A/N: Credit to Mark Greig for the 2.7 dialogue, which I've added into with my own twists...rating has also been bumped up, you'll see why towards the end.

Chapter 7

The beat of her heart hadn't yet slowed down; she could feel it pounding in her throat, sheer adrenaline carrying her forward. So close, the target within the nearest reach. She didn't need to close her eyes to see him, staring him down as his words became silent to her ears. Every second in that interview room had been a reckoning.

Never mind Lafferty. I know that you're behind this. I know what you're doing, what you're capable of, and I will expose you.

The images came back in a rush. The home that she had known so well, the young policeman with the intention to invade and bring everything to an end. If they let him go then he'd only retrace his steps and, this time, leave behind the previous hesitation. She could not let that happen. She had to go on living within her own existence.

She followed Gene back into CID, her mind racing in competition with the thudding in her chest.

It's a matter of time. I just need to be patient, find a way in, a chink in the armour.

Her strides came to an abrupt halt as Gene stopped in the centre of the room, gaze focused not on her only inches away from him but out to the rest of the team.

"Chris, Ray, I want you to bring in all the Polaks workin' on Lafferty's site."

A sickening rush seized her. No, this can't be happening. Not him.

"What? Why?" She found her voice, though it sounded less measured than she hoped. "You're not falling for Summers' story, are you?"

His eyes settled back on her; to her alarm they appeared unreadable.

"Not fallin' for anythin'," he replied, his tone similarly hard and disinterested. "Still got a murder to solve."

She wanted to be able to touch him, felt in some foolish way that it would have some impact, bring him around to her way of thinking. If you knew what I knew, there would be nothing down for Summers.

At this very moment she couldn't be certain that he wouldn't push her away.

"Guv," she said instead, taking a safer tack in persuasion, "he is spinning you a line." His expression shifted minimally. She needed to go carefully, choose her words wisely. "I just...I can't work out his angle yet. I need more time."

The voice of his older incarnation was in her mind, waiting to taunt her.

But time's running out, Alex.

"And I need you to start makin' sense, if that's not too much of a stretch for you."

She didn't know what she expected; the benefit of the doubt, at the very least. They were on a different level now. The trust between them was supposed to be the most important thing; God knows he was so keen to remind her of that. Apparently it was one rule for him and another entirely for her. He was blind-sided by the need to get a 'win' by any means possible, even if the wrong person went down. It wasn't him; he always did the right thing, she knew it, even with all of her initial misgivings.

"Why are you so obsessed with bad-mouthin' one of the few decent cops left in the Met?" He had turned to her fully, almost shouting into her face. "I see meself in 'im, when I was that age. If I thought things were shit back then, they're even worse now. We're doin' him a bloody disservice by treatin' him like the rest, Bolly."

Even hearing that started another fracture in her heart. People aren't always what they seem on the surface. "Because he sounds too good to be true."

She could find no compassion in his eyes, at least not for her. "What he sounds like is an honest copper who's 'ad enough of all the bullshit that we've been wadin' through since Mac. And right now, we need a damn sight more of those."

He fixed her with a final condemning look and then he was turning, heading for the front desk. There was little point in trailing him; he clearly wasn't going to listen to reason, but it seemed to be a compulsion.

"Viv, walk down to Room 2 and tell PC Summers that 'e's free to go. Not before givin' him a cuppa and a few biscuits for 'is troubles."

"Hang on, Viv." The Skip looked between the two of them, unsure which way to turn. "Guv, you have to trust me on this. Summers isn't giving us the whole story. I know it."

Her eyes were imploring, begging to let him know the truth though she wasn't sure just where to start.

"You know, Drake, the joke isn't funny anymore." His stare was steel, cold and impenetrable, causing her body temperature to feel like it was plummeting. "I say black, you say white, even when it comes to the bloody ace of spades. It's as though you're tryin' to prove a point."

He stopped to let her bat back, caught off-step when she remained silent. She saw his throat bob, his fists balling tighter in his pockets.

"And sometimes I have to wonder, especially when you're actin' like this, takin' against a good copper..."

She should have prepared herself for what was coming, could have finished his sentence for him. It was like a shot ripping right through her gut.

"...I wonder whose side you're really on."

