A/N: 2.8 dialogue with credit to Matthew Graham. Wow, that episode hurt like hell. This is my attempt to soften the blows, just a little...

Chapter 9

Every night the same set of images crowded her mind oppressively. She found herself in a maze, confronted with barriers that, try as hard as she might, she couldn't knock down. Her body was too weak, wouldn't comply with the urges in her brain.

The photographs and cuttings, pinned all over the wall. She saw her own image, many times over, staring back at her. In the dreams she reached out to rip them all down but they remained firmly in place. At the end of everything, the single rose.

His young face was there, a beacon in the darkness, a light snuffed out. His lifeless eyes staring up at her, remaining with her as he sunk lower. No matter how she tried to frame it, she had been complicit.

Every night she would call out, pleading for help and for comfort, needing for it to all go away. There was too much in her head as it was.

Molls. Come back to me, please.

The voices from the hospital had been blocked out, not enough room for them at the moment. She had no idea of her condition, but she imagined that it wasn't good.

Gene. Help me get through this.

He had enough to deal with, battling with reputation and rumour and the need to piece things back together before they fell apart past the point of repair.

Neither of them appeared and so the choice became clear. There was no other available.

She had to do this on her own.

She came face to face with him, the whites of his eyes shining with a fearful wildness. In his hands he held a rose, shed of most of its crimson petals.

"You can't overcome your own conscience. You covered up a murder, Alex. That young bobby had his whole life ahead of him. As crimes go, it's a biggie."

But that hadn't happened, not in 1982. She stepped closer, pushing against his frame in an attempt to get past. Though she felt the effort with every fibre in her body her actions had no impact. His laughter was loud in her ears.

"Oh dear, you don't know. Maybe they don't want you to get back, after all."

The smile that quirked on his lips straightened, his stare fixed towards her.

"You've picked up an infection. A rather nasty one. They're going to pump you with antibiotics, but you can only take so much. Otherwise..."

She felt a dull pain rush through her arm, a distant and muffled voice echoing.

"10ml administered. 50ml is the limit." As she listened to the voice of her surgeon, Summers' face remained impassive, the spark that lit his eyes the only sign that he was taking enjoyment in the desperation of her situation. "You've got to fight this infection. Show us how strong you are."

Her voice came out as a whisper, though her lungs hurt as if she was shouting at the top of her voice. "I'm trying. Trying so hard."

"Of course you are, Alex," Summers' voice was edged with derision, "but not hard enough."

She felt the tension in her jaw, teeth gritting as she stared him out. "It's you. The infection. Once I work this out and you're gone, then I'm going home."

"If you're strong enough."

She tried once more, pushed with all of her might, but her body betrayed her. He began to smile again.

"I'll stop you and then I'll be strong enough."

"Well, you haven't done a good job of it so far."

Holding the rose with one hand, he put his other forward, reaching out towards her. It was the barest touch but she felt it as a punch, full force against her abdomen. Breath stolen from her lungs, her body hurtled backwards, sending her spiralling.

He was standing over her as she regained consciousness, reminding her horribly of how she had looked down at the body of his younger self, full of regret for what had happened.

"It could be so easy, if you let it." His words were further blows, hitting her when she was almost near defeat as it was. "Just the two of us here. I will be king," he smiled wickedly at the assertion, eyes darker than the depths of night as he stared down at her, "and you, you will be queen. Everything starting again, Alex, better than it was before. No more pain, no more suffering. For either of us."

She felt a sharp pain in her gut, wincing as she heard another voice in the distance. The world came into clearer focus around her, the change from darkness to daylight disorientating.

It was agony to do anything other than breathe – or try to – but she raised her head, managed painfully slowly to get words out.

"Never," she said, feeling the life ebb from her, more rapidly with each second that passed, "I will...stop you."

"Better do it quickly." He threw the rose to the ground, it landing inches away from where she lay. "Because the clock is ticking."

She could hear it again, that familiar and haunting sound.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick –

Marking the final seconds. She opened her mouth, formed the name on her lips, but it came too late.

Every morning she woke, warm and covered with sweat rather than her own blood, heart racing and head taking less time to catch up than the morning before.

