A/N: More of Gene's POV in this chapter! I adore Alex but it's also good to get back into the Guv's head.

(also I'm currently watching Bodyguard and reeling...what has every drama writer got against Keeley, come on guys)

Chapter 12

Lying on his back, Gene stared up at the ceiling. He'd been doing the same thing for hours, closing his eyes for brief periods but not really getting anything that could be deemed sleep. The birds had started chirping at about half six and he recalled thinking it strange, given that it was near pitch black outside.

The sound of birdsong always unnerved him somewhat. Why would they want to settle in this shithole? Bloody singing away as if everything was fine and dandy. I only came 'ere because the other options were even worse. And now I can't bloody escape...

He'd wanted to get up, had the stupid idea of going for a drive around the city while not another soul was at least awake and sober on the streets. Expected that it might clear his head.

It'll take a soddin' miracle to achieve that.

He hadn't gone through with it, because he hadn't wanted to disturb the sleeping woman at his side, her body so close that she was almost curled around him. He turned towards her a few times throughout the night, amazed by how peaceful she looked.

To just look at her, at rest with her eyelids closed and her hands crossed over her abdomen, soft breaths escaping her, nobody would expect that there was anything wrong with her.

The notion ran around and around in circles, not so much giving him a headache but making him feel sick to his guts. He could hear her voice in the back of his mind, and where he had become accustomed to the sound of it, going on and on and on and driving him bloody potty, he wanted to shut her up, take back the words she had said to him because now he couldn't ignore them. Couldn't see her the same as he had only hours previously.

Funny how a few simple words can change everythin'. But then again, when had anything ever been simple when it came to Alex Drake?

There wasn't a question that what she had told him was utter bollocks. Being from the future. 2008? Shouldn't the world 'ave ended by then? With a bit of luck, anyway. Being Tim and Caroline Price's daughter. Their daughter who was nine years old. The pair of them were funny sorts – he blew them both to bits, which said it all really – so he supposed that it wasn't too far a stretch to imagine that being loony ran through the family tree.

He blanched at the link. Even if it was an inescapable fact he didn't want to think of Bolly like that.

There must be something about him, he considered not for the first time. Tyler had said a lot of strange things and in those seven years he'd never been able to figure most of it out. He acted weird a lot of the time too, but after a while it was something that had just become commonplace. Whenever he felt like he might snap at some crackpot thing that Sam suggested he just got himself down The Railway Arms and drank, until whatever nonsense his DI was spouting seemed halfway comprehensible. It suited him fine.

Easier times.

Though there was always something not quite right about Tyler, he never went so far as to claim that he was from the bloody future. It would have been a push, even for him.

It was different with Bolly.

Of course it bloody is, you daft sod. You weren't shaggin' Tyler, for one thing.

Well, it had gone past that. He'd felt it long ago, even if he hadn't said anything to her. She's not stupid, even if she has lost her marbles. When he drank with her it was in consolation or celebration. He took everything that he had learnt the hard way with Sam and used it to back her up, as well as to impress her. She taught him more and it seemed to sink in quicker. He wasn't quite ready to admit it to anyone other than himself but he thought of her no longer as his posh and mouthy DI or the sexiest woman he'd ever known, who for some unknown and unfathomable reason had made him her lover.

He considered her to be his equal. And now, given everything he knew, he was fucking terrified of the fact.

If it had been a few months ago he suspected that he would have seen to things without hesitation, demanding she hand him her warrant card and dismissing her quicker than it took Ray to blow his chances with any bird he chatted up. He probably would have told her how batshit she was to her face, wounding her deep with the most powerful weapons he owned. Some more mad crap she had convinced him of, that words said in anger and frustration caused more damage than any number of bullets.

Part of him was still disbelieving about how easily he'd taken it. Stood there like a knobhead while she banged on. He hadn't wanted to do anything to make it real, give her the acknowledgement. He didn't think he really took it in until he'd already put his arms around her, unable to deal with her crying. And then she looked at him with those doe eyes, asked him what he was fervently hoping she wouldn't.

"You believe me, don't you?"

She hadn't given him time to think, never mind give her an answer.

"Say you believe me, Gene."