She shook her head, crushing sorrow overcoming the anger that swelled within. His armour wasn't infallible; she could see the hurt in his eyes, hidden away in a place that he mistakenly thought she couldn't get to, trying to prove to her and himself that he was a hard bastard that nothing or nobody could touch. She hated Summers, both versions, for doing what she had believed was impossible.

"I'm on your side," she said, hating herself for sounding so weak and diminished, hating Gene for being so easily taken in and making her out to be the betrayer. Loving him, because apparently there was no way for her to stop.

His mouth was set; she could have sworn that he was going to reach out and grab her, and she was scared of how she would react.

"Start bloody well showin' me, then," he uttered, his hands remaining buried in his pockets. "Summers is walkin' out of here on my say so."

She nodded, her throat constricted, watching as he walked away from her and entered back into CID with a crash of the doors, taking his anger out on them instead.

Time is running out. The chance is slipping away.

Back at her desk after a detour to the ladies' to sob in private she did her utmost to put on a show, reaching for the files she had pulled and smiling at Shaz as she offered a cup of tea. She told herself not to care that Gene didn't emerge from behind the door of his office, steadily built back her conviction that she could do it, even if it was going to be on her own.

Her phone rang, startling her slightly as she was absorbed by her thoughts.

A moment of silence followed her announcement of her title; she was left with no doubt of who was on the other end.

"Oh dear. Trouble in paradise?" The older Summers chuckled down the line as she watched his younger self through the doors, shaking Viv's hand. "I know what will cheer you up."

She stayed silent, not wanting to give him any kind of satisfaction.

"Tonight," he continued, "I'll let you in on everything. What's going on, and how you can get back."

"Why should I..." she started, hating that she was actually considering this.

"Because right now, you don't have a lot of choice," his voice was harsh to her ear, "if Hunt won't believe you then you're on a downward spiral. I'm giving you the chance to get back up."

She looked over again to Gene's office, not a sign of life making itself known within.

"I don't know why I'm doing this."

He laughed again. "I do."

Please. Please, Gene. Just...believe me.

"It's a date then, Alex."

The freezing air penetrated her jacket, and it was so dark that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Coming here – the site of their current investigation, where she had been only hours previously – was a very bad idea. Yet something was compelling her to remain. Summers had to be behind this whole case, her thinking hadn't changed. So meeting him face to face, now that everything was hanging by the finest of threads, was important. If she did it on his terms, played along with his game for the time being, then it would prove all the sweeter when she turned the tables.

Out of the silence she heard footsteps, a clattering of something on the ground beneath her feet, and her breath sealed itself up inside her lungs.

If he knew that I was here...oh, don't think about him. He's made his stance very clear.

You have to do this by yourself.

The shadows dissipated in part and she felt completely thrown off balance by who she found standing in front of her. He looked as confused as she did, taking a step or two backwards.

"What are you doing here?"

Do you honestly have to ask? It's obvious that they're in cahoots.

The younger Summers remained where he was, frozen to the spot. She could see his breath on the air as he made to answer.

"I got a message to meet someone here...I'm guessing it wasn't the only one."

He seemed genuine and, perhaps against her better judgment, she trusted that he was just as clueless as she was. It's the older Summers. He's the one pulling the strings. Gene believes in this Summers because he is telling the truth. But then, how...?

The theory didn't make a lot of sense, but neither had much up to this point.

"What did they say to you?" His tone changed, became more interrogatory than inquisitive. She noted it being interesting that he chose not to identify the gender of this person in question.

"Not much. Just the time and the place."

Her limbs felt tight, the flow of blood constricted. Young Summers looked at her as though he was aware she was choosing not to say everything. Go carefully, Alex. You need to get him on side.

"Martin," she began tentatively, her own breath misting in front of her, "can I call you Martin?"

There was an interminable moment of silence before he nodded towards her.

"I think we're in the same boat here." She curved her mouth into a soft, reassuring smile. Her insides wouldn't stop jittering. "You've been such a help with the investigation. Really, I think we're onto something with Lafferty. But now...now I need you to help me. I'm trying to track someone down, and I think that you can tell me...before time runs out."

"I came to you in confidence," he replied, his voice shaking. Evading the question, not uncommon by any means. "Your DCI...he said it wouldn't go any further."