She sighed with relief, grateful that she had at least one more day, a little more time to figure this all out.

Somewhere, the clock was still ticking.

The escape from the interview room had to be brief, but she was going to make the most of it. She really wasn't in the mood to deconstruct the mind of a two-bit so-called gangster like Tiny. There was so much else that she could be focusing her attention on, primarily where the hell Summers was, what he was doing and how it fit into the bigger picture. He was a permanent shadow, always with her, and she supposed – or at least hoped – that it wouldn't be so bad if she put him to one side for the time being. Gene was just as determined as she was and he had made it clear that he wanted all eyes on this case, getting to the bottom of precisely what had happened to Doyle and what it was leading to.

Something big, he was certain.

She was hoping they could sort it out quickly, then she could get back to solving the problem of Summers. But the way things were going didn't give her much to hold out for.

Gene came from the opposite direction, meeting her halfway in the corridor. He narrowed his eyes, watching as she absent-mindedly rubbed a hand against her temple.

"Headache? Now you know 'ow I feel most of the day."

"I've taken some paracetemol," she smiled weakly, fibbing. She was too scared to medicate at the moment, given what she had been told by the apparition of Summers.

"Well, it better kick in sharpish. Need to get a move on with this."

So full of sympathy. She grimaced at him and he dropped the hard bastard persona, at least behind his eyes. He expelled a sigh, both hands planted deep in his pockets.

"You gettin' anythin' from Tiny Tim?"

She shook her head, the pain pulsing. "Like blood from a stone."

"Seems fittin'."

"I can't say I'm surprised. It's second nature, isn't it? Code of honour and all."

He scoffed. "Bastards like 'im don't know the meanin' of the word, Bols. You can't chop a bloke into pieces and then stay schtum about it. Honour be buggered."

She nodded, lowering her gaze to the floor and away from the flickering light over their heads. It was helping, being out here. Or perhaps it was being near Gene again. She knew she had to stop using him as a crutch, sooner rather than later.

"I've got a plan," she said after a few moments, raising her head back up to him, "take it from another angle. Word association."

He looked at her as baffled as she might have expected.

"Catches people off guard," she explained, "the most deceptively simple methods can often reveal the most complex motives."

"You can play Snakes and Ladders with 'im if it gets the result we're after," he muttered after a few moments, causing her to smile wryly.

Instinctively she leant closer towards him, arms folded to her chest.

"Either way, I don't think Tiny is the brains of this operation. It's evident that he's not the brightest bulb in the box."

"Bit racist, Bolly," he said, brows lowering, "even if I do see where you're comin' from."

"And I'm betting that he's being set up for a fall," she went on, her brain starting to kick into another gear. She felt Gene's eyes on her, his attention piqued by her emerging theory. "The perfect stooge. Except he's been clumsy. Something's shaken him. We could almost say that he wanted to get caught."

"Hmmm. You might be onto somethin' there, Bols. His sister..." Alex noticed his eyes darting in the direction from whence he had came, a restlessness about his demeanour. "Well, she was about as much use as a chocolate teapot, but she did say one thing. That Tiny was, and I quote, as nervous as she's ever known 'im to be about a job."

Truth be told she'd forgotten that Gene was questioning Tiny's sister. Her mind really was elsewhere. She found herself distracted now, for reasons that were illogical and stupid.

"Not the most concrete of evidence, but it's a start. They don't seem to be the most affectionate of siblings. At least he doesn't, not when he threatened to burn her."

"You said it yerself, Bols, 'e's not the smartest."

She could see something turning over as he glanced away from her again, looking into the distance.

"Crazy thought," she began, trying to guess exactly what had happened in his interrogation. "You don't think the sister's where we should be looking, instead?"

"I dunno. She's cagey, I know that much. Changes the subject every second question."

"Whereas Tiny's more of the strong and silent type."

"Or bloody braindead," he exclaimed.

"Now who's being racist?" The joke didn't break the tension. She looked down, not realising she had shifted her position so much, her hands knotted tight together. "Are we keeping her in?"

"Don't 'ave much choice. She's refusin' to go. Sayin' she needs protection."