What else was he supposed to have done? He couldn't abide liars. So many he'd come across in his life, all of them scumbags and low lives. The worst of all humankind; they were calculating, capable of the most evil of acts. He wanted to wring the neck of every one he came across.

But there hadn't been another option. He couldn't have done anything other than lie to Bolly in that moment. She was desperate and afraid – and she had good reason to be. It wasn't right but he had to show her kindness. She couldn't have taken the knock down and he couldn't have coped with being the one to deal it.

Never mind that those eyes of hers made him as weak as a kitten.

He'd accumulated enough regret and hatred about himself over the years, this was just another thing to add to the pile. Yet he couldn't help but think that this wound would stay raw for a very long time.

She'd got pissed that evening, he suspected in order to forget the weight of her revelation. He wished that it could have been that easy for him. It worked to his benefit, though. She had pawed at him, hadn't waited until they got back to the flat to do so, although she had saved her clumsy kisses from dropping onto his mouth.

Her giggling had rung in his head; he didn't want to think of it transforming into something more maniacal, wanted to keep her like as she was now for a while longer, the warning signs slight enough to qualify as invisible. With her arms draped around his neck she had become a dead weight soon enough, and settled for him helping her get her clothes off – Jesus Christ, that had been torture – and holding her until she fell into a deep, alcohol-fuelled slumber.

But if she had persisted then he would have given in, in an instant. It made him despise himself, that he could continue to think about her in that way when she was in no fit state mentally. He couldn't switch off his desire for her, just as he couldn't stop his need to protect her. At least he was duty-bound when it came to the latter, to a certain degree.

The space next to him was empty; in his daze it took him a little while to realise the fact. He could hear faint sounds coming from the bathroom and in less than a minute he heaved himself from the bed, making his way through the flat to investigate.

Alex was kneeling upon the hard tiles of the bathroom floor, clad in the shirt he had discarded before climbing into her bed a few hours earlier. Her hair was half-tied back into a short and messy ponytail, and she managed a brief look upwards to take in his figure standing above her before turning back quickly to lower her head over the toilet bowl.

He stayed with her while she retched, rubbing a hand against her back and offering the odd encouraging murmur of his nickname for her. Once she was done he helped steady her to her feet for seconds, offering further assistance as she sat on the edge of the bath fitting. He touched a hand to her face; she looked as white as a sheet.

"Oh god," she muttered, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, "I feel awful."

"I'm not surprised," he answered her, "reckon you got through Luigi's stock for the whole year last night."

She groaned, her head dropping and forcing him to take his hand away.

"You should have stopped me," she began, wincing in pain before she could continue. With one hand she gripped onto the enamel beneath her and then she started to shake her head. "No...no, that's not fair of me. I didn't ask you to feed me wine, it was my own fault."

His eyebrows raised at her unprompted admission. "Bloody hell, Bols. There must have been somethin' in it to change your way of thinkin' so quickly."

She raised her head, meeting his gaze with a small smile. Even when she felt terrible and was obviously worse for wear she still looked bloody beautiful. An ache gnawed at his chest, casting its way throughout his whole body. He should have done more last night.

He should have noticed something was wrong with her much sooner.

"Take the day off," he said after a little while spent simply staring at her, "a few days, if you want."

She's gunna 'ave to get used to it.

"The boss, granting me special favours," she snickered. "I'll be fine, honestly. I'll just take...something and I won't know the difference. My hangovers don't last that long."

"If you say so."

He was aware he was still crouching after a few moments, feeling older than he was and stupid for sitting and watching her like she was a child.

"Take it you don't fancy a fry-up, then?"

"Ugh." From the corner of his eye he saw her bringing her hand to her mouth again, though she didn't retch. "I don't know how you can have one sober."

"You're a Southerner, Bols. It's not in yer blood."

He brought her a glass of water instead, stayed in the bedroom while she showered, dressing himself – minus the shirt which Alex still had in her possession. He took the time to look around at all the trinkets she had in her bedroom; everything seemed to be in its place, but at the same time nothing really seemed to be personal to her. He'd observed it before, in passing. He padded over to her dressing table, feeling like he was carrying out an investigation.

I can't really be considerin' that she's tellin' the truth.