"And it won't," she was quick to say – perhaps a little too much. "This is a separate thing. DCI Hunt doesn't know anything about it."

The guilt gnawed at her, but it was too late for turning back. She had to do it this way and before she left – if she was granted the chance to – then she would tell him. Everything.

"Anything you say is safe with me. I promise."

His posture relaxed and she could have breathed a sigh of relief, if it hadn't given her away. At least she was still good at this when everything else was turning to dust around her.

"I know that you're being blackmailed," she went on, confident enough that she had gained his trust. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. If you knew how many others have been put in the same position..."

"Why me, though? What have I done to deserve this?"

She couldn't answer him or say anything to get rid of the desperate and helpless look in his eyes.

"I only wanted to do my job. To do the right thing..." His voice was close to cracking and his distress was visible. She felt awful for having such suspicions against him, although they seemed entirely justified at the time.

"I know," she said, keeping her voice calm and soft, "I know you do. And you still have a choice."

He sniffed loudly, incredulously. "Do I?"

"Yes. You don't have to listen to them. You can take a stand."

"It's not that easy."

She nodded, in absence of saying that she could understand. "Whoever it is, they know that it isn't right and that they're using you. Lafferty, your superior officer." Her breath suspended before she spoke her next, heart holding still within her chest. "The man who told you to come here tonight."

He looked her square in the eyes, and any doubt that she might have had was erased.

"I can't..." he began, shifting on his feet and avoiding her gaze again, "you don't understand."

"I think I do." I understand better than anyone. "He doesn't have power over you, no matter what he says. You are your own person, you make your own decisions. Even if you feel like you have nowhere to turn, you do."

His chin was down, his arms folded. He looked much younger than his years, and her patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Alex Price," she said, her voice echoing into the void and around her head, "Evan White. Do those names mean anything to you?"

I know that they do.

She stared at him, her nerve unwavering. This was her life on the line and she was not going to surrender it for the sake of sparing someone else's feelings.

"Oh god," he uttered, finally, voice nothing but a whisper. Glancing down she could see that his hands were shaking, the right even more so than the left. "Look, I don't know why...why he wants...I don't even know how he got hold of me."

The lump in her throat was too large to swallow away; she couldn't help but think of her younger self, knees tucked against her chest as she sat upon her bedroom floor, doing her best to push the fear far away.

"Turning a blind eye is one thing. Drugs, taking backhanders...I'm not proud of myself and I know it got out of hand. But I'm trying to change, to put right my mistakes." He sounded sincere. "One day out of the blue I get this call. It was like I was speaking to my da. He said that he could help me turn things around, that I'd have a better future ahead of me. I just had to do this one thing."

She had to fight hard to stop the tears from streaming. You could have said no. You should have said no, Martin.

Sobs had started to escape his throat. "I went three times to the house. The last just after I'd gone to see your DCI Hunt. He'd called, saying I had to do it, that time was running out. And I got as far as the door, but I couldn't. I can't murder in cold blood. And not a little girl."

She felt wetness upon her cheek as the young Summers wept in front of her.

"I mean...am I that much of a monster? I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted this, I swear."

"No," she told him, her voice trembling. You have to hold it together. The tears had stopped from both of them, evaporated in the cold night air. "You may not believe it but you do have a choice. You know what I would do, if I were you?"

He shook his head, his eyes red-rimmed in the moonlight.

"I would get as far away from here as possible. Leave the police force behind, everything. There must be something else that you'd like to do."

He shrugged. "I've never really thought about anything else. I wouldn't have to change my name too, would I?"

She smiled, choosing not to answer directly. "Consider it, please. There's a whole world out there that you aren't even aware of."

The noise of applause emerged from the darkness, breaking the moment and the trust that had been so carefully fostered by her.

"What a speech. I think that it's you who should consider the change in profession, Alex. Although I see where you're coming from. Just a shame that it's not going to work."

The older Summers stepped more fully into the light, confronting his younger self as she watched on in disbelief.

"Martin Summers," he held his hand out to the lad, who grasped it with some hesitancy, "we meet at last."

"But that's..." the younger Summers began, looking towards Alex as though she might have the answer. Instead she could do nothing but stare at the scene before her, shellshocked.