"From Tiny?" Alex almost laughed, out of uncertainty. "I think given half the chance he'd come off the worse out of the majority of their fights. She seems very..." she searched for the right word; she hadn't been around Jenette for long, but she had been familiar with lots of women who were cut from the same cloth. "...scrappy."

He shifted on his feet, couldn't seem to keep still for more than a few seconds at a time. "I'll...erm...I'll get one of uniform to look after 'er. That should shut 'er up, for five minutes at least."

She'd come to learn a lot about him in the last few months that she hadn't realised before. One of the facts being that he was surprisingly bad at being evasive.

"What's happened?"

His eyes went to hers once she had finished the question, appearing as guilty as she had ever seen him. "Daft tart reckons I kissed 'er."

He all but said it under his breath. Alex's eyes widened at the revelation.

"Reckons?"

"Well I don't keep a bloody record. Or didn't," he quickly corrected himself in the light of her glaring at him. "I come across a lot of no-marks, I couldn't pick most of them out in a line-up. She says I was about eight times over the limit."

Alex laughed, shaking her head. "Sounds about right, then. You really have to stop kissing women when you're blind drunk."

"I'll stop it with you as well then, shall I? You want to spoil all my fun."

"If it stops you getting into trouble," she retorted. "Your past is catching up with you, Gene. Or should I call you Casanova?"

She was aware she was treading a dangerous line with her teasing, but she was in desperate need for a bit of fun, with everything that was going on.

"You wouldn't be laughin' if you were a fly on the wall, Bols. She was makin' eyes at me and goin' on about me hands. If she could 'ave got away with it she would 'ave crawled into me lap and tried to get out of it by gettin' hands-on 'erself, if you catch my drift."

"As unsubtle as ever, Guv," she said, pursing her lips. Right now she had to stay in control; she didn't have the capacity to work herself into a jealous rage. "Perhaps I should ask her a few questions?"

His face shadowed as he straightened up from where he had been slouching against the wall.

"You stick to crackin' Tiny. That's the main thing we've got be worried about." Despite her previous assertions she found herself unsettled by the way he was acting, setting himself away from her. "We 'aven't got long. Twenty four hours, probably less. Clock's tickin', Bols."

Before she could say anything more he was retreating, back towards her as he moved into the distance.

He hadn't needed to tell her what she already knew.

Rose. Coppers.

It had been right in front of her, all along. The simplest of things was all it had taken.

"Rose."

"You already done it."

"Well, think of something else."

"I said coppers!"

It might have been enough but she had needed to be absolutely sure.

"Come on, Tiny, think about something else."

But he couldn't, and everything was confirmed.

"Coppers! Rose, coppers! Rose, coppers!"

The face of Summers materialised again, the picture of calm and quiet confidence.

All roads led back to the same point.

"Well done, Alex. You worked it out. Well, for the most part anyway."

This time there was a pocket watch in his hand; he held it in the middle of his palm out towards her.

On the dial, instead of numbers, she saw '25ml' written clearly.

"Halfway. Now you don't want to peak too soon."

Sounds were warring against one another; the ticking of the clock, the bleeping of machinery. Voices still too far away for her to properly distinguish.

"I knew there was a reason I came here. I knew it the moment I arrived. What is it you say, Alex? Everything is significant."

"I don't..." The antibiotics were making her sluggish, blurring her vision and deadening her senses. "You can't be..."

"You really don't look too well. I'm surprised Hunt hasn't noticed. Maybe he's got other things on his mind. Distractions..." He flashed a sinister smile. "Happens to the best of us."

"No," she fought to say, "you've got it wrong. He's...he's my constant."

"But you lie to him too," he pushed back, harder than she could manage. "What if you told him the truth? What you've done. How you buried that body. Eh? Would he be your constant then? I am in control, Alex."

"No," she managed weakly, feeling her defences start to dissolve.

Summers leaned down, aiming to place a kiss on her forehead but pulling away at the last moment.

"You get some rest. It'll be a big day tomorrow." She was fenced in, couldn't move her limbs in the bed. "Remember, you have to come alone. It won't work otherwise. Then you'll be back where you belong."

Out of all of this darkness, it was the single piece of hope that she held onto.