"Gene?" She caught him unawares as he'd been peering into her jewellery box, of all places. Her eyes looked a hundred times brighter already. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he bounced back on his heels, taking the shirt she offered him and watching her towel off her wet hair with her other hand. "Just...lookin' for somethin'. Me watch. Dunno where I put it last."

"Hmmm," she walked past him, wearing another towel that was doubled over at her chest to hold it in place. She smelled of steam from the shower, soap and fruity shampoo. "I imagine it must be round here somewhere."

He couldn't take his eyes off her, staring at her like a bloody brain-dead fool.

"It'll turn up."

She turned at the sound of his voice, smiling at him while he still looked as guilty as sin. He felt even worse, looking at her, so unaware.

"Gettin' on for Christmas," he felt ridiculous, saying the first mundane thing that popped into his head. He didn't want it to be like this between them from now on. "You must be expectin' to hear somethin' soon. A letter."

Her face quickly fell, shadows gathering in her eyes. "Gene. I don't..."

"Oh, right." He'd realised too late. Stupid bugger. "Sorry, I didn't think."

She shook her head, tendrils of hair sticking to her forehead. He begged her not to come closer, wasn't sure that he'd be able to take it. As usual, she did precisely the opposite of what he wanted.

"I don't expect you to think in my terms," she said, placing a hand on his arm. Her palm felt damp. "I'm sorry that I had to lie to you. It was the only thing I could think to do." She looked away from him, too briefly. "But I shouldn't have done it."

He was lost for words temporarily, the proximity and her touch and the thoughts that warred within his head too much in combination.

"You don't need to explain anythin' to me, Alex."

Except that she does.

"I wish that I did have letters," she went on, and he could hear the catch in her throat as she spoke, "then I'd have something to hold onto. Something of her."

He knew she was going to cry again, and he felt like such a selfish bastard for praying that she didn't.

"You do 'ave somethin'," he uttered, placing his hands on her bare shoulders. Her eyes were shining as she looked up at him, swallowing back her tears. She smiled faintly again.

"I do," she repeated. "Thank you, Gene."

He shook his head, eased himself back to allow her to go and get dressed without saying anything more. He made his excuses to go, telling her again that there was no need to rush, that the rest of them would have everything in hand should anything arise at the station.

All he was doing was digging a hole for himself, delaying the inevitable.

She wouldn't have anything to thank him for soon enough.

He peered at the space from the safety of his office, his fingers making a small viewing point in the otherwise closed blinds. Bolly was alternating between her desk and the whiteboard at the head of the room. He couldn't see what she was scribbling, but he could tell that she was rubbing out what she had written near enough no sooner than she'd put it up there. Her face was pensive – precisely the way he'd observed her so many times before – but then her eyes would flash wild, as if she'd been struck by something.

After a little while he couldn't take it, retreating back to his desk. He tried to focus, put his mind on this case, but it was impossible. She was always there at the back of it, calling his name. Asking for his help.

I dunno 'ow I'm s'posed to help yer, Bols.

In the end the decision had been straightforward. There was no way he was going to go to the Super – who they were all still trying to figure out, after Mac's demise – and say what was going on with Bolly. If it was out of his hands he didn't know where she would end up. Not another division, that was for certain. The thought of her ending up in a hospital – somewhere worse than that – shattered him.

If she stayed where she was, close to him, at least he could keep an eye on her. He couldn't watch her every second of the day, that was true, but it was the best solution he could think of – and there was no way he trusted anyone else to do what came naturally to him.

He poured out another measure of whisky, sighing as he thought about this bloody case. If it was up to him he wouldn't have her so heavily involved, but then the bloke who was behind these stranglings was messed up in the head. Bloody psychiatry. It had its uses; they were already further along than he would have expected. And Bolly was thriving. He hadn't seen her this geared up in a while.

His resolve stayed strong. Once this bastard was safely locked up in a cell little bigger than a shoebox for the rest of his sorry life then he'd scale things back. Keep her off the field and working from a distance. No murder cases. She'd have a lot to say and most of it would be directed at him, but he was ready for it.

Even if she won't see it that way, it'll be for her own good.