"What? You expected us to disappear in a puff of smoke?" The older Summers addressed Alex whilst he stayed shaking the other Summers' hand. "Matter meets anti-matter? Time imploding on itself, that sort of thing?"

"Who are you?" the younger Summers asked.

"Can't see the resemblance," Summers joked to Alex, and then turned his gaze back towards the lad in front of him. "I'm you, son."

The younger Summers was dumbfounded, quite understandably.

"You set this whole thing up," Alex said to the older Summers, "the drug drop, the body, everything. Everything. You knew it would be here."

And you blackmailed him to kill me.

"Very good. You are getting this, after all."

"It's him," the younger Summers regained the power of speech, his eyes flashing at Alex, "he's the one you're looking for."

"Well, you have been getting cosy," Summers sneered with a smirk, "but I think I probably am."

God, what was she doing, getting drawn into this? She was playing with fire, and it was no mistake.

"You can't do this. I mean, you can't change history."

"Will you listen to that?" he turned towards the younger version of himself, "After everything she's just told you about getting away, starting again. You sure about that, Alex?"

"I'm sorry," she said in a wavering tone to the younger Summers, before turning to face the other. "I mean, this is the place where you find out how things really were. You get an insight into yourself, into your life, but you can't change things. Things still happen exactly as they were going to happen."

The flames, the smoke, the air turning black before her eyes. A rescuer taking her small hand.

She'd tried so hard, but it had made no difference.

"Hmmm, I don't think you're right there, sweetheart."

In the space of a second Summers pulled a gun from his inside pocket, shooting his younger self clean in the head. There was a sickening thud as the constable's body slumped in a heap to the ground.

"Oh my god," Alex breathed, horrified by the satisfied glint in Summers' eyes.

"Why be good, when the bad guys have so much fun?" His smile gleamed towards her, his gloved hands loosening upon the gun. "Couldn't even take orders properly. Not fit to wear the uniform. All for the best."

Everything was telling her to run but she was fixed firmly in place, completely paralysed.

"But...I don't..." she stuttered, unable to make any sense of it. He'd told her that it was entirely possible, but how could he possibly know?

He moved closer towards her, the lopsided smile moving higher upon his mouth.

"You know, I think I dismissed the option too easily. You are a very attractive woman, Alex."

His body pressed against hers, head angling towards hers as she shouted out, struggled to get away. It wasn't their lips that met but their hands instead, and she stared down towards the warm metal that he'd pressed into her palm.

"This is a bit of a problem, now," he said, almost whispering into her ear, his breath hot and unpleasant on her face. "Man's dead. Gun that killed him is in your hand. Complicates things rather, doesn't it?"

Her eyes were wide as she looked back up at him, her head shaking.

"You'd better sort this out, because you can't go home until you do. And I'll be keeping an eye on your friend Evan in the meantime. Bye now."

He walked back into the shadows, leaving her shaken to the core. Somehow she found the wherewithal to stuff the gun inside of her jacket and proceeded to drag the younger Summers across the site. As the cement poured down onto his body she muttered a mantra of apology, unable to get past the fact that this was her fault, too.

The cold seeped from inside her clothes straight to her bones.

She retreated to the empty offices of CID, heading straight for the ladies' on autopilot. She knew that she needed to be practical, methodical – modes that she had been so used to before – but she was unable to silence that part of her which had become perpetually bent to the emotional. Her heart hammered heavier than before and bile rose in her throat as she took the gun out of her jacket, holding it almost at arms' length as the tap ran. She allowed herself a small sob and then steeled herself, cleaning it thoroughly. She knew that she wouldn't be able to eradicate her fingerprints completely but she did what she could.

The thought blared in her head. You may as well have killed him. You brought him there in the first place. She didn't think she'd ever be at peace again, even if she made it back.

She splashed the same cold water as she had used to rinse the gun upon her face, gasping at the shock of it – far less than the shock she had felt witnessing Summers shoot his younger self point-blank – washing away the tears that had made her eyes pinched and sore.

Turning off the tap blindly she raised her head to look at herself in the smeared glass of the mirror, and got the biggest fright when she glimpsed her daughter captured there, standing at her back.