She watched his fingers pressed to the bottle as he poured out a measure, hand shaking to the smallest of perceptions. It was getting harder to catch five minutes as they all became more deeply ensconced, the much promised and threatened Operation Rose on the verge of unfolding completely. Beyond the doors the rest of the team were on phones, calling through files. Inside here, it was like another world.

He came out from behind his desk, went slowly to where she sat. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, leaving a moment of palpable tension hanging before she reached up, taking the glass from his hand. She sipped slowly, eyes pinned to his figure as he stood with his back to her. Still as a statue for what seemed like minutes – everything was so protracted right now – until something jolted him back to life, his deep sigh filling the air as he poured a glass for himself.

The drink was barely touched as she put it down on a cabinet, feeling too restless to stay seated. Her throat burned and she couldn't tell whether it was from the whisky or the emotions she was fighting to keep under control. Control. That's what was needed. They were so close to cracking this, uncovering the biggest scandal that the Met had ever seen. The damage would be immense, the fallout lasting for longer than she could fathom. If all went to plan she wouldn't be around to help pick up the pieces, so it was imperative that everything went right now, while she was still able to have an impact.

The urge was strong within her, the distance only a short one to breach. She could see herself in her mind's eye, her hands brushing tenderly and then her arms wrapping around him, her head resting itself upon the broad plain of his back. Her lips pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, leaving a lipstick print on the fabric of his shirt which would be later disguised by his jacket. Saying all that she couldn't, that if she was braver then perhaps she would venture. It would only ever be a version of the truth, so distorted that she couldn't recognise it. She wasn't sure that she could rely on her mind anymore, the thought terrifying her so that she could feel herself trembling, nerves unable to stay still.

Her hands clasped behind her back as he turned suddenly, blue eyes piercing through her, nearly exposing her fears and uncertainties completely plain, leaving her nowhere to hide.

Summers' voice from her last dream echoed in her head. "What if you told him the truth...would he be your constant then?"

Sometimes she wondered if he didn't already know.

The bottom of his glass hit the surface of his desk, making her jump slightly.

"King Douglas Lane."

She nodded, still unable to speak for the time being. It was another detail that she should have picked up on sooner. If she hadn't been so dosed up then perhaps it would have been easier. She didn't know what level she was at now. Luckily she'd remembered at just the right time. She'd studied this at Hendon, right down to the date and exact time that the heist had taken place. It all made sense now; that was why 1982 was so important to Summers.

She hadn't been able to do it alone. It had taken a terrified Chris and an equally frightened Shaz. They had come to her when he got the call from the unidentified station and she had watched carefully, doing what she could to keep her fear for Chris's safety in check. Shaz had been beside herself as they sat in the car, trembling much the same as she was now. She'd extended a hand to her younger colleague, gave her a maternal look of reassurance.

"Hope he'll be alright," Shaz said, her voice wavering. "He wouldn't do anything stupid, would he?"

When Chris had been thrown from the van, she had to physically restrain Shaz from running after it, calling out to her to stop. They were all treading such a thin line and having one of the team placed in such obvious danger was very near a step too far. Shaz had been apologetic when they'd got back to the station; for a few moments it had been almost the same as when Molly had come to her after an argument, contrite and still a little bit afraid, even if she was a complete pushover where her daughter was concerned.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," she had said when they were in the kitchenette, Alex feeding her sips from a glass of water, "I don't know what got into me. Well, I do really."

The words resonated with her, filling her chest to a greater degree as she looked at Gene.

"If someone means to hurt the person you love, then it takes over you. It's like you're invincible, and nothing could get at you."

However hard she tried, however much she consoled herself with the thought of everything she had fought for being so near within her reach, she could not put her feelings aside or make them any less.

He said nothing more, the silence in the room echoing around her ears. The clearing of her throat was far too loud, causing his gaze to shoot back towards her.

"I've been thinking. If we go into this blind then it's doubling the risk." She knew very well that he wouldn't like what she was going to say. "We need to put Chris in there."

Predictably, his expression turned to thunder. "You are jokin', Bolly."

"I've never been more serious. If this is going to play out the way we want it to then it's to our advantage that we have an insider. They believe that they can trust Chris."