Her knock on the door jolted him from his thoughts and he stood up as she entered, acting almost as if she were the superior officer.

"I've been putting everything down," she explained, coming closer, "getting it out of my head and making it tangible. And I think...I think it's starting to make sense."

"Well, that's somethin'."

As she leant against the desk he noticed the small evidence bag in the palm of her hand. She had been the one to notice the tag at the crime scene and had come back to it repeatedly since. He had been too troubled by trying to figure out what breed of scum would murder a woman in her fifties and leave her in such a state afterwards. The bruises that circled her neck reminded him too much of his bastard of a father and the marks he had left on his mother.

She raised it up again. " 'You didn't listen'. Why those words in particular?"

"Probably made some threat," he shrugged, "tryin' to act like the big man."

Bolly's eyes were fixed on the small tag, shrouded in plastic. He could see the flash start to come back behind the green of her irises.

"But he could have placed the emphasis on himself. 'I told you.' Instead the blame is put solely upon the victim."

"Scum like that don't take any responsibility for their actions, Bolly. It's our job to make them pay."

She didn't look at him; he felt her slipping away, despite his best efforts.

"And it was tied around her ankle...he could have placed it on her lips, put it on her throat. The place where he'd already stopped her."

He was made of stern stuff but all this raking over was making him uneasy, especially considering how enthused she was.

"What does it matter, in the grand scheme of things?" he blurted out, and as soon as he said it he knew he shouldn't have. He was tearing her down again when he didn't mean to; he just needed her to stop, for her own sake more than anything else.

She looked him in the eyes for the first time in long minutes, connecting to him deep in the smallest of seconds.

"Everything is significant, Gene. This, the smallest of things, means something much bigger. I..."

Her voice broke off and she dropped her gaze. He felt a wave of panic overtake him, not a sensation that he was used to.

"Bols?" he enquired, his own voice sounding weak and small.

She raised her head quicker than he expected, meeting his eyes again with a faint smile.

"Nothing," she answered, as she so frequently and infuriatingly did. The smile on her lips grew wider. "The first day I got here I said the same thing. Everything is significant. My brain wouldn't expend energy creating people that I don't need. I could never have thought..."

Christ, it's as if she wants to break my heart. But she doesn't know what she's doin'.

She caught her breath back, left what she had started to say hanging in the air and replaced it with something else instead. "I know, it sounds manic."

Nice choice of word, Bolly.

"You're a good copper, Alex."

Maybe he was doing the wrong thing. He was trying to justify his actions as well as ease the way for her. He bloody meant it, but it didn't stop the words from sounding hollow.

She smiled softly, so he figured that it couldn't have been the worst thing to say.

"And more than that, I hope."

Her hand was on his arm before he was aware. He was weak for letting her linger, even worse for remaining silent for so long.

"Yeah. Course."

Her smile widened as she drew her hand down slowly, every little stroke of her fingers causing untold agony.

It was as though time had jumped; she was out of his office and back out with the others before he was even properly aware, the ghost of her touch remaining. He watched her there while he still felt her here with him, at her desk for less than a minute before she was facing the whiteboard again, pen gripped in hand.

Maybe I'm the one who's losin' it.

Left behind on his desk was the small evidence bag, the words within having burrowed themselves into his brain.

Significant, she said.

Well he was listening, even if he couldn't understand.

The day was beautiful; she remembered it well. The sun was shining, high in the sky with barely any clouds, just enough of a breeze to be a pleasant accompaniment to the day. Her mother was very busy with a very important case. She had managed to stay for at least some of breakfast until she had to leave for the office, kissing her on her head before she went.

"It isn't fair that Mummy has to be so busy," she had said, being careful to balance the ice cream cone in her hand, her other held tight with her father's as they made their way to the park.

"It isn't," he answered in agreement, "but we have each other, don't we?"

She looked up towards him, the bright sun making her squint.

He smiled down at her, stopping their tracks to crouch to her height.

"We'll always have each other. That's a promise."

He held out his smallest finger and after a few seconds she did the same, linking it around his own and pulling.

"Ouch!"

The sound of her laughter carried on the air, lasting throughout the afternoon as they went around the park, feeding the ducks and playing hide and seek. It was the best day she had had in a long time.