"I'm so sorry, Molls," she choked out, feeling hot tears well once more. "I'm so very sorry."

She stowed the gun in the bottom drawer of her desk, not wanting to look at it ever again. Part of her felt the urge to sit down upon the floor, curl herself into a ball and wait for morning to come. Instead she made her way to Gene's office, heading towards his desk and opening the bottom drawer. She took a couple of large swigs from the bottle that was inside, thinking that it couldn't be spared but not convinced that he'd notice, either. And she needed it.

You need him. Her eyes shut tight as the whisky burned her throat almost to the point of rawness. If he knew what I've been a part of...oh God.

She stashed the bottle back in its place of safety, gave herself a little time to regroup before she crumpled completely.

He was the first and last person that she needed to see, looking awkward as he sat upon the staircase that led up to her flat. She should have had an idea; he had been with her every night after Riley's lackeys had broken in, even when she was pissed off with him.

His head rose to look at her, his eyes surprisingly clear and brilliantly blue. Her heart lurched within her chest as she imagined a million and one different scenarios, none of which ended happily.

"You 'ave a better offer, Bols?" he slurred slightly, his speech giving greater evidence of the drink he must have put away.

She shook her head as she made to ascend. "I can't believe you would think...get out of my way, Gene."

"No," he said, his hand circling around her ankle. " 'm your superior, you don' tell me what to do." With his other hand he patted against his trouser pocket. "Need to get a bloody key...been 'ere for hours."

"Let go of me." She flexed her ankle against his strong grip, being perilously close to kicking him in the stomach.

He clambered up, following her up the stairs, the thud of his feet heavy. "Bolly."

"You need to apologise to me," she said, turning to look him in the face as they both got to the door, doing everything she could to keep her expression as hard as his had been hours earlier. She still felt wounded, a big part of why she had caved and agreed to meet Summers once and for all down to the way he had belittled her.

But she couldn't put the blame onto him. This is your mess and you're the one that needs to sort it.

He stared at her for what felt like an age, before stuttering out a laugh. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, nowhere near as repulsed by it as she had been by that of Summers when she had been certain he was going to forcibly kiss her.

"Me, apologise to you? I'm not the one with a bloody vendetta and their kecks in so much of a twist that they're bunched up me arse."

She had to look away from his eyes, not ready to admit that she had been wrong, at least in some respects. The image of PC Summers' lifeless face was burned onto her brain and she was crawling out of her skin, wanting desperately to be rid of it.

"You humiliated me." Her voice was dangerously near to cracking, giving everything about this night from hell away.

"It was only Viv. He's seen much worse."

She laughed, the sound strange in her throat. He was looking her over obsessively, almost invasively.

"That's not the point," she said, attempting to move out of his shadow. "I...I can't believe you'd think that of me. Despite what you might believe I'm not a cold bitch who can turn her feelings on and off on command."

How she wished that was the case right now.

She looked him in the eyes again, the pain searing through her chest and almost making her double over.

"I care what you think of me, Gene. More than anyone else. And you should know that I would never go against you."

At least not willingly.

"Never."

He stayed in place, watching her eyes as they filled again, seeming just as clumsy as he had done moments before sitting in wait for her. She wished he would hold her and yet didn't think she could bear it, feeling too tainted.

"Bols..." he moved forward with her, bracing a hand against the doorframe as she opened the door.

"I'm not letting you inside until you say you're sorry."

She thought that he was giving it some serious thought, at least for a couple of seconds.

"You'll 'ave a long bloody wait."

Of course. Stubborn bastard. He didn't even know what had happened, and yet he was still pushing her aside, unable to handle what she felt.

"Goodnight, Gene."

She slammed the door behind her, his face a temporary replacement in her mind as she went further inside, feeling utterly wretched.

She should have headed straight for bed instead of going to the cupboard, reaching for the bottle of wine. Her fingers fumbled and she swore as she struggled to prise it open, slamming it down against the counter in frustration, one hand going to her forehead. Biting down upon her lip she promised herself that she wouldn't cry any more tonight. Tomorrow would be a new day, and with any luck the demons would give her some respite.

The knock on the door felt as though it was pounding directly against her temples. She stared towards it for a couple of minutes and then made her way over, hearing him call out the affectionate name.