She saw his eyes darkening on her utterance of the word 'trust', the look that burned within his hard gaze sending a chill skittering down her spine.

"He's already got the information from them," she went on, "the bullion truck is scheduled. Somehow it will be diverted to King Douglas Lane. The clock is ticking and we don't have a second to waste."

The bouts of silence that came followed every time she spoke were driving her crazy.

"I can't wrap me 'ead round this," he finally said after taking a swig of amber liquid, gaze dipped to the floor, "we don't know who the ringleader is, it's all off hunches. I still don't believe they'd dare to go for gold."

"Operation Rose was never going to be about the small time," she felt the need to remind him, "Mac knew as much. It's probably been planned for years, down to the last detail."

He looked over the top of the glass as he drank, pouring out more from the bottle once there was nothing left. She needed him to stay in control just as much, wasn't sure what was for the best.

"He doesn't deserve to play hero of the hour," he said quietly, most of the second helping knocked back, "not after what he's done. Gettin' bloody rewarded for bein' a traitor."

"You can't cut your nose off to spite your face. I know it's tough for you to do, but you really have to stick your pride in your back pocket."

Her voice had risen as she went on, and he looked up at her from where he had sunk into the chair behind his desk, a wounded animal with a sore head to boot.

"This is bigger than all of us."

Hell, it was bigger than this whole world. She couldn't bear to think about what would happen to the team, what would happen to Gene, though she had contemplated the hundreds of possibilities a thousand times over.

She watched him as he toyed with a miniature car on the top of his desk, gaze fixed downward again. Perhaps it was the enormity of it all that had him shaken. The legendary Gene Hunt, reduced to silence and contemplation in uncertainty. Maybe she had made a difference, though right now she didn't see that it was a good thing.

"Maybe...maybe you need to be on your own for a while." Her voice was regretful, even if it might be the case that things had to sink in. She needed him to tell her that she was wrong. Why wasn't he pleading with her to stay now, like he had done a few nights previous?

"Someone told me somethin' before."

His words stopped her before she could open the door. She looked back towards him, saw him with hands clasped together, his gaze diverted from her.

She'd seen that expression before, only hours ago. Coldness cut across the centre of her chest as she watched him thinking, their typical roles reversed.

There was no need to say who this someone was, but she found herself confirming the suspicion anyway.

"Jenette."

His eyes met hers after she'd uttered the name; she found it impossible to pick out any trace of emotion on his face, and wanted to cry because of it.

She grew frustrated with his silence. He was the one to bring it up; why should she finish it?

"Well," her voice wavered, "what did she tell you?"

He took another slug of whisky, prolonging her agony. "She said..." The hitch in his breath made her believe he had a conscience after all. "She said that she 'eard your name bein' mentioned. Amongst all the talk of...well, I don't 'ave to tell yer, we've been goin' through it for long enough."

The assertion was like a dagger in her chest. "You don't seriously believe her?"

The voice at the back of her head, as well as Summers' voice from her recurring nightmares taunted her. This is your punishment for not telling the truth.

You didn't think you'd get away scot free, did you, Alex?

He stayed quiet for an unbearably long time, wiping his hand at the corner of his mouth.

Surely he could see the tears that had begun to brim in her eyes, beyond her own control.

"I 'aven't known what to believe for a very long time," he uttered. "All of this business makes Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny and bloody leprechauns seem feasible."

Perhaps it was her own fault after all. If he could be so easily swayed by the fluttering of eyelashes and the flattering of his ego then she only had herself to blame. Yet she was determined not to go down without a fight.

"And of course she's got no motive for saying it," she retorted, watching as he pouted in defence. "Come on, Guv. I thought you knew better than to be taken in by something so obvious."

In that moment she wanted to run, as fast and as far as she could, tearing through the boundaries of time until she arrived back to Molly. She went in the opposite direction, walking up to his desk, placing her hands down and bringing her face level with his.

"You said you trust me." Her voice was thick with emotion, carrying the weight for both of them. She simply couldn't believe that his words could be so empty, not when it came down to this.

Her hand ached to reach out and touch his. Speaking of things not being deserved.