"Now, we're going to play a different game now. It'll be fun, I promise."

She looked into her father's eyes behind his glasses that he pushed further up the bridge of his nose. She trusted him completely.

"See those trees, all the way in the distance?" He pointed his arm out, directing her to where he was looking. "I want you to run out to them. Don't stop until you get there."

She wanted to question why; it was a natural impulse with her, even at such a young age. But then she never doubted her father's intentions.

In the distance a balloon was floating in the air, escaping from the hand of another child at play.

She secured the laces on her shoes before she started to do what her father had asked her, hearing his voice grow quieter behind her the further she got.

"That's it," he encouraged her, and his shouts made her race even faster, her legs beginning to burn with her effort. "Run, Alex. Run, as fast as you can."

She couldn't go any faster, but she would try her very very best.

"Don't stop", she was sure that he was saying, though she was so far away that she couldn't hear him now.

Never, ever stop.

Alex huffed, slamming the cupboard door purposely even though she hadn't taken anything out of it. Aside from her anger there was only one thought revolving in her mind; I should have fought harder. Damn the fact that Gene was her superior. Such a fact had never troubled her before.

A call had been received less than twenty minutes ago; their suspect was on the move and, in what she considered a strange turn of events, had given his next intended victim forewarning, also by the means of a phone call.

The words went round in her head, echoing. You didn't listen.

She grabbed her jacket, ready for the off, only to have Gene stop her in her tracks. Clearly he had no intention for her to join himself, Ray and Chris.

"Guv," she had pleaded, fruitlessly.

"You're stayin' 'ere."

She felt as though she was a child again, wanting to argue against a silly decision her mother or father had made, and feeling almost equally helpless as to argue back.

"That doesn't make any sense. I'm your DI!" His hard stare told her that the argument was ineffectual. "I understand this guy...at least, I think I do."

It had been playing on her mind, the deeper she had been digging. There were similarities, links that were becoming clearer. She was drawing out the threads and they were starting to intertwine, resisting when she tried to pull them apart.

"Look," she lowered her voice, even though the others were preoccupied, "I think there's a connection...between Jed Barnes and what he did, and this guy. I just need more time to figure out exactly why."

Of course it was all the more important, given the warning Barnes had left her with. If this is my way back then I have to be involved at every step.

"Some poor cow has got a call sayin' she'll be done for if she doesn't do what this psycho says. Time is precisely what we don't 'ave right now."

Of course she understood; the longer she spent pleading her case, the more dangerous it became. But she couldn't give up so easily.

"Gene, please. Let me help with this."

For a moment or two she thought she had convinced him, as his eyes met with hers.

"It's not safe, Bols. A woman-hating nutter on the loose. If he sees you he's gunna go apeshit."

"But I'm a trained negotiator..."

"You're stayin'. And that is that."

She was still calculating in her head, couldn't help doing so. At the same time she was muttering under her breath, cursing Gene for keeping her confined. He never would change.

"Everything alright, Ma'am?"

Poor Shaz. The curse of being female, being kept away from the action.

"I knew this would happen. Granted, it took longer than I expected...but it just goes to show. I never should have told him in the first place."

"Okay then," Shaz murmured after a few seconds, backing away from where Alex stood.

"Sorry, Shaz. I shouldn't be taking my frustration out on you. Believe me, I'd much rather be taking it out on the Guv."

The younger woman smiled. "Oh, you don't need to tell me, Ma'am. But I'm sure it'll blow over in no time, whatever it is."

Alex felt herself calm somewhat at the sound of Shaz's voice, her breezy and easygoing manner. Would it be so wrong to tell her, too? She was my first favourite, after all. They had an affinity, being the only two women at Fenchurch East, and she suspected that out of everyone Shaz would be the least fazed by her tales of being from the future. She'd probably be more concerned about whether they still had Walkmans or not.

She allowed Shaz to make a cup of tea for her as well as for herself, helping out by pouring the milk and stirring. The routine action calmed her, too, even if she was still pissed off at Gene. It'd take a lot for her to get over this one.

"You know what you said," Shaz began, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen, "about going away...well, that doesn't stand now, does it? Not that you and the Guv have got so close."