"Bolly. Open the bloody door."

She hesitated, still mad at him; a thousand different emotions rushing round her head.

There was a half-defiant pout upon his face, at war with the softer look that lay within his eyes, which he'd crucify anyone without a moment's hesitation if they ever found out just what a soft touch he could be. She had an idea that he would have set up camp there for the night if she repeated her previous actions and knew that she wouldn't have been able to rest.

"So?" she questioned, her lips pursing.

"Er, well...I shouldn't 'ave said some of what I said." He looked at her in the eyes before glancing away, shuffling on his feet. "But you were still bein' a royal pain in the arse."

She scoffed, shaking her head. At this point in time it was as good as she was going to get.

"Well?" he exclaimed, meeting her gaze again. "I'm not gunna stay out 'ere all night."

Liar. "You could just go home."

"I forgot to pay the leccy. Don't want to freeze me knackers off."

She didn't believe him for a second, but extended her arm anyway. His fingers linked tight with hers, palms kissing as she pulled him inside, surprised that she still possessed the strength.

Not more than a few seconds passed between her closing the door behind them and her mouth crashing upon his, pinning him against the door and pressing her body into his. Her hands went to his hair and his rested upon the cheeks of her arse, though he pulled his head away too soon for her liking.

"Blimey, Bols," he rasped, "what's all this about?"

Her lips already felt pleasantly bruised as she twisted them into a smile. "We've had the fight, now it's time for the kissing..." Her lips were back on his, her mouth opening to allow his tongue to slip inside. She let out a moan, trailing her hands from his neck to his chest, breaking away and catching her breath. "...and making up."

Her fingers worked nimbly as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders and freed the buttons on his shirt, pulling her own top over her head. She started on his belt, hearing him groan as she thrust her hips forward, feeling the heat and rigidity at the front of his trousers.

"Try'na break the world record?" he asked, his fingers barely brushing her shoulders.

She leant back, feeling off-balance and suddenly solemn.

"Don't you want me, Gene?"

She could have looked anywhere, at his bare chest beneath his open shirt or the trousers that were halfway down his hips, but instead chose to take in his face, watching keenly as he gulped and the colour of his eyes changed shade just perceptibly.

"Course I do, Bols."

It was all the reassurance she needed, and she smiled, murmuring as he hooked a finger underneath each bra strap, his head dipping down and his lips feasting on her neck.

They were almost completely naked by the time they made it to her bedroom, only needing to dispose with knickers and boxers respectively. Alex pushed Gene down onto the bed, doing the honours for the both of them, the wave of desire surging up through her as she got on her knees, taking him into her palm.

"Bolly," he groaned, his head lolling back as her fingers stroked, "Jesus Christ..."

Both of them sobered up in an instant as she guided him, meeting him halfway as she lowered her hips and sunk down. Her gasp was almost so high as not to be heard as she felt him filling her, registered his hands caressing her skin, hardly staying in one place than longer for a few seconds.

She needed this, needed him, to take everything away. Days and weeks rather than only minutes and hours. Her eyes closed so that she could focus, think of nothing other than how they felt together, her hips working faster and his thrusts harder – she thought that she heard herself pleading for that, above the creaking of the bed and the sounds he was making.

Things were receding, she could believe that the world belonged to them and them alone. Nothing bad would happen as long as he was with her.

It was going to happen soon, she didn't want it to end. She felt his hand edge up, exactly where she needed him to be, tipping her over the edge even though she wanted to hold on tight.

Everything became a blur, her body felt like it didn't belong to her. She had broken apart blissfully, her head tipped back, her heart almost beating out of her chest. His hands were soothing her back to earth, his voice putting her back onto the natural frequency.

"Bloody hell, Bols," he said against her shoulder as she settled down onto the bed next to him, "that was the last thing I was expectin'."

She murmured something indistinguishable in reply, pulled his arm tighter around her waist as he covered them both with the bedsheet.

He held her even as he drifted off to sleep, the huffs of his breath on the back of her neck. After a little while she started to cry again though the sound wouldn't emerge from her throat, the tears trailing unseen upon her cheeks. It was amazing, but it hadn't been enough; in the darkness of the room the shadows from the back of her mind crept closer.

She had never wanted to go home more than she did right now.