"Gene? I need you to trust me now. Please."

He looked up at her and she was sure that she wasn't fooling herself when she could see in his eyes that his conviction in her remained, even if there were roadblocks in the way.

Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

The door swung open on its hinges, accompanied by a breathless Shaz.

"Flamin' Nora, Grainger, did your parents never teach you any bloody manners?"

"Sorry, Guv," she apologised, flustered. "Phone for you, Ma'am. They didn't say who they were, but it sounded urgent."

"Okay, thanks, Shaz."

She cast a longing glance back towards him before leaving; it probably wasn't the wisest thing to think but right now she felt as though she couldn't care less about Operation Rose, the whole sorry affair causing more than enough trouble as it was.

The worst damage it could do was to forge a rift between her and Gene.

The receiver had been left on her desk and she took it into her hands after exhaling a breath. "DI Drake."

"Up to 36ml. Things are getting serious, Alex."

She refused to engage Summers in conversation, knowing that it would all come to a head very soon. At least if Gene didn't slam on the brakes, causing them all to go under.

"I just wanted to let you know that you forgot one thing. I paid a little visit to Evan earlier. He's counting down the hours until little Alex comes home. And would you know, so am I..."

Slamming down the receiver with some force she saw everyone in CID stop what they were doing to look at her.

"Wrong number," she managed by way of explanation, though she wasn't even convincing herself. "Now, come on. We need to get ourselves prepared."

"Roger that, Ma'am," Chris answered, tipping her a wink which caused her to smile, despite everything.

She turned towards Gene's office, making out his now-standing figure behind the blinds.

Time had never meant so much.

"All units," Ray's voice came through the radio, "I have eyeball on the bricks. Clearin' Gorton Road, headin' towards Maybridge Road. That'll take them to the High Street."

"High Street?" Gene responded, barking into the receiver.

"Give me that," Alex held her hand out in the passenger seat, "you need to keep your eyes on the road."

A little reluctantly and with one hand on the steering wheel of the Quattro, he passed the radio into her grasp.

"That's not the bloody plan. They'd 'ave to go through the back streets to get onto King Douglas."

Just as she was starting to doubt herself, another frequency came through.

"Guv, it's Viv at base. We've got reports of a fire on the High Street."

A fire. Yeah, there was a fire.

She breathed a silent sigh of relief, which went unnoticed by Gene.

"Fire? What sort of a fire?" he shouted, loud enough for the radio to pick up.

"I'm not sure," Viv responded, "but I think it's the florist. Yes, it's the florist on the High Street. There's already officers at the scene, and they're blocking it off, redirecting traffic."

"Christ, what the hell are they playin' at?" He chanced a look at her, and she had to play at being equally confounded. "What are the bricks doin'?"

"Quattro to Granada," Alex spoke into the radio, "what's going on?"

"They're gettin' redirected," Ray returned after a long crackle of silence, "they're taking the van on the back streets. Towards King Douglas Lane."

I was right.

"Jesus," Gene exclaimed, twisting his hands upon the wheel. "Hold onto yer kecks, Bols."

"Yes, Guv," she managed to say before he swerved the car sharply, spinning it into reverse.

It was appropriate as everything went into a tailspin from there, the Quattro racing to follow up to the scene where Ray and Poirot had their eyes on the blaggers. By now she was sure that Chris would have got the call through from the bent coppers who were lying in wait. She just hoped that he would be okay; she'd promised Shaz to ring through for back up if things got out of hand.

"Blaggers are out, Guv," Ray radioed through, "it's gunna take them a while...bloody hell...quick, down!"

"Ray? What's happenin'?" Gene's eyes were wide as they speeded the route down to King Douglas. "Bolly, use that bloody radio."

"Quattro to Granada. Come through. Tell us what you can see."

The radio crackled again, Ray's voice garbled.

"Granada, come through!"

"The bent coppers are on the scene," Ray came through clearly, "they're making the transfer now."

"Shit," Gene muttered, "we need more back up."

He picked up the speed further, Alex being thankful she had her seatbelt in place. The Quattro turned the corner onto King Douglas Lane, in time to find the police van still parked up. Alex craned to look out of the window, seeing Chris standing at the side of the road. Unharmed; thank God.