Alex looked at the younger woman as she continued, tidying away and leaving her own mug to go cold. She touched a hand to Shaz's arm, willing her to stop and enjoy the fruits of her labour.

"I'm still going." She felt sad saying it, especially given the look on Shaz's face. "I don't know exactly when yet, but it'll happen."

"Oh," Shaz said simply after a couple of moments. Alex was worried for her, right then. Worried that her potential would forever go unnoticed. "Well, if it's what you really want...then I'm happy for you. Of course I am."

She felt the smile come to her face at Shaz's sincerity. "Thank you, Shaz. That means a lot."

They sipped at their tea, Shaz breaking out the biscuit tin though Alex refused – she didn't have the stomach for them at the moment.

"But what about the Guv?" Shaz asked, a little shower of crumbs leaving her mouth. "I mean, he's really going to miss you."

Alex shook her head, if only to assuage her own guilt. "He'll be fine. In fact, I'm sure that he'll much prefer my replacement, whoever they may be."

The colour drained from Shaz's cheeks. "Don't say that, Ma'am. Nobody could replace you, ever."

"Oh, Shaz. That's nice of you to say."

"I mean it." She started to liven again. "I'm so grateful to you. All the things I've done in this past year or so...I never could have done it without your support."

"It was down to you, not me." All the praise was making her uncomfortable. "I just hope that it continues. Because you know that you deserve more, and that you're more than capable."

There was a faint blush colouring her cheeks now. "Cheers, Ma'am."

"I should be toasting you."

Raising their respective mugs into the air they clinked them together, laughing a little at the absurdity.

"You sure I can't tempt you? Custard creams and everything."

"No, thank you," Alex grimaced. Even the smell was making her nauseous, and also the tea was slightly milkier than she'd usually have it – but then that was her own fault.

"Chris and I have set a date," Shaz announced after a few moments, her eyes lighting up. "Finally, he stopped faffing about."

"Oh, Shaz, that's wonderful. When is it?"

"March 12th. It seems a bit weird, I know, but it was my nan's birthday...and I like to think that even if she can't be there in person, then at least she'll be a part of it in some way." The younger woman frowned for a moment. "That probably sounds silly."

"Not at all," Alex was quick to say, "I think it's lovely, and it'll make it even more special."

"It's a bit selfish of me, but I hope you'll still be here," Shaz said, a little sheepish. "It'd mean a lot to me if you were there."

Alex felt a sharp pang of regret, doubting very much that she would stick around quite so long.

"Anyway, I've already put you and the Guv on the second table, and I've messed about with the plan so much, I'm not rearranging again!"

Alex smiled, overcome with a rush of affection for her younger colleague. "Well, I'll do my best. It'd be an honour, Shaz, it really..."

The room seemed to tip onto its side all of a sudden; she reached her hand out, intending to steady herself on the counter.

"Ma'am? Oh my god!"

When she came to, she was sitting in her desk chair, slightly confused as to how she had got there. The last thing she had remembered before everything went black was talking to Shaz in the kitchenette, a mug of tepid tea in her hand. Brushing her hand down she could feel that one side of her skirt was damp, which explained what had happened to the remainder of the tea.

"Ma'am?" Shaz was in front of her, a bunched up tea-towel held in one hand. "Thank God, you didn't half give me a fright."

"Shaz..." she stuttered, still feeling woozy. "I don't know..."

"You were fine one moment and then the next you dropped to the floor like a sack of spuds." Shaz's eyes were wide recounting the tale. "You fainted, Ma'am."

"I..."

"It's alright, Ma'am, don't speak. Just have a sip of water."

Shaz held the glass to her lips and Alex didn't so much sip as just moisten her mouth.

"I should call the Guv...he'll go mental if he doesn't know...or maybe I should call the doctor instead."

Alex shook her head, slowly starting to feel more lucid as the seconds passed. "Shaz...it's okay, I'm okay."

The younger woman still had the look of a startled rabbit, fussing around.

"Well, don't move, alright? Just stay there and I'll...do something. You need a custard cream now, get your blood sugar up."

She nodded, though it was still the furthest thing from her mind. Consciousness came back in a flood while she was left alone, the levels righting again. The dampness of her skirt was the most irritating thing to her.

