model Evan White, while sorting through her belongings on early release from prison."

A cold sensation dropped like nightfall over Alex's shoulders and filtered right through her body down to her toes. It felt as though her heart stopped dead in her chest as the words filled her with anxiety…

"Oh, no," she whispered.

"DI Drake died earlier this year while attempting to trace escaped prisoner Arthur Layton," the newsreader continued, "Mister White had felt that the unpublished book was 'too fascinating to be forgotten' and approached his publishers about a posthumous release."

An image of Evan appeared on the screen, looking fairly dapper with a substantial amount of beard regrowth on his chin. The caption below no longer mentioned his long-dead legal career; now describing instead him as Beard Model and Novelist. Alex wasn't sure about the second part of that. Actually, if she was honest, she wasn't sure about the first part either.

"My goddaughter worked tirelessly on this book in the year leading up to her coma," Evan's words sparked anger in Alex. Yes, her coma – the coma that Layton caused because Evan refused to tell her the truth. "Her death has been… devastating." Alex couldn't tell if the tear he wiped away was genuine or forced. "When I found the intact draft I read it almost completely in one sitting. The subject matter is fascinating; the landscape that the human mind can create when it is under pressure, the characters that are born from our deep subconscious. Sam Tyler's family have been very supportive and the book will be released jointly in both their honours."

"Oh, you snivelling little…" Alex found herself growing angrier by the second.

"Although the story of Sam's coma hallucinations is complete the book still needed further work," Evan continued, "my publishers entrusted me to complete the draft. The closing chapters of the book will concentrate on Alex's own life and her struggle to recover after experiencing her own long-term, deep coma."

Alex's blood boiled over. Now he was using her life to cash in? She shook with fury as the newsreader came back on the screen.

"Evan White is a published writer in his own right," she continued, "his two autobiographies became best-sellers shortly after their release and his first novel, 'Fifty Shades of Beard', led to riots when stocks of the book were depleted within hours of its launch."

Alex blanched and put her pasty to one side. Suddenly she had lost her appetite quite severely.

"Mister White has attempted to persuade a close friend of DI Drake to provide a foreword and conclusion to the book," the newsreader continued. Alex found herself frozen and staring at the screen. She couldn't imagine who the newsreader meant. "Detective Chief Inspector Kim Stringer –"

"DCI?" Alex repeated in a whisper a she felt her heart jump and her stomach flutter. When had that happened?

"- had assisted DI Drake in tracing Layton on two occasions. Drake was living with DCI Stringer and her now deceased partner at the time of her death."

Alex felt herself sliding to the floor on her knees. Her hands began to shake as she moved slowly towards the screen.

"Oh god, no, leave Kim alone," she whispered. She recalled how deeply affected Kim and Robin had been by Evan's trial. The thought of him pursuing her over such a thing filled her with fury.

"But DCI Stringer has been deeply outspoken about the release of the book," the newsreader continued, a sentence that drew a little gasp from Alex, "claiming that its release is disrespectful to both Drake and to DCI Tyler, claiming that some things are best left buried and that their tragic deaths should not be a matter for publication.

"That book belonged to Alex."

Suddenly Alex lost the feeling in most of her body as the face of Kim appeared on the screen, looking more than a little reluctant to be approached by the cameras. Her skin was pale, even paler than usual. It accentuated the dark circles beneath her dull, bloodshot eyes. Her cheeks looked sunken, as though she was almost fading away.

"It was her work and the release and publication of it should not be down to anybody else. She has lost control of the words that she has written and Evan White has stolen control. The book, if it is released, will not tell the story of either Sam Tyler's coma nor Alex Drake's life. It will tell the story of Evan's quest to line his pockets."

"Oh Kim, yes," Alex whispered, a tiny sparkle of delight in her eyes. She moved slowly closer to the screen, trembling. Every word she heard made her pulse rise a little faster. Kim was expressing everything that scared Alex so deeply.

"To trust this man with the telling of the story is like trusting DI March with a cardboard cut-out of a known drug dealer and a pair of scissors." She paused. "Sooner or later it's going to end up full of holes and buggered."

Despite herself Alex gave a tiny laugh as Kim's personality showed through, however low and empty she had become.

"She has warned that the matter of Tyler's comatose dreams is a private subject and not one that should be released to the public," the newsreader came back on the screen, "and that despite writing the book Alex Drake's own coma experience had brought her to that conclusion."

"You're not wrong," she whispered.

"DCI Stringer reportedly found herself at a disciplinary hearing after giving Mister White what was described as 'a wedgie of catastrophic proportions' at a press gathering for the announcement of the book's imminent release. We have footage of the incident coming up for you now."

Some grainy CCTV footage played of Kim launching the wedgie attack on an unsuspecting Evan, leading to half the gathered press rolling around with laughter on the floor and the other half swooning about his underwear.

"The incident sparked a new genre of beardfics and a therapy session for the angry DCI," the newsreader concluded, "Evan's faith in the book remains unfazed and its release is scheduled for June two thousand and thirteen. DCI Stringer, however, has promised to fight its release until the bitter end."

Alex felt a shiver travel down her cheek, almost as though a ghostly finger had traced a line from her eye, where a tear was falling, down the side of her face. She closed her eyes and slowly leaned forward where she rested her head gently against the television screen and laid her palm out flat.

"Thank you, Kim," she whispered, surprised by how much her voice trembled, "thank you…. please, keep fighting this… please don't let him do it."

She felt a heaviness in her chest as she thought about the half-finished draft that she had long forgotten lay amongst her things. She would never have written the book if she'd known and certainly never have released it when she had found out the truth about Gene's world. Putting that out in the public domain would be dangerous. The idea that coppers up and down the country would know about Gene's world shook her to the core. Who knew what effect that would have? Who knew how much damage that would do?

She felt a lump in her throat as the TV fizzed and spluttered and whatever connection existed to 2012 was lost. She begged and prayed silently for Kim to succeed and felt eternally grateful that there was somebody on the other side looking out for her and for the rest of that world.

But after what she had seen in her dream the night before… She couldn't say for how much longer that was going to be true.

~xXx~

A/N: I'm so sorry for the crapness this week. I've finally shaken the migraine that's been going on and on. Hopefully that means I can actually catch up with some stuff. x