"Christ on a bike, Carnegie!" Gene gestured to the figure in the middle of the road, clearly heading up the operation. "That smarmy, bent bastard."

She was distracted by the figure retreating from the scene, dark overcoat covering his shoulders.

Summers.

Putting his foot down, Gene drove the Quattro straight towards the unsuspecting DCI.

"Carnegie, you've just been Quattro-ed!"

The car came to a stop, Gene clambering out. Alex followed slower from the passenger side, looking down the road, Summers still in sight in the distance. Ray, Poirot and the other lads ran up, grappling the bent coppers to the ground.

"This doesn't bode well for future career prospects in the Met, eh, Chief Inspector?"

As Gene pinned Carnegie to the ground with his boot, a brawl broke out between good and bad. In the ensuing chaos it was easy for her to break away unnoticed, or so she imagined.

"Bolly!" his voice called to her while he was still getting to grips with his counterpart, "where are you goin'?"

There was no way that she could let Summers get away.

"Make sure that Chris is okay," she said, her voice fading as she broke into a jog, shouts of 'Bolly' and 'Drake' echoing behind her.

Her heart hammered in double speed as she trailed, the figure of Summers in sight. As she got closer to him she could hear the ticking sound, growing louder in her ears. There was a fainter echo, a voice calling out numbers.

"47...48..."

She drew her gun out of her jacket, arriving in a ruined churchyard, the setting hauntingly familiar. The wind whipped at her heels, picking up leaves. The ticking continued, louder still.

"49...nearly there, Alex."

She'd lost him somehow, the noise and the debris distracting her. Both her arms and legs felt weak, there was a pain pulsating against her chest.

A gun jabbed into her ribs, her own weapon stolen from her grasp. She gasped, wanting to cry out but the sound did not come.

Turning on her heels she saw Summers in front of her, stepped back a few paces, gun pointed squarely towards her.

"November '82," she said, willing her heart to slow down, "The King Douglas job."

He smiled towards her, one of the ominous smiles so familiar from her dreams. "There you go. Good girl."

"There was no mention of any bent coppers."

"The Met covered it up," he said, gun aimed and steady, "Carnegie got away. The first time."

"And you saw it all." She tried to imagine what it must have been like, the pain and the betrayal. She did empathise with him despite his torment of her. Despite the fact he was pointing a weapon straight towards her. "Back then. A young PC."

"They paid me off."

From where she stood she was able to make out the tears that were gathering in his eyes, the very slight tremor in his hand.

"And all this was about putting things right," she said, as calmly as possible, breathing steadily. Not taking her eyes off him. "You wanted them to get caught."

"When I joined the force, I believed, Alex." His voice caught as he uttered her name, making her uneasy. He charged forward, causing her to step backward, nearly stumbling to the ground. "They took that away from me!"

"I know," she breathed, her own voice close to trembling and giving away the full extent of her fear. "I'm sorry."

He smiled again, eyes gleaming with dark promise. "When I saw you couldn't be corrupted, I knew. I knew you'd uncover Rose."

"Police!"

Alex inhaled quickly, seeing Gene's figure appear behind that of Summers.

"Drop it. I will shoot."

She watched as the smirk rose upon Summers' face, her chest tightening and her limbs freezing as he turned around to face Gene.

"I know."

Her breath settled in her lungs, eyes pinned to Summers' careful movements. She had thought there was an escape, saw it before it happened, envisioned his disarmament quickly followed by Gene seizing him, relief washing over her.

The illusion quickly faded away; instead of lowering his weapon he turned it, cocking the gun and pointing it directly at her head.

You said you'd help me. You said I could go home.

Everything ends how it started.

"Drop it!" Gene shouted, shattering the silence that she'd been sucked into. "I've warned you, I won't do it again."

Summers said nothing in response, only smiled, looking straight into her eyes.

One shot, two.

Her mind was so overwhelmed that it could very well have been playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn they came from behind her rather than in front.

Summers collapsed to the ground, blood trickling onto the stone.

Those eyes looking into hers again in the seconds before.

She watched him die for a second time.