Shaz returned and kept a watch on her, between answering the phone and sorting through files. If anything she felt embarrassed on behalf of Shaz, having to witness such indignity and complete loss of control. Of course, she couldn't help or prevent it. She could count the number of times she had fainted before on one hand.

In fact, the only other incidences had been just before she found out she was pregnant with Molly.

Oh, God. Maybe it's just a coincidence. At least I hope it is.

Because she couldn't even begin to comprehend what it would mean otherwise.

Somehow she managed to get through the rest of the day keeping Shaz from spilling to Gene – mainly through sheer luck – and convinced both him and herself that she was absolutely fine. The team had arrived back in one piece, with their suspect apprehended and thrown hastily in the most rundown cell they had, the way made clear especially. There would be enough time for interrogation tomorrow, particularly as it was fast inching towards beer o'clock.

She didn't feel up to it – not with one matter weighing heavily on her mind, clouding her ability to muster a half-decent excuse. Before they left the station Gene remarked that she was looking peaky. Arousing further suspicion was the last thing she wanted to do but at the same time it gave her the perfect get-out clause. He'd come back to the flat no later than ten, he promised.

More than enough time to discern what was what.

She didn't race to the bathroom once she'd got back upstairs, having bought the tests from the open-all-hours convenience shop. Two packs of two, enough to be on the safe side. Three packs seemed rather excessive, even for her.

Instead she stood in the middle of the sitting room for a few minutes, silently contemplating. Not daring to look into the mirror or turn on the television for fear of what she would be confronted with.

She was already reciting the well-rehearsed apologies in her head.

Enough penance paid she headed inside, closing the door behind her like it somehow mattered. It took a while, her body rebelling against itself, but finally it was done. Nothing to do but sit and count to three hundred, and then again.

God, it had been far more efficient the first time.

Once could well be a fault. Two unlikely, but not impossible if having the same origin.

Another six hundred. She half expected Gene to knock at any moment, the time it felt like it was taking.

The odds shrunk with three. With four there was no mistake.

Eight faint lines standing in a row.

Shit.

I'm so sorry, Molls. So very, very sorry.

Her daughter wasn't the only one she apologised to, although she was the one who deserved her hollow-sounding words the most. She said sorry to Gene – in her head, as he lay next to her, sleeping soundly throughout the night, remaining completely oblivious. She didn't know where she would begin. He shifted in his sleep, mumbling something and moving his hand from her hipbone to her stomach, as though he already knew.

She said sorry to them, the unborn child that lay within her. This isn't your fault.

Concern, worry and sorrow for all three kept her awake until the exhaustion caused her to surrender.

She wouldn't dare spare some mercy for herself.

The clock used to reset itself each morning, but she'd lost track of when it had stopped.

"You look loads better, Ma'am," Shaz chirruped, holding a small stack of folders to her chest.

"That's what 'appens when you get some special attention from the Gene-Genie," Gene announced from behind her back.

She saw Shaz grin before swiftly moving away.

"Can send Ray in for this one," he said, meeting her eyes as she turned around, feeling like she was moving in slow motion, " 'e could do with the challenge."

She shook her head, even though she felt a touch dizzy. "I should be there."

She could see the shadows emerging from the pupils of his eyes. "If 'e says the slightest thing to you..."

For God's sake, he's overreacting already.

"I can handle myself. Besides, I've got the magic powers of the Gene-Genie surrounding me, haven't I?"

His lips quirked in approval.

"Well, I reckon 'e can serve to stew a little while longer. I'll get you in half an hour."

She smiled with effort, sitting down before she could keel over. Her desk had become a mess without her seeming to realise and she sighed as she started to rearrange the files that had been extracted and piles of notes she had made. There was so much clutter that she nearly missed the small envelope, the type that belonged to a bouquet of flowers. The connection was there but the appropriate synapses didn't quite light up strongly enough to produce a shiver.

Taking less than a couple of seconds to rip it open, it took her at least three readings before her brain kicked into action. The hand was indistinct, letters etched in block capitals with no specific addressee.

And still it seemed to speak to her.

'Run, as fast as you can.'